Chapter 17 – Miles
SEVENTEEN
MILES
“Whole lotta beach, Miles,” Claire says, five days after her injury, stepping off her towering lifeguard chair and moving next to me as I set my board in the sand. There was a small bruise on her forehead the next day, but it’s already gone.
“Yeah?” I ask, trying to keep my eyes on the bag I’m unpacking.
After June walked in, I needed space. Thankfully, I had a full schedule for the next few days, meaning I was able to avoid her completely. But when I realized I had the second half of my day off today with nothing else to fill my time, I decided to grab my board and hit the waves.
It definitely had nothing to do with Claire asking me when the last time I surfed for myself was.
“Yeah. I think it’s interesting you chose the stretch right in front of my chair to set up.”
My jaw goes tight as I realize what she’s saying and, even more, that she’s not wrong. I could have picked nearly anywhere on the mile stretch of shoreline that is Seaside Point, but instead, I chose the stretch between 16 th and 17 th Avenue, knowing damn well that’s where Claire would be.
The more I deny my pull to her, the worse it seems my subconscious tugs me.
“I like this spot,” I say nonchalantly, looking to the water once more before shifting my gaze back to her.
She tips her head to the side, her long blonde ponytail falling to the side as she smiles, and I know damn well that means she can see right through me, whether or not I want her to.
“So you’re not ignoring me now?” Claire asks with a smile.
A light blush burns on my cheeks, but I hope it can be explained away as just the heat. “I never was,” I say, even though I definitely was.
Claire keeps telling me I’m into her, teasing and taunting and being an overall brat, but as much as I deny it, she’s not wrong. Something about Claire Donovan calls out to me, even if there’s no universe where she can be mine.
Not with her leaving after the summer and surely not when I need to keep my fucking head down and concentrate, take on as many odd jobs and surf lessons as I can in order to buy out Paul.
Especially with how Brad has been sniffing around lately.
“You’re a bad liar, Miles,” she says.
Even I can’t argue that fact, but I don’t have to when her name is called. She gives the lifeguard a nod over her shoulder and starts walking backward, her gaze still locked on mine.
I shake my head and smile at her as I lift my board and walk toward the water.
* * *
“What are you up to?” I call out two hours later as she stands at the edge of the water, watching me as I walk back onto the shore, surfboard in hand.
There weren’t too many waves, though every time I caught one, I could see Claire watching me, and I don't think it was because it was her job.
“I’m off for the rest of the day. I was just moving up the beach to make sure no one needed anything before I head out,” she says, putting her hands onto her full hips before tipping her chin to the water. “Saw you out there.”
“Nice to be able to surf without having to teach some kid or keeping an eye out for them.” It was also a reminder of how much I love being out on the water and how freeing it is to be out there with no responsibilities or worries.
“Yeah, I’m sure. I wish I could do it.”
I shouldn’t say it. Really, I shouldn’t, because the less time I spend with Claire, the better, especially if that time is spent while she’s in a small bathing suit and soaking wet.
But because I’m a moron, I say it.
“I could teach you.”
Her head moves back like that’s a shock to her. “Really?”
My desire for her to be happy beats out common sense, and I shrug. “I don’t see why not. It’s kind of my job, you know.”
“Yeah, but you hate spending time with me,” she says with a fake cringe.
I roll my eyes, and her smile goes wide. I realize she’s fucking with me, and my voice drops a bit. “I don’t, Claire, and you damn well know it.”
“Well, I’m glad. Now we just need to get you to admit you think I’m hot, and you haven’t been able to stop thinking about me since I moved in, and it’s driving you crazy that you can’t have me.” She winks at me and reaches out, brushing off some sand from my shoulder, and I don’t know what happens.
Blame the beating sun or exhaustion, or maybe that tumble I took out on the water.
No matter the reason, something in me snaps, and I reach out, gripping her wrist, wrapping my fingers around it, and pulling her in close. Instantly, her hand moves to my shoulder, holding herself steady, while mine moves to her waist, holding her to me.
My voice sounds low even to me when I say, “Never once have I denied you’re gorgeous or that I can’t stop thinking about you. But let’s be clear: you and I both know I could have you if I wanted.”
Her breath hitches at my confession, her mouth dropping open just a hair, her lips full, and I wonder what she would do if I leaned down, if I pressed my lips to hers. The look in her eyes shifts in a heartbeat, moving from awestruck to that snarky and teasing one.
She lets out a small laugh, and the sound of it, the way it vibrates through me, makes my fingers tense.
She is too fucking sweet, too fucking good-looking, and far too fucking tempting in this bikini.
What am I saying?
She’s tempting in a pair of pajamas or those little cut-off shorts or one of her workout sets or…or…or.
She’s just tempting, period.
“Could you now?” she whispers, her fingers wrapping around the back of my neck, and right then, I decide to throw common sense out the window and begin to lean my head down slowly.
What option do I have when I have this dream of a woman in my arms, when she’s smiling at me like that, when?—
Her eyes shift to somewhere behind me, and her face changes almost instantly.
“Fuck, please. Please hold this thought,” she says, eyes closing as she takes in a calming breath, and I furrow my brows in confusion. It grows when she steps away from me and then jogs in a direction behind us.
When I turn, I find eyes moving in her direction, a magnet to her at all times. She’s moving with a purpose toward a group of kids, four older kids, probably fifteen or sixteen, a few of whom I recognize from around town, and a smaller one, maybe twelve years old. They don’t realize Claire is moving their way, her shoulders back, her ponytail swaying behind her. When she’s still ten feet away or so, one puts a hand to the smaller kid's shoulder, pushing him.
Fuck .
I recognize the kid now, Jonah Davis. He’s smaller than most of the other kids, and I’ve always had a bit of a soft spot for him, considering I, too, was raised in this small town by a single mom and faced similar teasing because of it.
Quickly, I grab my things and tuck them beneath the lifeguard chair, out of the way, before moving in their direction.
“Hey, Jonah!” Claire says, none of the irritation I can see in her shoulders bleeding in her voice, as she starts jogging now, closing the gap and waving. Instantly, the older boys step away from Jonah, their eyes going wide.
I follow behind a bit slower, closing the gap but taking in what’s going on.
“Oh, uh, hey,” Jonah says.
“Hey, gorgeous,” the older of the kids says, with what I’m sure he thinks is a slick, playboy smile on his face as he gives her a head-to-toe look.
I catch Claire giving him a pitying smile, then shifting her attention back to Jonah.
“I’ve been looking for you all afternoon,” she says. The youngest boy’s eyes go humorously wide.
“You know him?” one of the other kids asks, and Claire looks at him like he’s crazy.
“Well, duh. He’s my favorite coworker. We work really closely together,” she says, putting an arm around his shoulders and pulling him in to her.
“Really? But he’s so—” The girl pauses, looking at Claire, who raises an eyebrow at her, visible beneath her sunglasses in a challenge.
“Cool,” Claire says, giving the girl a look. “He’s so cool, right?”
It’s effortless, the way Claire works with these kids. She’s young and cool enough to be on their level and admired but old enough to be respected. It’s a fine line not many can straddle, but Claire kills it. The girl looks absolutely crushed that her idol is so obviously disappointed with her, though I don’t think Claire will ever express that disappointment aloud.
“Hey, Claire, did he say yes?” I ask, walking up and putting a hand to her lower back. The warmth of her skin penetrates my palm, and when her head turns, a hint of shock melting into pleasure written there, I feel that warmth spreading through my chest.
I am so completely fucked.
“I haven’t asked yet,” she says with a curious smile.
“Jonah, Claire and I were about to get ice cream—do you want to come?” With my words, her body melts a bit, leaning into my side, and I hold her tighter.
So. Totally. Fucked.
“Ice cream?” he asks nervously. “Oh, uh, yeah. I have some money in my bag—” I shake my head, then tip my chin toward the boardwalk.
“No need, we’ve got you covered. Later, guys,” I say, giving a flip of my hand to the other kids, two of whom I recognize as kids I've given surf lessons to a few times over.
Fucking spoiled assholes .
The boys look from me to Claire, then to Jonah, something clicking before their shoulders fall a bit, but I barely pay attention as I lead Claire and Jonah to the boardwalk. The hand she slipped around my waist tightens in a quick thanks.
“Does this count?” I ask twenty minutes later, tipping my chin toward Claire’s half-eaten cone, and her brow furrows.
We’re on a bench on the boardwalk, eating the cones that we bought, Jonah finally taking a moment to stop talking. As soon as he got away from the kids, he started talking about anything and everything, clearly comfortable around Claire. I know for a fact her so clearly taking him under her wing the way she has will have a long-lasting impact on him.
Which is just another thing making me warm to her.
“What?” she asks, popping a finger into her mouth and sucking it off.
I was focused on them chatting and laughing together as we ordered and waited for our ice cream, but once it was served, all I could concentrate on was not being a fucking creep, watching Claire lick at her cone or her fingers when it melted quicker than she could eat.
A unique kind of torture.
“Get some ice cream. I think that’s your list, right?”
Her smile widens, and she looks from me to Jonah and shrugs.
“I’ll allow it.”
“His list?” Jonah asks.
Claire turns to him excitedly, always eager to share her experiment with anyone who will listen. “I made Miles a list of fun things to do this summer because he’s so boring.”
Jonah nods, looking older than his age suddenly. “Oh, totally. He’s super boring.”
I groan and look to the clear blue sky. “Jesus Christ, does the whole town think I’m boring?” I ask, and Jonah nods, then shrugs.
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“I think that was a rhetorical question,” Claire says in a stage whisper before they both laugh at my expense. And even though it’s simple, just ice cream on the boardwalk in the town I grew up in with Claire and a twelve-year-old kid, it’s the most fun afternoon I’ve had in years.