Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Chloe
There’s a code. Elite service members do things, run missions, that keep the world safe, but there’s no way in hell the general population needs to know what’s going on. Details are a privilege, not a right and certainly not an expectation. Whatever was going to pull Miles away to the other side of the country is obviously not something that I need to know about.
I understand the demands of Special Forces. SEALs. And by extension, even Fire Born Security.
Jake barrels down the beach to where I sit with Miles’s arm tucked behind my back, the boy he was throwing ball with abandoned.
“Who was that? Did you make a new friend?”
Obviously, my questions are far too immature for the worldly tween because his eye roll could win awards. Or strain a muscle—whatever.
“Fine. Good job tossing the ball. Nice moves,” I add, changing directions. My body shakes as Miles jostles me with his rumbling laughter.
The insolent child graces us with a huff of a reply, “That was Ben. He’s in my class, Mom. Globrammit .”
“Nope. Not okay, friend. I don’t care how you substitute it. That’s still goddammit, and that’s just not cool. Try again. Or don’t,” I add sternly.
Jake kicks at the sand, spraying us. Balling my hands into fists, I give Jake the mom look. I’ve about had it with the hot-and-cold attitude from him, and while I have never been one to wish life away, not even during back-to-back deployments, I can’t wait until puberty is in the rearview mirror of life. This is why I teach high school and not middle school.
“I know you have better manners than that,” Miles says casually.
Jake blinks, looking from Miles, to me, and back again. I can practically see the wheels turning as he processes just how much trouble he’s going to get in.
“Rules of being a gentleman, Jake. I know you know it,” Miles prompts.
“Always treat women with respect,” Jake replies, his shoulders slumping as he uncomfortably shifts his weight.
“Right.” Miles puts his hands out, indicating that he wants the rugby ball. “And were you showing your mother respect just now?”
“No, sir.”
I don’t know whether to be pissed or impressed, but somewhere along the way, a strong bond has developed between my son and this man. A relationship that was desperately needed. I never sat Jake down and talked to him about dating, about including Miles into our lives. It just happened. Seamlessly. Naturally. And Jake hasn’t pushed back against it at all. It’s almost like it was meant to be.
“What are the rules of being a gentleman?” I cock an eyebrow and pull Bronson in to scratch his ears.
Jake stares at where his toes dig into the sand, making deep grooves along the edge of the blanket.
“Wild man?” Miles prompts. “Why don’t you get started?” He pats the big white leather ball with his left palm and gently tosses it across me to Jake.
Jake drops the ball to the ground, and recites a handful of life rules, ticking them off on his fingers as he does. I’m amazed. Totally impressed with the things on that list that Miles obviously thinks are important enough to instill in the kids he coaches.
“And the most important one?”
Jake makes a big show of sucking in a huge lungful of air and blowing it out through his nose. His sweet little mouth is pursed, and his brows are pulled low over the chocolate-brown eyes he got from his father. “Always mind your manners, and above all else, be a gentleman,” he says.
A broad smile stretches across Miles’s face, pride evident. “Nicely done.”
He holds his hand out for Jake to toss the ball back to him. And when Jake holds off, tossing the ball between his hands, Miles hops to his feet with a growl, sending Jake running as fast as his little legs can take him. The sand makes it a challenge, so it takes nothing for Miles to be within reach.
Miles taps at the ball, zigzagging around Jake, chasing him, and playing. Playing . Of all things, who would think that such a simple thing as a boy playing ball, laughing wholeheartedly, would be such an amazing sight to behold?
I gather our trash and carefully fold the blanket, shaking out the sand. And then I just stand. The sun-warmed sand shifting beneath my feet as the cool evening breeze swirls my hair around my head in an unruly black cloud. Peace wraps me up, not just from seeing the carefree way my kiddo is laughing and playing and thoroughly enjoying life, but also from seeing that reflected in Miles as well.
“Come on, Bronson,” I call, throwing the blanket over one arm and grabbing the bag of trash in the other.
Miles and Jake trot toward me, the rugby ball flying back and forth between them as they run.
“Mom, can Miles and I go get ice cream?” Sweat plasters sandy-brown curls to Jake’s temple.
“Just you and Miles? I don’t get any?” I huff out a laugh.
“You don’t even like ice cream,” Jake says, his lip popping up in a sneer.
Concern, maybe confusion, clouds Miles’s face. He props his hands low on his hips and looks at me like I’m insane. It’s not the first time I’ve gotten that look over this. “You don’t like ice cream? Is that a thing?”
“She’s weird, right?”
I toss the trash into a nearby can and click the locks open on my car. Miles reaches forward to open the back hatch, tapping the bumper for Bronson to hop in. He takes the blanket from me, giving it a final shake before tucking it in the back.
“I don’t know about weird. But she’s definitely one of a kind.”
Electricity skitters up my spine as Miles’s hand gently guides me to the driver’s side. He opens the door for me, holding it until I’m settled.
“A single scoop, I promise. Then, I’ll drop him home and head out.”
“You can hang with us for a bit if you want. Maybe make a beer float. Watch a movie or something?”
“You don’t mind?”
A laugh bubbles up, escaping through my nose. “No. I would love to watch another movie with you.” I wink, giddy at the huge smile that lights up his eyes.
With a quick nod, Miles closes my car door and calls to Jake, “That’s how it’s done, my friend. It’s never the wrong thing to do?—”
“To open a door for a lady,” Jake finishes. “I know . Can we just go now?”
I roll down my windows and yell, “See you at home,” as I take off out of the parking lot.
“What’s your secret?” I ask Miles as he pulls my feet onto his lap.
He chuckles as a moan settles deep in my chest. His thumb pushes into the arch of my foot, a warm palm wrapped around my calf. It’s intimate but so comfortable, like we’ve been doing this forever.
“I dazzle you with my good looks, manly muscles, and sparkling personality,” he replies. “If it all goes to plan, I get to carry you upstairs again tonight and fall asleep to the sound of you snoring.”
I dig my toes into his side, hitting a tickle spot on the first try, making Miles jump. His hand wraps around my ankle, and my ass slides across the cushion as he pulls me toward him. There is something so amazingly sexy about the way he moves me. On more than one occasion, Miles has used a minimal amount of effort to manipulate my body, putting me where he wants me. Not in a forceful way, always gentle. Always with respect. And always to my benefit.
“That goes without saying.”
“It does?” he asks, his hands roaming up my leg, kneading the taut muscles in my calves.
I dig my other foot into his side, and when he shifts away laughing, he captures it, tucking it into his hip, secured with his elbow.
“Mostly. First, I don’t snore,” I say adamantly.
“You say that…”
“Two”—I draw the word out, getting us back on track—“I was actually talking about Jake. How do you so seamlessly correct that attitude and at the same time command respect?” I scoot down further on the couch and free my trapped foot, resting it on his thigh. “Do you have a bunch of nephews? Secret kiddos of your own hidden in every port?”
Miles’s hands still briefly in their massage before he clears his throat and tilts his head to the side, cracking his neck. “I have four nieces. My younger sister,” he adds when he sees my questioning look. “She married her high school sweetheart and lives near my parents’ farm.”
“How old are they?”
“The oldest is six, the twins are four, and the youngest just turned one.”
My eyes widen. “Twins. Really? Jack and Kate’s oldest are twin boys. I can’t imagine.”
Finally, the stress I saw twist his lips stretches into happiness. “They’re Irish twins actually, eleven months apart, but they look a lot alike. All the girls do.” And there’s that sadness back again.
“You miss them?” I guess.
“I do.” He goes back to rubbing my foot, digging his thumbs in, working my tension away as he battles his own. “I get back to Iowa to see them when I can.”
“Does your family ever come to visit you? Oh, have they ever seen the ocean?”
I so take it for granted that everyone has experienced the power of the ocean, perfectly balanced with the calm serenity of it. Growing up in the Midwest, it’s a distinct possibility that they haven’t.
After a pause, Miles blows out a deep breath, almost forcing the tension to leave his shoulders. “They all came to California a couple of years ago, so everyone but the baby has. The middle two probably don’t remember any of the trip.” A shrug hitches at his shoulder, his movement stiff and uncomfortable.
I pull my foot from his hands, sit up, and push the coffee table away from the couch. “Come here.” I pat the floor in front of me.
A laugh chuffs from Miles, a little reserved. “Why do I need to sit on the floor?” He folds his big body onto the floor and leans his back against the couch.
“Take off your shirt,” I tell him, swinging my legs so they rest one on either side of him. And, Lord, when he does, muscles flex and ripple in a mouthwatering display.
He hums as I drag my nails through his thick, dark hair and down the back of his head.
He groans as I grab hold of his trapezius, and he rolls his shoulders back as I dig my thumbs into the tight muscles.
I knead and dig, pinch and push until, finally, Miles melts, relaxing into my thighs.
“What are you doing to me?” he mumbles, low and husky.
“Returning the favor,” I say. I lean forward and graze the curve of his ear with my lips. Nipping at the lobe. Kissing his neck just behind it. “You’re always rubbing my feet, my legs—taking care of me. I want to do the same for you.”
His groan as I kiss my way down the strong column of his neck, across the top of his back, spurs me on.
There is nothing more powerful than the feeling of making the person you care about feel good. And this thing with Miles has turned into more—much more—than me just caring about him. I can see him as part of us, part of our family.