Chapter 11
MILE ELEVEN
LADY BONDING
Message from Miles, my phone’s robotic voice announces. It’s the fifth message since Monday. All of which I’ve not read.
Curiosity battles with indifference inside me.
Though, indifference about Miles Calloway resembles an ill-fitting pair of shoes.
It doesn’t quite suit, because I’m not indifferent.
I won’t pretend otherwise. While I don’t want him, after dinner with Garrett and Anker last night, I laid in my bed, thinking about Miles.
It wasn’t in the typical way I think of him.
I didn’t daydream about Miles finding a way into my building to knock on my door to declare his feelings in a big romantic gesture from a cheesy rom-com.
In fact, the only man who seems to break into my apartment building is Garrett, and neither time was romantic.
Part of me feels bad that Miles’ feelings are hurt. Part of me wants to soothe that sting away. Even if I know it’s not my doing. I was the one left behind. I was the one with the crush. The woman he thought would always be there.
This is just my curious nature at work. It’s like how I often skip ahead to a book’s last chapter to know there will be a happy ending. At least with romances, I don’t have to do that because there is always one.
Kayla says Miles is devastated. I just want to make sure he’s okay, but I worry that opening his messages may detour my course.
“Not going to happen.” I turn my ringer off and slide my phone into my purse to head out for brunch with Catherine and Kayla.
Seal Beach’s downtown hums with life. Chattering shoppers dip in and out of the boutiques, while others sit at metal bistro tables outside Main Street’s many cafes.
While my brother and Garrett live in more residential neighborhoods, my building is downtown, offering me walkable access to its businesses, the bus stop, and the beach at the end of the street.
It’s also a short five-minute walk to Bread, my favorite café/bakery.
“Hey Jensen!” Catherine greets me at the café’s entrance. “Oh, look at this cozy sexy fall getup.”
With the cool weather and Bread’s seating being primarily outdoors, I’ve layered up.
A long, chocolate-brown cardigan, knee-high black boots, a black dress, and a hunter green infinity scarf are paired with gold leaf-shaped dangle earrings that pop against my loose, wavy tendrils. It’s cute, but warm.
“Cozy sexy?” I snort, leaning in to examine my friend. “Wait—” I trace up her arms, feeling the smooth fabric of her jacket “—is this a blazer? And are you…” I lean in and sniff. “…wearing perfume?”
She bats me away. “We’re doing a mock-interview before we eat our weight in crepes, remember?”
I arch one eyebrow. “Since when do we do rehearsals in full dress?” I reach over, taking her wrist to feel for what I suspect she’s wearing. “Oh my gosh, are we wearing Grandma O’Brien’s lucky pearl set?”
In the tenure of our friendship, Catherine only pulls out the fancy pearl choker, bracelet, and earrings she’d inherited from her grandmother on special occasions, or when she needs the extra bit of luck.
“Just the bracelet and earrings. Not the necklace. That’s showtime only,” she tuts playfully.
“Naturally,” I sass with a wiggle of my hips.
“Plus, Kayla O’Leary is going to be here.”
“It’s not a big deal. She’s not on the interview panel, so no pressure.” I bat at the air.
“Says you,” she tuts. “She’s the academic spank bank of accomplishments. Like I may want to be her when I grow up.”
“You’re the same age.”
“Exactly!”
I place a hand on my hip. “Also, you’re accomplished.”
“Not like Kayla. She’s tenured. She’s published.”
I wrinkle my brow. “You’re published.”
“I’ve had essays in a collection, co-authored a few papers, and am currently being bullied by my incomplete Jane Eyre retelling.
It’s hardly the same thing.” She lets out a heavy sigh.
“Kayla is a visiting professor from Oxford. She’s one of academia’s foremost Austen scholars.
She’s here to host graduate seminars exploring the intersections of gender, class, and sexuality in Ms. Austen’s work, while I teach freshmen the proper placement of semicolons. ”
“Semicolons are very complicated.” A scowl twists my face. “Also, my dad would call this some stinkin’ thinkin’.”
She groans.
I go on, “You’re amazing. Look at everything you’ve accomplished. Be your own measuring stick.”
“Ugh.” She makes a disgusted noise. “I know. It’s momentary imposter syndrome brought on by my nerves about this interview, the lack of progress in my writing, and the envy for hot professor Barbie.”
“You are also a hot professor. Let us not forget the boys’ baseball team getting in trouble for that top ten hottest professors ranking.” I tilt my head and flash a cheeky expression.
“I was only number two.” She makes a dismissive gesture.
“I demand a recount!” Kayla’s smooth English accent pops our little bestie bubble.
“Kayla! Hi! Hey! You’re here!” Spinning towards the sound of her voice, I grin awkwardly, hoping she didn’t overhear Catherine calling her hot professor Barbie.
“Hello, ladies. For the record, you’re number one in my book. Once we’ve concluded the mock interview, we’ll use our lady bonding time to plan our vengeance for this injustice.” Kayla motions to the hostess stand. “Shall we?”
Despite the crowds waiting for a table, Catherine uses her connections to sneak us in without a wait.
The hostess, Jela, is one of Catherine’s former students.
She theorizes that since it’s past tense, there are no ethical issues with Jela allowing us to cut the line forming in front of the restaurant.
Tucked into a table in the corner of the outdoor seating area, we place our order. We share a pot of English breakfast tea as Kayla and I put Catherine through her paces in our mock interview. Kayla reads from the questions I prepared but adds a few of her own.
Catherine’s essence is reminiscent of a rainbow cutting through a gray sky. She is captivating with every response. Poised. Engaging. It’s a sharp contrast from the self-doubting version of herself who appeared in front of the café.
“A proposed course exploring intersectional feminism and romance novels sounds intriguing. The department would be foolish not to scoop you up as an associate professor. Even more foolish to not add that course to the fall semester offerings… I’ve played with the idea of developing a course on the contemporary politics of the historical romance novel,” Kayla muses before sipping her tea.
Catherine clears her throat. “You’re a romance reader?”
“Devout. Any Austen scholar worth their weight in hardbacks is a romance reader.”
I beam. “Catherine is a romance writer.” I flinch at the pinch of my thigh from below the table.
“Oh, what subgenre? Is it published?” Kayla asks.
“It’s not finished…” she says softly.
“It’s a sapphic Jane Eyre retelling where Edwina Rochester is a grumpy ranch owner and Jane is the horse trainer,” I add, ignoring the icy glare I’m sure Catherine is tossing my way.
My bestie is too modest at times. What snippets she’s let me read are amazing. Perhaps some encouragement from Kayla will help smooth the imposter syndrome getting in Catherine’s way from finishing this book.
“What!” Kayla squeals. “Brillant! A Bronte retelling with cowgirls, yes please.”
“Agreed!” I hoot.
“Cowboys. Cowgirls. Werewolves. Dukes. Ghosts. I even got into Big Foot shifter romances last summer.”
“Big Foot?” Catherine chokes on her drink.
“Don’t mock it until you’ve tried it, darling,” she coos with a flirty lilt.
“Please tell me there’s an audiobook.” I laugh.
“Read by Wesley Williamson.”
“Yes!” I dance in my seat. “He’s my favorite. I even bid on a chance to have a virtual meet and greet with him in a charity auction for Authors Against Book Bans, but lost.”
“He’s so talented. In fact, the deep voice he does reminds me of that man that you claim is just a friend, but gives off ‘wants you to ride his face’ energy,” she says.
Now it’s my turn to choke on my tea. “Excuse me?”
“Who’s this?” Catherine asks, nudging her knee against mine.
“I believe his name is Garrett. Apparently, he’s been driving Jensen home most days and was rather worried when he couldn’t find her.
It was very alpha male. I have an image of him cradling your face and saying”—she pitches her voice low—“Who hurt you, baby?’ before he burns down the world for you. ”
“He does have protector vibes.” Catherine tips her head back and lets out a contented sigh.
“And sit on my face vibes.” Kayla bobs her head.
“Agreed.”
“He’s just a friend.” I shift in my chair.
“A friend you have a crush on.” Catherine’s sing-song taunt hits me like children singing, “Garrett and Jensen sitting in the tree k-i-s-s-i-n-g.”
“Delicious! I must hear everything!” Kayla vibrates with excitement. “That man looks like he’d press you against a wall and do things to you that would crack the house’s foundation, but then hold you tenderly after.”
Something clenches low in my belly at that image. My legs wrapped around Garrett. His powerful body thrusting into me. His gruff voice a low rumble as he whispers dirty things into my ears.
“Someone’s complexion is a little rosy right now,” Catherine teases.
“It sure is.” Kayla pours us each another cup of tea. “Please tell me we’re transitioning to the lady bonding portion of brunch, because it’s clear there’s more to the ‘just friends’ moniker you’re wearing with that man.”
“There really isn’t.” I flick the rubber band at my wrist.
Catherine grabs my wrist and holds it up. “Says the woman trying to Pavlov dog her crush away.”
“Lady bonding must commence. I need to know everything! How about we nix the tea and order mimosas?” Kayla claps her hands together.
By the second glass, and with our half-eaten meals in front of us, I’ve let it all out. This includes that I do have a crush on Garrett. I may always have a bit of a crush on him. But liking someone doesn’t make them right for you.
“I realize I only observed you two for five minutes, but you seem to have a real connection. There’s a fondness there. It’s playful and comfortable,” Kayla says.
“You’re not imagining their connection. There’s definitely something there. Whether just a sexual tension, or more, I’m not sure, but there is something.” Catherine sips her mimosa.
“Maybe just fuck and see what happens,” Kayla suggests.
“I’m not built for that.” I frown. “Also, it would be too messy. Not just with Anker, and the fact that Garrett wouldn’t just disappear from my life if things got awkward. But he’s still in the deep waters of grief about his wife.”
Does one ever get over a loss like that? Our beagle died when I was twelve, and despite my love of dogs, I can’t even think of getting another one. I can’t imagine losing the love of my life.
“So—” Kayla places her hands below her chin and leans on her elbows “—we have one man who realizes he’s fucked up and is trying to win you back, and one who isn’t yet able to admit his own feelings. Classic love triangle.”
“Or why choose?” Catherine snarks.
I scrunch my nose. “Garrett would murder Miles. He hates him.”
“He’s awfully protective,” Kayla says smugly.
“Guess that nixes the why choose romance theory.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m on a dating sabbatical. My romantic compass is broken. Until I get to the root of why I make poor choices, there will be nobody… And even if I wasn’t, neither are appropriate. Miles is only interested because I no longer am, and Garrett is… Garrett.
There’s a string of reasons why Garrett Marlowe is an inappropriate choice. He’s my brother’s best friend—not to mention his boss—which complicates everything. Even if the thought of him as “forbidden fruit” does pulse a tingle between my legs.
Then there’s Val.
Kayla plucks the bottle out of the little ice bucket from the corner of the table and pours me more champagne. “I understand. I’m taking a break from dating, as well.”
“Is it because you’re here temporarily?” Catherine holds up her glass for a refill.
“Sort of. While I still think Garrett and you should smash, I’m a big believer in protecting your heart.
Last year, I had what was supposed to be a casual thing with a doctor from a NGO.
He was only in town for a few months before heading to his next assignment in Congo. I caught feelings, and he did not.”
“Oh, Kayla.” I trail my hand along the table to find her forearm and squeeze it.
“We had an understanding. I knew the rules. No feelings. No commitment. I went in with my eyes wide open and still got a broken heart.” She sighs. “Whatever happens or doesn’t happen with Garrett, protect your heart.”
“I will,” I whisper.