Chapter 20
TWENTY
Miles
With Chloe finally out of the house, I look at Jake and ask, “You ready to roll?”
He reaches behind him and pulls his shoes from under the couch, shoving his feet into them. For a kid, he did a damn good job, locking down the nervous jitters and acting cool.
“Yep. Let’s do this.” He bounces off the floor and struts to the door, Chloe’s keys in his hand.
“You driving?” I ask, pulling the door shut behind us.
Jake snorts, laughing way too hard over my comment. “No. Geebus , Miles.”
He makes a wild toss with the keys, and I have to jump to snag them.
“I don’t think your mom would be okay with that one either. Cursing doesn’t make you cool, man.” I click open the locks and slide the driver’s seat back as far as it’ll go before climbing in.
“Is that one of the rules?” The click of a seat belt sounds from the backseat.
“It is. Being a gentleman is important business. No matter what, those rules are ones to live by.” I back Chloe’s vehicle out, and in minutes, we’ve swapped it out for my truck. It’s times like these that I’m glad I have both. Not just because Chloe decided to be sweet and get Maggie detailed, but dirty work and moving things calls for a truck that’s not a classic with a pristine walnut bed.
“Didn’t you tell Mom it was too dangerous to go get this thing?” Jake asks, checking the lock on his door.
I chuckle and adjust my aviators. “I did.”
“But it’s okay for us to be here?” He looks around the slightly run-down neighborhood scrolling past us. “Because we’re men and she’s a girl?”
Tilting my head back and forth, I search for the right words. Talking to Chloe’s son, teaching him the things he needs to know to be a true gentleman, has become important to me. I don’t want to fuck it up. “We’re going to call it being chivalrous. Taking care of the people we love, being honorable and protective.” I turn down a street to the right and stop in front of a house halfway down the block.
“And that’s one of the rules, too?”
“Yep. You’re learning, kiddo,” I tell him. We hop out of the truck and approach the older gentleman standing in the shade of the open garage door. “Stick right with me. I’m going to need your muscles to help move this thing.”
I thrust my hand forward in greeting, Jake following suit. “This it?” I ask.
“It is,” the gentleman replies. “Good you brought help; it weighs more’n a bit. Had to have my son come by and bring it up here for you from the backyard.”
I reach into my pocket and pull out the bills for the price we settled on. I didn’t lowball the guy, but meeting him, seeing that he’s an older man in a neighborhood past its prime, I almost wish I had agreed to the full asking price. “You made this?”
He accepts the money I hand him, pocketing it right away. “I did. The wife wanted a place to sit in her garden to read. What the wife wants, the wife gets.” He chuckles, but there’s a sadness behind it. “Made this and a little table to match. She’d sit out there for hours, reading her love stories, with a glass of tea. Now, she’s in a home. Can’t use it, so I’m glad your missus’ll give it a good home.”
That right there is some old-school love and devotion. “You looking to unload that table, too?” I ask.
“They sure do look pretty together. You think your lady might like it?” He rubs a handkerchief across his brow and stuffs it back in his pocket.
“I think she’d love it.”
He names a price, and I hand him the cash without batting an eye. Jake and I get the bench and matching table loaded in the back of the truck and say our good-byes.
“That was really nice of you, buying that table, too,” Jake says, clicking his belt.
“I think your mom’ll like it, don’t you?”
“She’ll love it.” He shifts in his seat, looking at me and then looking back out the windshield. “Thanks, Miles. This is going to be the best Mother’s Day ever.”
I nod and tousle his hair. My throat clogs, not letting even the simplest response through. That thank-you, this errand, might mean more to me than it does to him. It’s nothing for me to help Jake get his mom something she wants for Mother’s Day but spending time with them like this is huge. Fucking huge.
We stop to pick up a planter and dirt and a tray of poppies I ordered to set in the garden.
Our errands done, I look to Jake and say, “How about we stop at the convenience store and get a drink and a snack?”
His face lights up, and he nods furiously. He’s such a good kid.
“All right then.” I swing into the same convenience store where we first ran into each other. Where Chloe literally fell into my arms. And thank God for that.
I’m not at all surprised when Jake grabs the biggest cup and fills it to the brim. I pay and with a hand to his back guide him out to the truck. We climb in, and as I roll the windows down to let the heat out, a kid in his late teens flies out the doors, a purse grasped in his hand—one that looks a hell of a lot like the one the lady behind us in line had.
Shouts for him to stop and calls for help kick me into motion.
I jump out and lock the doors behind me. “Stay here, Jake. Don’t leave the truck. I’ll be right back.”
I take off after the kid and see him just as he rounds the corner at the next block. Legs pounding, I eat up pavement between us, and it’s not long before the kid tires and slows. I push myself harder, closing the gap.
Sirens wail, the sound getting louder as the police approach. When the kid glances over his shoulder, he stumbles before gaining his footing, but that little stutter-step is all I need. I’m close enough to turn up my speed, wrap him up, and take him to the ground.
In full panic, he tosses the woman’s purse and tries to push me off. I’ve got easily six inches and fifty pounds on the kid. Training kicks in, and by the time the police car pulls up next to us, he’s given up the fight.
Running through the details takes time. It should be completely obvious by the fear on the kid’s face and the way he’s practically shitting his pants that he’s the one who grabbed the purse and ran, but the police have a procedure they have to follow. And then I have to get myself back to Jake. I jog it, impressed with just how far I chased the kid down.
The two police cars parked at the convenience store don’t surprise me in the least as I round the corner. But the cop standing next to my truck, talking to Jake and the woman whose purse was grabbed, kick my pace up a notch.
“There he is,” Jake yells, pointing toward me. “His code name is Superman.” He unlocks his door, triggering the alarm.
I dig my keys from my pocket and hit the button to silence it as quickly as I can.
Jake jumps out and meets me at the front of the truck, beaming with pride.
“You’re the one who took off after him?” the lady asks, stepping forward.
“I am,” I manage while catching my breath. “The officers took your bag to the station with the kid.” I look from her to the officer standing with her.
“Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would have done. It was just such a surprise. That boy came out of nowhere. He was just so fast,” she rambles. “I’d like to thank you properly, but my wallet, my cash?—”
“No, ma’am. Not necessary. I was happy to help and glad that it all turned out okay.”
She lunges forward and surprises me with a quick hug. “Thank you.”
The officer directs her to the police station to start the process of claiming her purse. “I’ll be there shortly to follow up,” he adds before turning to me. “Not every man would abandon his son to chase down a criminal. Could have ended differently if that kid had a gun on him or if people were waiting for him around the corner.” He rests his hands on his utility belt, his stance wide. There’s a definite hint of lecture or maybe judgment in his tone.
“Yes, Officer. It was a calculated risk, but I trust this guy to make good decisions.” I wrap my arm around Jake’s back and give his shoulder a squeeze, hoping that he doesn’t pick now to correct the cop, saying that I’m not his dad.
The cop nods, working his jaw back and forth. “Thanks, but maybe next time, just let us take care of things like this. You concentrate on taking care of your family, all right? Take care, buddy.” He pats Jake on the back and climbs into his vehicle.
Jake and I get in the truck and take off toward home. Ice rattles in his cup, the sound clearly indicating his beverage is gone.
“You drink all of that already?” I ask.
He squirms in his seat and furiously nods his head.
“You gonna make it home, or do I need to gun it?” I glance at him and give the accelerator a little extra gas, just in case.
“I’m good,” he answers. But the minute we pull into the driveway, Jake is out of the truck and running for the keypad on the garage door.
I unload the back of the truck, setting the table and planting crap to the side. The bench I hoist out and carry to the far back corner of the yard. I place it under the cherry tree Chloe insisted on and angle it so that, hopefully, at least a small portion of it will sit in the shade.
I turn my head at the sound of a small grunt to find Jake lugging the full bag of potting soil across the yard.
“Didn’t want to grab something a little lighter?” I ask.
“I can do it,” he says, heaving the bag to the ground, narrowly missing a mound of flowers Chloe planted last weekend. He lunges, catching the bag at the last second and flopping it in the other direction.
“Nice save. Let’s go haul the rest of the stuff and let Bronson out while we make this pretty for Mom.”
It doesn’t take all that long to move the side table back or plant the flowers in the pot. The lady at the garden store had me take a picture of what the finished product was supposed to look like, so when all is said and done, it looks slightly better than a hack job slapped together by an unsupervised bachelor and a kid.
“Hey, that looks kinda nice,” Jake says with authority, his hands propped on his hips. “We make a good team.”
“That we do.” I glance at my watch. Several hours have passed since Chloe left this morning. “Your mom should be home soon. Let’s go swap out cars real quick.”
I gather up the trash from our planting project and head around the front of the house to see Chloe stepping out of the driver’s side of Maggie, her huge tote bag hanging from her shoulder.
“Hey. That took some time. I didn’t realize she was that dirty.”
My gaze wanders over Chloe, noting that, while she looks fresh, her hair damp and face scrubbed clean of any makeup, the car she took for detailing doesn’t look any shinier than it did before she left. The muscle in my jaw pops as I work through how to ask where the hell she’s been all day. I pull my shoulders back and blow out a breath, preparing to ask, when Chloe sighs.
“Shit. I can’t do this.”
My heart stops, dread filling me. With my sunglasses in place, I have the advantage of cataloging her body language, picking apart each shift and movement to try and determine the depth of her deception.
“I don’t want to lie, but I can’t tell you everything. I didn’t get your truck detailed today. I thought I’d have time, but I didn’t. I’m sorry?—”
“No apologies. We’re not starting that shit up again. Where were you, Chloe?” I demand.
“Out,” she says, squaring herself in front of me. Whatever nerves she was toying with a minute ago are replaced with a confidence that I’d find sexy as shit if I wasn’t wondering what she had been doing and who she had been with that she needed to shower before coming home. “It’s a surprise, something special I wanted to do for you, but I can’t tell you about it yet. I need a couple weeks.”
“And you needed my truck for this?” I question, brows arched.
She pushes past me, heading for the house. “I did.”
I follow her through the garage and into the house. “Secrets don’t make friends,” I say.
Chloe stops and drops her bag to the floor. The clothes inside it shift to the side, giving me a glimpse of her fuck-hot bright red shoes, the white blouse, a neatly folded dark blue something that could very well be the skirt that perfectly molds to her ass—exactly the outfit I told her I’d jacked off to after dinner at Blake and Erin’s.
I can’t stop the smirk from spreading across my face. I don’t do anything to stop myself as I prowl across the room to her. I cup her face in my hands and kiss her hard and deep, swiping my tongue across the seam of her lips, demanding entrance. Devouring her. I hold her against me, reveling in the feel of her, in the way we’re connected. Her breasts smash against me, and our hips press into each other, my thigh wedged between her legs, tight against her core.
When Chloe is good and breathless, I murmur against her lips, “You’re fucking perfect.”