Chapter 9
MILLER
Gabrielle.
Why is Rookie McGee in your kitchen?
ME
Why did you call me Gabrielle?
Wait, how do you know who is in my kitchen?
“Honey, I’m home,” Miller shouts from downstairs.
Fuck.
I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling and recalling the events of last night. Talking to Chase at the bar. Him showing up drunk on my doorstep after midnight.
I still need to know how he got my address.
Him demanding to know if Miller was here. If Miller and I were together. Me leaving him to sleep on the couch despite a perfectly good guest room upstairs. The last part makes me smile because it’s petty, but I love it.
The distant murmurs of voices remind me Miller is in the kitchen with Chase right now.
I guess I can’t avoid the conversation forever.
Sitting up, I stretch my arms over my head and debate my next move.
I’m wearing my favorite silk camisole sleep set.
Definitely not going downstairs in this.
Deciding the boys can wait, I crank the shower on high and step into the billowing steam.
Twenty minutes later, I’m freshly showered and ready for the day in my favorite pair of jeans and a nice shirt. Did I do my hair and makeup? Yes. Was it for armor or because Chase is downstairs? I haven’t decided.
“There she is,” Miller says when I reach the bottom of the stairs.
“What’s going on in here?” Chase sits on a barstool at the island, sipping orange juice while Miller leans against the sink on the other side with his arms crossed.
“We’re just having a little chat. Rook was surprised when I let myself in this morning.” Miller fills a glass with water and passes it to me when I join them in the kitchen. Chase’s eyes bounce back and forth between us. “I was just as surprised to find him asleep on your couch.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “Where are your parents?”
Miller doesn’t see his parents as often as he would like, so I’m surprised to see him here mid-morning instead of spending time with them.
“We went to an early breakfast and then they left for Seaside Pines,” Miller says, wrapping me in a hug.
I’m keenly aware of Chase’s glare as Miller tightens his arms. “You know they like to go there after the event.” His family vacationed in the small coastal North Carolina town of Seaside Pines every summer.
Even after his sister passed, they kept going, sometimes even in the offseason.
Ignoring Chase, I burrow deeper into Miller’s hug. “A beach vacation sounds nice.” There’s something about a brotherly hug that settles a girl.
“We can go anytime you want, Gabbina.”
Chase clears his throat and accuses. “So, you two are together?”
“Why do you care?” Miller looks over at him, releasing me.
“Just answer the question. You seem awful chummy for two people who are supposed to be friends.” He’s fuming.
“Why. Do. You. Care?” Stepping to the counter, Miller places his fist down on the top and stares Chase down. Hello, protective big brother. But Chase doesn’t take it that way.
“Were you together on the island?” Chase pushes harder.
“Are you implying I slept with you after my boyfriend left the bar? Or worse, that my boyfriend left me at the bar with a strange man I was clearly flirting with?” The audacity on this man.
“Yeah, I’m going to stop you right there, Rook.” Miller raises his palms, likely knowing I’m about to make a big deal of his attitude. “Gabby is my girl. But she’s not my girl. You catch my drift?”
“So, you’re not together?” Chase’s suspicious eyes bounce between us.
“Nope.” Miller shakes his head.
“You’ve never slept together? Nothing romantic between you at all?” Chase asks again. I don’t know if it’s surprise, disbelief, or stupidity, but I’ve had enough.
“No, Jesus. Miller and I are friends. That’s it. Why is that so hard for you to believe? Can we be done with this fucking conversation?” I toss my hands in the air and spin back to the refrigerator for something to eat, already knowing I won’t find anything.
“I find it hard to believe any man could just be friends with you.” The gravel in Chase’s voice has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. “Don’t think I can.”
“On that note, I’m out of here.” Miller sounds amused and I don’t like it.
“What? No,” I protest, abandoning my search for breakfast.
Miller crowds me against the counter and whispers in my ear, “You’ve clearly got things you need to take care of.” He kisses me on the head, then tips his head at Chase.
“Bennett, disrespect her and I’ll disrespect your face.” Chase doesn’t take his eyes off me as Miller heads for the door.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” is the last thing I hear from Miller before he leaves me alone with Chase. The two of us and enough sexual energy to set the house on fire.
After a few seconds, minutes, hours, who knows how long, the silence is broken by us talking over each other.
“Why are you still here?” I’m not in the mood for more of his testosterone-fueled questioning.
“I thought maybe we could talk.” At least he has the decency to sound remorseful for his accusations.
“There’s nothing to talk about other than how you got my address.” I quirk my eyebrow giving him a hard stare.
He ignores me, standing from the barstool and circling the island before I have a chance to respond. “Can I make you breakfast?”
Invading my space, he opens the refrigerator door. The fact that he still smells good despite showing up last night drunk and sleeping on my couch makes me irrationally annoyed.
“I only eat yogurt for breakfast.” The thought of him cooking for me is thrilling. No one has ever cooked me breakfast. Sure, the guys cook when we’re together, but to them I’m a member of the family. I’m not sure what I am to Chase. An ex-hookup?
“Let me make it up to you for showing up in the middle of the night, and for the showdown with Miller.”
“Make it up to me by staying in my house uninvited even longer?” I’m reaching but running out of excuses. The fact that I want him to stay is proof enough that he shouldn’t.
“Bree, please can I cook you breakfast?”
My breath hitches at hearing him call me Bree again. It’s the first time since I told him Bree was a fantasy in my office. I want to ask why he still uses the nickname I gave him, but instead I sigh and reach for a mug to pour myself a cup of coffee. I need caffeine if we’re going to talk this out.
Once the mug is full, I use it as a shield and respond, “I don’t have anything for you to cook breakfast with.”
“Would you be okay if we ordered something for delivery? Whatever you want.” He’s all but pleading now, and I don’t hate the grovel.
Taking my first sip of coffee, I release the tension in my shoulders and lean into the warmth of the mug in my hands and the perfection of its caramel taste on my tongue. “Anything I want?”
“Anything,” he smiles and unlocks his phone as if readying himself to take my order.
“There’s a good bagel place nearby. I’d like a cinnamon sugar bagel, blueberry muffin, and Nutella cream cheese.” I smile over the edge of my mug at the satisfaction in his expression reflected at me.
“Does this bagel place have a name?” he flirts, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
The intimacy of this moment is too much to bear.
We need boundaries. Clearing my throat, I tell him the name of the restaurant then back away and make myself comfortable on the couch in the living room while he orders.
“The food will be here in about forty-five minutes.” I knew it would take time for our food to be delivered, so hopefully we can have this chat before it arrives, and if it goes terribly, maybe he can hitch a ride home with the delivery driver.
“You can have some coffee while we wait if you want.”
“I don’t drink coffee. I think I need water more than the caffeine this morning anyway.” He sits on the opposite side of the couch. The blankets are put away and the cushions and pillows are straightened. It’s as if no one slept here last night.
“How are you feeling this morning?” For the first time today, I really look at Chase.
He’s still wearing his suit pants from last night, but lost his button-down shirt, tie, and jacket somewhere.
A cursory glance around the room tells me they are folded on a chair in the kitchen.
His white undershirt clings to his biceps, highlighting the sleeves of tattoos on his arms. Flashes of those arms framing my head in a darkened room flit through my mind before I can stop the memory.
“Dehydrated, but okay. Haven’t been whiskey drunk in a while.
” He grimaces and runs his fingers through his hair.
Bedhead looks cute on him. His light brown hair is sexily mussed like he tried to tamp it down with water from the bathroom sink but lost the battle with some strands.
His eyes are tired and a bit red. His jawline is as sharp as I remember from our first meeting but with a five o’clock shadow I’ve never noticed on him before.
I curiously wonder how often he shaves to keep his face clean and fresh.
His skincare routine is also something I’d like to know because even the morning after drinking, his skin is almost perfect.
“The food will help.” I remember the days of drinking too much and needing to carb or grease load the day after to feel human again.
Just another reminder of how much younger he is than me.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had a night like that.
Well, not that long I suppose. A tequila-induced one-night stand also left me in the same predicament.
“Thanks for leaving out the ibuprofen. That was nice.” The ten-year age difference suddenly feels monumental as I consider the maturity scale.
I went to the gala last night with Miller and came home immediately after to change into my pajamas and wind down in peace and quiet.
Chase immediately went to a bar and got wasted before showing up on a woman’s doorstep.
We’re in wildly different stages of our life.
Not that I’m considering a life with him.
“How did you sleep?” Why is this so awkward? I talk to men all the freaking time every single day. Because none of those men have stripped you naked and feasted like it’s their last meal. That rogue train of thought catches me off guard again.
“Surprisingly well. This thing is pretty comfortable.” His forearms flex as he runs his hands over his thighs before he pats the seat beside him.
“It’s one of my best purchases. I’ve fallen asleep down here many times.”
“Bree.” Looking over, I watch in real time as he turns serious, clearing his throat and squaring his shoulders. “Gabrielle—” he corrects himself and I’m surprised I hate hearing my full name from his lips—" I’m really sorry for showing up how I did last night.”
“Why did you?” The urge to find out has me interrupting and blurting out the burning question. He could’ve gone anywhere, but why of all places did he come here?
He swipes a hand down his face, then rubs the back of his neck as he looks down at the rug. Is he embarrassed?
“Did you think we would hookup?” Jumping to conclusions never got me anywhere, but here I go again.
“No,” he responds quickly. “Maybe.” A sigh. “I don’t know.”
How am I supposed to respond to that? I should shut him down.
There won’t be any repeats of what happened in St. John.
It’s against the rules and it’s a bad look, for me especially.
But instead, I stay silent and wait for him to say more.
This time the silence doesn’t feel awkward.
It feels heavy. Like he’s going to say something I may not like to hear.
Something I’ll equally have no idea how to handle.
I’m out of my depth with this man, and that may be the most concerning revelation of all during this conversation.
“I was jealous.”
“Come again?” His confession was so quiet I couldn’t have heard him correctly. Jealous?
“Seeing you with Miller at the gala. The way you were with each other. How his family knew you. It felt too intimate. Too real.”
“What are you saying?”
“You’re not my girl, Bree, but seeing you with another man, even if that man says you’re just friends?
It had me seeing red. All night I watched you, and every time you leaned into him, he touched you.
When you embraced, it was a burning hot dagger to my skin.
I couldn’t bear to watch it. So, I drank, and then when the tribute started and you leaned into each other, I couldn’t stand it anymore and I left, went to a bar, drank some more, and wondered if he was here.
I showed up because of it. Didn’t want to go home without knowing if he was the one in your bed. ”
“Why would that matter? I don’t understand.” I pride myself on not being dense, but in this moment, the words are not computing in my head.
“I couldn’t bear to watch it…” The intensity of his eye contact makes me squirm.
It’s been a long time since someone has given me their full attention and focus like this.
It’s unnerving and exhilarating at the same time.
“Because I wanted it to be me. Touching you. Talking to you. Taking you home. It pissed me off that it wasn’t me. ”
My mouth parts. Dumbstruck. Speechless. I blink in rapid succession and open my mouth to speak, but no words come.
Thankfully, I’m saved from responding when the doorbell rings.