Chapter 8 – Miles
EIGHT
MILES
“So wait, hold up, your brother’s ex is living with you for the summer?” Grant asks with a loud laugh. “The hot one?”
I grit my teeth, regretting that I confided in him when I was drunk three years ago that I thought his sister’s best friend from out of town was hot, even if she was way too young for me. More so now, that, for some unknown reason, agreed to have her live with me for the summer.
She moved in less than a week ago, and I already almost saw her tits and argued with her on the deck, gave her a list of rules she has adamantly ignored (okay, so she’s just ignored the one rule, but it was arguably the most important one), had her make some summer fun list she’s insisting I cross off with her, and had two sex dreams about her.
I’m not sure how the fuck I’m supposed to survive this summer in one piece.
“Shouldn’t we be calling her your little sister’s best friend?” I much prefer that descriptor since the reminder that she used to be with Paul makes my jaw tight every time.
In contrast, Grant smiles wider, loving my misery.
“Not with the way you’ve always looked at her. When you do that, we call her your little brother’s ex that you’ve been into for years.”
Have lifelong friends , they said.
It will be fun , they said.
I call bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit.
“She’s a friend,” I say, only half lying because, for a while, I did, in fact, consider Claire Donovan a friend. “And she paid four months up front.” His eyes go wide with the same shock I felt when she offered that. “Six grand.”
“Jesus, where did she get that kind of cash?”
I shrug.
“I’m not sure. She joked that it was from stripping, but then we got sidetracked, and it didn’t seem right to circle back to that specifically.” I run a hand over my hair, remembering the incredibly detailed daydream I had about that the day before yesterday.
“Do you actually think she’s been stripping?” he asks, eyes wide, a mix of shock and intrigue in them. The mere idea of Grant being interested in Claire dancing for men makes my blood start to heat, but I brush the strange jolt of something I refuse to name aside quickly.
It’s because in my head, despite my complicated feelings about my brother lately, I still care about him, and I’ve been trained to protect him my entire life.
That’s all.
“No,” I say with a shake of my head because I’ve considered all angles more times than I should. “If she had, she never would have dropped it: it would be her new favorite way to fuck with me.”
Again, Grant smiles wider.
“She sure does like to fuck with you,” he says, and I glare.
We’re at Grant’s place since I’m avoiding my own house like the plague, deciding the best way to survive this summer is to just not see her. Difficult when she seems to be everywhere in that house, from her shitty cereal in the cabinets to her array of flip-flops at the door to her seemingly million pairs of sunglasses left about the house.
“You know, things with your brother are a little dicey right now, and it would be pretty normal to want to get back at him a bit,” Grant says while I’m lost in my thoughts, a playful smirk on his face as he tips a beer toward me.
I stare for a moment before I ask for clarification, though I don’t think I need it.
“What are you implying?”
He shrugs but answers all the same. “A pretty girl living in your house for the summer, it might be the perfect time to finally crack that seal on your celibacy.”
“I’m not celibate,” I say exasperatedly, rolling my eyes.
“Might as well be,” he chuckles, and as much as I don’t want to admit it, it’s not completely wrong. “When was the last time you went out on a date?”
I shake my head and tell him something he already knows.
“I don’t date.”
He gives me an annoyed groan. “That’s because you don’t make time for dating. Fuck, if I didn’t force you to hang out with me, you wouldn’t even make time for friends.”
Guilt eats at me a bit at that, knowing the truth of it.
“I don’t see a point in dating someone if I’m not in a place where I can offer them some kind of future,” I justify. Grant gives me a look like I’m out of my mind. “You know how I feel about that shit.”
My parents were young and stupid when they got married and had me soon after. My mom tells me regularly about how they were both working paycheck to paycheck when they had me, and when my dad passed before Paul was two, it left her with nothing. She moved in with my grandmother, who helped raise us, but it wasn’t easy. It’s why I refuse to start anything, even casually, until I feel like my life is settled, which it very much is not.
“All I’m saying is it seems like a perfect opportunity, having her right there. Convenient, even.”
That word rubs me wrong, and I’m out of patience to hedge my words. “Claire isn’t something convenient for me.”
It reveals too much about how I feel about her and my reluctant protectiveness of her, and he knows it when he smiles wide.
“Is that right?”
I roll my eyes. “Stop reading into everything. I’m not going there. She’s not my type.”
We both know that’s a lie. I thought Claire was beautiful from the first time I met her. Frustrating and annoying, yes, with the way she instantly made herself at home here, with the way she won over everyone in her stratosphere, but beautiful all the same.
But even if I were in the market for someone, it surely wouldn’t be a party girl like Claire.
She’s too young, too flighty, and too…Paul.
“You’re a fucking liar,” he says with a laugh.
“I’m not.” I shrug, trying to convince myself of it the same way I need to convince Grant. “She’s too young and too much of a party girl.”
He takes me in for long moments, in a way only my annoying as fuck best friend can, before smiling. “She’s my type. Maybe I should shoot my shot.”
Instantly and without warning, anger flares through me. I open my mouth to…I don’t know, but I’ll probably regret it.
But I don’t have to say a single thing, because Grant’s head tips back, and a deep, full-bellied laugh fills the room.
“Oh, god, you should see your face!” He chuckles, wiping a tear from his eye as he catches his breath.
“Fuck off, man.”
“You are so fucked, you know that right?”
I roll my eyes and ignore him until he changes the topic, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s completely right.
I am, in fact, so fucked.
* * *
I’m at the shop the next day when an all-too-familiar car pulls up. When she turns off the bright yellow car, Claire opens the door and steps out, a brown paper bag in hand, before slamming it shut behind her.
She’s in a tee that reads Wilde Security that she’s cut the arms off of and made shorter so it barely covers her belly button and a pair of short jean shorts that should be illegal. The shirt rises to show off her tanned and toned stomach when she lifts her arm to put her sunglasses on top of her head, and I just barely see that she’s wearing a bright pink bathing suit underneath.
“Car trouble?” I ask, stripping off my orange gloves as I make my way toward her, taking off my baseball hat and slipping it around to block the midday sun. She shakes her head and meets me halfway, stopping a foot or so away from me and putting the hand holding the bag out to me.
“Brought you an Italian from Joe’s.” Joe’s is a deli a few blocks inland from the boardwalk that everyone goes to if you want a good sub for the beach.
“You brought me lunch?” I ask, confused.
She shrugs like it’s no big deal.
“I’m off today. June is busy, and Lainey’s doing inventory at work. I figured I’d grab a sandwich at Joe’s, then lay out for the afternoon. But you know how big the sandwiches are, and I didn’t want it to go to waste. I remembered you order the same thing as I do, and so I asked him to split it in two for me.”
A light blush bleeds across her cheeks, and my gut goes warm at the sight.
“He threw in those gross cheddar sour cream chips you like and an iced tea. It’s all in the bag.” She shakes said bag, and slowly, I reach out to grab it, noting it’s pretty heavy.
“They’re not gross,” I say without thinking.
“Barbecue is way better.” It’s an argument we’ve had many times before, and despite myself, I smile, shaking my head. “Anyway, I just wanted to drop that off. I’ll get out of your hair,” she says, stepping backward toward her car.
“You’re not staying?” I ask, quickly pushing down the burst of disappointment that rockets through me.
She smiles wide and shakes her head. “No, I don’t want to bother you too much. Just knew I’d never finish that sandwich myself and figured I’d share.”
It’s a lie. I know it is, just like how I know Joe, despite being a good guy, didn’t just happen to throw in the drink and chips.
Claire did it to be nice.
I sigh and tip my head to the garage. “Come eat with me.”
Her eyes go wide. “You’re inviting me into your lair?” she asks in a stage whisper.
“It’s not a lair; it’s a dirty shop. But we can clear off a spot and eat.” I hesitate, rethinking my offer. “Unless you’re planning to eat on the beach and want to head out. Then?—”
She shakes her head quickly, cutting me off. “No, I’d love to. Sand in sandwiches is the worst.”
Then she turns back to her car to grab her bag, and I find a place to set us up.
Forty minutes later, I’ve dragged out eating a sandwich and chips as long as I can to keep her here, and Claire is finishing the last sips of her own iced tea lemonade before I look at the clock over her head and sigh.
It’s been a good forty minutes, despite myself. We chatted and laughed, and I remembered why I always gravitated toward Claire when we were thrown together, why we always went for walks along the shoreline while she looked for her shells. When she’s not flirting with me just to get a reaction and when I’m not being a dick who’s making assumptions about her, we get along really well.
“I’ve got a client coming in ten minutes to pick their car up,” I say, tipping my head toward the white car in the small lot.
Claire steps back, checking the time on her phone, and her eyes widen. “Jeez, I didn’t realize how late it was getting. I’m going to miss all the good sun.” She moves to clean up the deli paper before her, the makeshift picnic we created on the flat top of my rolling toolbox.
I shake my head. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”
She hesitates. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, it’s the least I can do. Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.”
She takes me in before nodding, grabbing her keys, and moving back toward her car. The sun beats hard on the blacktop, and Claire slides her sunglasses back onto her nose as she stops in front of her car, turning to face me.
“Thanks for having lunch with me,” she says with a smile. “I had fun.”
“Pretty sure I’m the one who is supposed to be saying thank you.”
She shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Whatever.”
A gust of wind moves through the air, pushing her hair into her face. She giggles, and when the breeze stops, a piece of hair is stuck on her sunglasses. Without thinking, my hand lifts, grabbing the silky golden strand between my fingers and pushing it back behind her ear, my fingers lingering there, my thumb brushing over the soft skin of her jaw.
I could kiss her.
I could kiss her, and with the way her chin is tipped up to look at me, the way her lips are parted, I think she’d let me. My mind moves to the previous night, to Grant saying I should hook up with Claire, and for a split second, I consider it.
For a split second, I contemplate throwing common sense to the wind and just doing what feels right instead of what I should do .
And then the sound of tires crunches behind me, and I step back, the moment broken as my client pulls up.
“I’ll, uh, let you get back to work,” she says, her voice breathy as she steps away, a smile on her lips.
She opens the door to her car, and I hold it as she slides in and turns the key in the ignition before slamming it shut and tapping the hood of her car.
“Thanks for lunch, Claire. You didn’t have to do that.”
She smiles before putting her car in reverse, and I step away before watching her drive off.
Even though I get home long after she’s shut away in her room because I have a side job across town, the warmth of her coming to see me carries me throughout the day.