9. It was Nothing
9
Roxy
Miles: How do you feel about roller coasters?
Me: Good morning to you, too. I love them. Why?
Miles: Good morning. I’m bored, and I’ve been dying to check out the amusement park in Branston.
Me: Don’t you have a job? You should be practicing for the championship game, shouldn’t you? Knocking people over and shit like that?
Miles: Ha, ha. Hilarious. I do a lot more than knock people down, and you know it.
Miles: Coach gave the defense the day off so the offense can watch film and do some walk-throughs. So, none of my other friends can go play with me today.
Miles: Please?
Miles: Pretty please with sugar on top? *ice cream sundae emoji*
Me: Ugh. You’re so annoying when you beg.
Miles: Is that a yes? *begging emoji*
Me: Fine. But you’re buying me cotton candy and a souvenir coffee mug.
Miles: Deal. Pick you up in a half-hour?
I text him the address to my apartment, then push myself up off the couch and rush into my bedroom. I played it off as cool with Miles, but I’m actually really excited. I used to go to River Springs Amusement Park all the time with the girls when we were younger, but life got in the way, and we haven’t been in ages. Plus, Miles is a lot of fun, so I know I’ll have a good time.
I’m still in my pajamas, but thankfully, I showered last night. Walking into the bathroom, I brush my hair up into a messy bun. I consider putting on makeup, but opt for a thin coat of moisturizer with sunscreen instead.
I don’t need makeup. This isn’t a date. It’s two friends spending a day together at an amusement park. Nothing more.
I head toward my closet and pull out a pair of black leggings, a long-sleeve thermal, and a hoodie. It’s the beginning of February, and though we have mild winters here, there’s a chill in the air despite the bright sunshine.
Stripping out of my fuzzy P.J.’s, I dress quickly, then head back into the bathroom for deodorant and a spritz of perfume. I brush my teeth even though I already did it this morning, then head back to my closet to find my small backpack purse. Grabbing it from the shelf, I shove my phone, a bottle of sunscreen, and a tube of lip balm inside.
I swing it onto my back and head into the kitchen. I shove my keys into the kangaroo pocket of my hoodie then grab two bottles of water from the fridge. As soon as I swing the refrigerator door closed, there’s a knock on my door.
I take a deep breath and release it slowly before forcing myself to take slow steps toward the door. Inhaling deeply once more, I swing it open. My breath catches in my chest at the sight of Miles, looking as handsome as ever in a pair of gray sweatpants and a black hoodie with a backwards cap on his head.
Trace Harrison wishes he looked this good in casual clothes.
I shake off the thought and greet Miles with a smile. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself,” he says, his eyes heating as they scan me from top to bottom and back up again. “You ready to go?”
“I am,” I say, stepping outside and turning to lock the door.
I am not inviting him in. I may have been the one to relegate our relationship to simple friendship, but I am only human. And I know what’s barely hidden beneath those gray sweats.
Miles’ hand settles on the small of my back as we head for his Jeep. He opens the door and gives me a hand up, shutting the door behind me as I settle into my seat and fasten my seatbelt.
He jogs around and hops into the driver’s seat, cranking the engine before pulling on his own seatbelt. He checks his mirrors before backing out of the spot, then guides the vehicle onto the road that leads to Branston.
“I love your Jeep,” I say as we bounce over a pothole in the road.
Miles rubs a loving hand over the dashboard. “Dahlia is my baby.”
“Dahlia?”
“That’s her name,” he says with a warm smile.
“Because she’s black,” I say with a nod. “Is she going to kill me?”
Miles laughs. “Dahlia, the flower, not the murderer.”
“I’ve always wanted one of these,” I say, my voice turning wistful. “Top and doors off, sun shining down and the wind blowing through my hair…nothing could be better.”
“I’ll take you trail riding this summer,” he says without pause. “We’ll go every weekend, if you want.”
“Really?” I ask, my lips parting into a wide smile.
“Really,” he says firmly. “It’ll be fun.”
I stare at his profile for a moment as he drives, then turn and settle back into my seat to watch the scenery fly by. Forty minutes later, we’re pulling into the parking lot of the amusement park. Miles’ movements are chaotic with excitement as he hops down from the Jeep and runs around to open my door for me. I take his offered hand and jump down, and he shuts the door and presses the button on his key fob to lock up before grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the entrance.
His exuberance is addictive, and my laughter trails behind me as we run like children toward the ticket booth. Miles buys our tickets, front-of-the-line passes, refillable souvenir cups, and pins with the River Springs logo on them.
He doesn’t bat an eye as he hands over his credit card to pay the three-hundred-dollar fee, then takes our bag of goodies and tickets in one hand before slipping the other one into mine and pulling me toward the entrance. I laugh at his child-like exuberance, ignoring the way my heart fluttered when his palm slid against mine.
It was nothing. An anomaly.
Miles darts from one ride to the next, screaming like a ten-year-old on the roller coasters and grinning like a fool on the smaller attractions. After a couple of hours, we take a break, filling our souvenir cups with sugary soda as we stroll through the boardwalk area where all the carnival games are located. He stops to buy me a large blue and pink cotton candy––as promised––and as I bite into it, he pauses in front of a football toss game.
“Oh, I got this. That giant white teddy bear is mine,” he says, his voice deepening with confidence.
He pays the woman for three shots, and she tells him if he makes one, he’ll win a small bear, and if he makes two, he’ll win his choice of the large bears. The whole time she speaks, her eyes drift over his body, and an ugly feeling swirls in my gut that has nothing to do with the amount of sugar I’ve consumed in the last ten minutes.
I push the feeling away and force a grin as Miles readies himself for his first throw. He’s my friend. I shouldn’t have any feelings about some random woman checking him out.
Miles rears back and lets the ball fly. It hits the wall about two inches from the hole he was supposed to toss it through. Laughter bubbles up my throat, and he shoots me a frown.
“I’m a defensive player, not a quarterback,” he grumbles, then refocuses on the game.
He throws his next ball, and it sails right through the hole. The game attendant rings a bell, and Miles pumps his fist into the air with a shout. He visibly settles himself and throws the last ball, which, once again, sails through the whole.
“We have a winner!” the woman shouts through her microphone.
Miles whoops and pulls me into a bear hug, smashing what’s left of my cotton candy between us. When he pulls back, he dips his head and takes a big bite. He meets my gaze as he chews behind his closed-lip smile, then his tongue darts out to lick away the leftover sugar.
My heart flutters again, and I give myself a mental lashing. I’m not supposed to be turned on by Miles. At all.
Fuck, this is going to be harder than I thought.
He lets me go and turns to the attendant before pointing out the large white bear he had his eye on. She hands it to him with a flirtatious smile, but Miles doesn’t notice as he hugs the bear to his chest and turns back to me.
“He is mine, and his name shall be Herman,” he says.
“Herman?” I scoff. “That’s a terrible name for a bear.”
“Don’t listen to her, Herman,” he coos into the bear’s ear before pinning me with a dark look. “Win your own bear, and you can name it whatever you want.”
The false anger in his expression slips, and the mischievous twinkle in his eyes nearly does me in. Miles Blake is a loveable goofball wrapped up in a hotter than sin package.
And my resolve to keep him locked in the friend zone slips a little more with each minute that passes.
Shit.