Miller
You know what was maddening? I should be thinking about getting the showroom into working condition or the drive to Greenville I had to make for a part. Then, there was working on specs with Simon and checking on the crew working past Edisto Island.
Work things should occupy my waking hours—but they didn’t because I was freaking stuck on Emma James. Stuck on last night and how I felt when I was with her. How she felt molded to my body and falling apart around my fingers and mouth.
This morning, we flitted around one another. She filled our coffee cups while I added creamer, both moving in this comfortable silence that felt too easy. It should have been strange and uncomfortable, but instead, it was this peaceful stillness. A stillness that consumed me, filling in the empty spaces of my soul.
This was precisely the type of bullshit I didn’t need. Pretty soon, one of Emma’s dates would leave her giddy with happiness, and I’d be thrown back over whatever line in the sand we’d drawn.
It felt like I’d taken a fall from a fifteen-foot ladder and was now seeing stars—seeing her.
How the fuck had that happened?
How was it that I could mark her firmly in the friends category one moment, and then, in the next, realize she’d snuck into the fallen-head-over-heels category? I’d just landed face-first into a pit of piranhas, snapping viciously at my body as I scrambled for the shore. This wasn’t real—couldn’t be real. I’d just gotten caught up in the mind-blowing, earth-shattering sex, and it had deadened whatever neurons rational thought required.
I stared at the sky, watching the early morning clouds pass by, all bright and spring blue, as a lone falcon caw filled the quiet space. I wasn’t looking at anything—I didn’t see anything except the incompleteness of a life I’d thought up until now was fulfilled.
No.Nope. Nada.
Great sex could make anyone a little loopy. My electrolytes were probably low because I’d come so hard. That would throw anyone off their game. I should down a couple of sports drinks and run a few miles until this nonsense passed. By now, Emma was probably scrolling through her apps, setting up a half-dozen dates with guys all better suited for her than me.
Executive guys who could take her to fancy dinners and pronounce French wine. Guys with vacation homes in Barbados and weekday golf games at the country club. Not chumps like me who raided their mother’s fridge on their lunch break. I was good for pizza on Friday night, a couple of orgasms, and a little pillow talk afterward.
Maybe I should focus on dating as well. Just because it wasn’t working for Emma didn’t mean I’d have awful luck. Maybe the guys in the area were all cheese balls, but the women were a hot commodity just itching to go on a date with a blue-collar guy. I had a lot to offer someone, right? Owning one-third of a business. Living with my brother. Thirty, with a handful of serious relationships under my belt, interspersed with bedpost notches and salty feelings. A borderline obsessive, fuck-all notion toward a girl I always thought would stay one of my best friends?
Shit.
I shook my head, locking the truck door and hightailing it past the potted plants on the stairwell.
“Mom? Hey, Mom,” I called, walking through the condo and into the kitchen. Her car was here, but she didn’t answer, meaning she’d be in the garden or sitting on the back porch with a book. I helped myself to a piece of banana bread on the counter and a glass of lemonade from the fridge before opening the sliding glass door to the back yard.
Jimmy Buffett sang about tropical drinks and cheeseburgers as I stepped onto the deck, spotting her wide-brim hat by the hedges that separated her yard from the neighbors’. I whistled, and she waved, dropping the giant garden shears as I met her in the middle of the yard, bending as she opened her arms for a hug. I wrapped my arm around her as she kissed my cheek, the scent of dirt and lemons seeping into my pores—home.
“Lemonade?” The ice clinked in the glass as I passed it to her before she took a drink and then passed it back, using one hand to wipe across her brow.
“Hello, my favorite.” She released me with a firm pat on my cheek, then turned and gestured to the far right of her yard, where the border was between her and Cam Winston’s condo. “What do you think? Ass or boobs?”
I sputtered, lemonade dribbling down my chin and almost squirting out of my nose. She quirked an eyebrow, rolling her eyes while still pointing to the yew and holly shrubbery that bordered the two yards. Her shears were propped against the holly bushes, the shape slowly forming into two distinct globes.
Ah. More erotic topiaries for the neighbor feud.
Brush cherries lined the steps from the porch to the yard, and I wouldn’t put it past her to somehow wedge two cherries into the center of the unfinished topiaries to form the perfect pair of tits. She used those cherries last season to fashion a thong bikini onto a scantily clad broadleaf evergreen shrub. I preferred it when she baked the cherries into streusels instead of using them to accentuate body parts, but to each his own.
The unfinished ass—or tits—loomed from across the yard, and I shrugged, wondering how old Cam Winston would take this new development. But then I looked at the dick-shaped dwarf trees on either side of the porch and the arborvitae pruned to resemble a women’s hips and pussy, realizing Mom might need to choose a different tactic to annoy him.
“Tits. Definitely. That’s exactly what this yard is missing. More tits.”
“Hmm,” she murmured, rubbing her chin as she looked around. “Not that I’m opposed to your suggestion, but I feel like this isn’t enough.”
“Enough like you’re ready to stop this prank war?”
“What? He’s the one who called the HOA when I repainted my mailbox.”
“Right, but didn’t you put duct tape on his tires?” I said, scratching my chin and finishing the lemonade.
“He cut the heads off of all of my sunflowers.”
“You put a live toad in his mailbox.”
“He replaced my hot pepper twinkle lights with big hairy penises!”
“Ah, yes, the origination of the erotic topiaries.”
“Don’t be smart with me,” she said, huffing with her hands on her hips.
I sighed, pulling her in for a hug and kissing her head. “I am not being smart. Now, are you looking to up the ante? Or plan a trip to the local nursery to buy out their supply of dwarf trees?”
“I knew calling you was the right decision.”
“That, and needing the lightbulb in the pantry replaced.”
“Yes. Yes. However, did I survive day-to-day without my four boys rushing to my rescue?” She swatted my arm and stared into Cam’s yard like divine inspiration would strike if she looked hard enough.
“I do have one suggestion, but you’d have to play the long game.”
“Tell me more,” she said, removing her hat and motioning for me to follow her onto the porch.
She sank into one of the blue Adirondack chairs, and I did the same, groaning as my left knee popped. That old lacrosse injury picked the worst time to twinge. I could run five miles in the rain without issue, then step the wrong way out of the shower and I’d almost buckle from the pain. It was like the second my body turned thirty, some ticking time bomb started bringing all these new aches and pains into the light.
“Have you had lunch? Emma and I went to Daphne’s for brunch, but I could fix you something. I made a ham and cheese quiche the other day.”
“What?” My brain latched on to Emma’s name, and I didn’t hear the rest of her sentence, taking a moment to replay the last fifteen seconds before I was reprimanded for not listening. “Oh no, that’s all right. I have to get back to the shop in a few to help Magnum in the showroom.”
“That’s right. Those color-changing picture frames are going to look amazing once they are displayed. Now, tell me this brilliant idea so I can give you a cinnamon roll and send you on the way.”
“Cinnamon rolls? That’s the magic word, Mom. So, here’s my idea.”
She raised an eyebrow and clapped her hands, rubbing them like some innocent version of an evil villain concocting a scheme.
“It would take a trip to the nursery, specifically looking for quick sprouting seeds. What’s the best thing to plant in fall?”
“Hm. Let’s see. Snapdragons, peas, carrots, green onions, maybe? I’d have to check the almanac to be sure.” She rubbed her cheek, smearing a speck of dirt as her eyes left mine and traveled back toward the large expanse of yard. “Sneezeweed or cone flowers.”
“Sure. Sure,” I said, knowing I needed to stay on task unless I was prepared to listen to her recite pages forty-two to eighty-seven of the most recent edition of Month to Month Gardening in the Carolinas.
“What we should do is sow the seeds in his back yard to spell out something vulgar. Or we could draw a body part.”
“I love that you’re saying ‘we,’ son.”
I rolled my eyes and chuckled, shaking my head. “Then we water the seedlings every night. Maybe add some potent fertilizer because we want to make sure whatever you choose blooms beautifully in his yard.”
She grinned as this bold, belly-shaking laugh, where she slapped her knee, and then clapped her hand, as the noise fell from her lips. I couldn’t help but follow suit, laughing so hard my sides ached, and my heartbeat quickened. Soon, we were bent over the chairs, guffawing like two middle schoolers talking about puberty.
“Oh, my biscuits and gravy. That is absolutely perfect. Now I just have to come up with a clever saying.”
“Or a picture,” I added, waggling my eyebrows like she couldn’t eviscerate me on the spot.
“I like the way you think.”
“I want to sign up for one of those online dating websites. I think. Maybe,” I said, wiping a hand across my brow and shrugging, purposely not meeting his eyes. It was rare my brothers and I got into the deep talking shit—we left those talks up to Mom—but something about these last days wasn’t sitting well with me, and feeling this fucking emotional sucked.
Nope. That wasn’t the right word. I didn’t get emotional. Passionate, sure, but not flighty over whatever this turmoil was. Indigestion, most likely.
“Haven’t we already had this discussion? In this exact room last week?” Magnum asked, dropping the carpet knife on the cement floor of the partially constructed showroom. He leaned against the wall, sighed, and closed his eyes. I eyed the half-completed area, fingers itching to tinker with a new light design, but finishing this room had to come before we could display anything created.
“Yeah, but unlike last week when I broached the question to get you to deal with the shit going on with Brooke, this time, I’m asking for your opinion.”
“Well, then,” he said, not opening his eyes, “I’d never considered online dating an option, honestly. Everybody knows somebody who had a shady meet-up. I try to keep my sex life uncomplicated.”
“Oh,” I said, reaching over and punching him in the shoulder. “Is that what you call fucking our receptionist in the supply closet and then having a coronary when she talked about another guy?”
He rolled his eyes and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We didn’t fuck in the closet.”
“Whatever, dude. But you’re in love or some shit now, so it all worked out.”
“Yep. Is that what this is about? Me not being at the house as often?”
“Oh, my god, stop. Your vagina is showing. I was just asking your opinion.”
“Sure. Okay. Don’t you have some ongoing thing with Emma? Are you finally giving in to Mom’s hints about the two of you? She is getting less subtle by the day.”
“What? No,” I answered, clunking my head against the wall. “I mean, yeah, Emma and I are…something, but…” My voice trailed off as I regretted beginning this conversation. I glanced at Simon, eating a green apple with his hips resting on the edge of Brooke’s desk. He gestured to her daily crossword puzzle, waving the hand with the apple wildly as they discussed something.
“But what? I’m just glad you’re not with Madison or that chick you brought to Mom’s party,” Magnum said as my eyes snapped away from the desk and back to him.
“Was that a question or a statement about my sex life?” I deadpanned, tossing a strip into the growing pile with his. I wasn’t expecting the third degree—he’d been in denial about his feelings for Brooke so long that I figured he’d jump on the chance to persuade me to date around. Looks like that bit me in the ass.
“Both,” he scoffed, crawling forward to the last stretch of carpet. I followed his lead, tossing the strips away as he ripped them from the floor. “It makes me wonder if Emma’s why you’re thinking about online dating.”
Shit. Double fuck.
“She’s the one doing a shit-ton of the online stuff. Just thought she might be on to something.” I shrugged, dropping to a knee to grab the last strip of carpet from the floor and toss it on the ever-growing pile. The gray fabric came apart easily, revealing cracked cement that would have to be sealed before we re-floored the area.
“Why are you so concerned with what she’s doing?”
“What? I’m not. Just tired of hearing her bitch about her dates.”
“So, your answer to that was to have your own string of bad online dates? Perhaps add a stalker for good measure?”
I groaned, the noise sounding like an eighty-year-old grandpa standing in church after an hour-long sermon. Magnum backhanded my shoulder then stood, shaking his head.
“Oh, I remember back in the day, before I knew what real love was, and I got bent out of shape about a girl.”
“You bit my head off two weeks ago about Brooke.”
He ignored me, cracking his knuckles and buffing them on his shirt. All while smirking like he carried the secret of life in his back pocket. “To be young—”
“You’re older than me.”
“And dumb—”
“I beat you in college algebra and social science, asshole.”
“And not know the sweet embrace of the opposite sex.”
“I’m going to junk punch you, Mag,” I said, balling my hand into a fist and jerking toward him. He backpedaled, throwing his hands over his jeans and crossing his legs.
“That won’t protect you. When you least expect it—expect it.”
“Har. Har. Well, just remember that payback’s a bitch.”
“Whatever,” I said, shooing my hand through the space between us.
His gaze dropped to the floor, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Does all this dating she’s doing bother you?”
I took a breath, running the toe of my boot over a small crack in the concrete. “I don’t know.”
“Perhaps you’re starting to see what the family has been talking about for ages.”
“The family?” I said, rubbing my chin in a poor imitation of Don Corleone.
“Yes. The family,” he answered, tugging his phone from his back pocket and thumbing through his text messages. “See?” He turned the phone’s face toward me for a split second, long enough to see a GIF of exploding hearts. “We even have a separate message thread.”
“Get the fuck out of here,” I said, grabbing for the phone. Magnum crossed his arms, gripping the phone like his life depended on it.
“Oh. I’m sorry. Let me clue you in to some of the finer points of the conversation. Let’s start with the stalker-like way your eyes follow hers whenever she’s at the house or how you always rearrange place settings at Mom’s, so she sits beside you. I know,” he snapped, putting one hand on his hip and rubbing his cheek with the other. “How about the way you sniff the god damned air when she walks by?”
I stared at him, dumbfounded and stupid. How did my family have a message thread about this? Why had no one said anything? Why hadn’t I realized?
My heartbeat raced, and I tugged on the collar of my polo, unbuttoning the top button and swallowing. My mouth felt like sandpaper, and my jaw hung open, attempting to process his words. I gaped at him, scrunching my brows as he rolled his eyes and slapped me on the shoulder. The brief sting jumpstarted my brain. I was glad when he opened his mouth and praying he’d change the subject.
“So, yeah. Whatever friends-with-benefits friendship you two have going on is old news. Is it like a big brother protective instinct thing? Why you can’t keep your eyes off of her?”
“Maybe.”
“Do you want things to be different?”
“I want her to stop going out with everyone who messages her in that damn app. I want her to open her damn eyes. I want—” My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as I struggled, finally sucking in a breath and letting out one word. “Everything.”
Magnum’s mouth twitched like he was holding back a grin, but he quickly washed it away as he dragged his arm over his forehead. “Why, Miller. I do believe you’re a closet romantic.”
I didn’t respond besides attempting to return his smile, but that expression felt too tight and constricted. Magnum stared at me for several painful seconds. “What do you plan on doing about this new revelation?”
I sighed. The most important thing between us was friendship, and I wasn’t going to put my foot in my mouth and ruin it over misplaced jealousy. “I plan to continue things just as they are, and if she ever becomes interested in more, she’ll let me know.”
Magnum huffed and put his hands on his hips, rolling his eyes before barking out a harsh laugh. “And what if it takes her the better part of a decade and a hundred shitty dates before she comes around? Or what if she never comes around?”
I didn’t like that—I didn’t like thinking about her wading through asshole after asshole because she thought it was the only way to find a decent guy. No. That wasn’t it—or that wasn’t the only thing.What really had my boxers in a bunch was that I wasn’t a blip on her radar. Not even a sparkle in those pretty green eyes. She would rather embrace her current situation than acknowledge I was an option.
Maybe she didn’t think I was an option.
Maybe the thought of dating me was laughable.
“Then nothing changes.” I shrugged and kicked the mountain of carpet piled on the floor. “I’m not in a rush. I’m content to wait.” I shrugged like my insides weren’t twisted like a pretzel and kept my eyes focused on a spot behind his left ear.
“If you two are done braiding each other’s hair and gossiping, I have a blueprint I need a second opinion on,” Simon said, leaning against the doorframe and adjusting the cufflink on his left wrist.
“We were not gossiping,” Magnum said.
“Yeah. Listen here, you albino peacock—”
“Blah. Blah. Blah,” he said, cutting me off while adjusting the opposite cufflink. “I’m pasty with better hair and sense of style than anyone else in this office. Get some new insults, boys. Now, come on. This is going to be a big project.”
Magnum slapped me on the shoulder and shook his head as we followed Simon into his office, glad for the distraction—because his words hit a little too close to home, and I wasn’t ready to admit he might be right.