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R OWAN

Something shifted with Miles while we were on the mountain, but I’m not sure what it was. He’s always been flirty with me. Maybe not as dirty as he is—or was—with Kendall, but flirty, nonetheless.

We’re quiet as he drives down Route One, which is unusual. He’s always chatty, joking, the life of the party.

While I’m not a wallflower, I’m definitely no life of the party. Maybe that’s the reason for this uncomfortable silence. He’s used up all his quota of making conversation with the nice girl who isn’t like the thin models with surgically enhanced boobs who usually hang off him everywhere he goes.

Not that I have anything against reconstructive surgery. If it makes a woman—or a man—feel better about themselves, then I’m all for it.

Still, being nothing more than a friend shouldn’t bother me. That’s what I’ve thought of Miles for the two years I’ve known him.

A friend. A hilarious, fun, flirty friend.

More recently, a hilarious, fun, flirty friend whose face pops into my head at the most inconvenient times. Like when I’m trying to get off by myself or while sexting Adam.

I squirm in the front seat and tuck my hands under my thighs.

“You cold? I can turn on the seat warmers.” Miles reaches for the button to heat my seat, but I wave his hand away.

I’m already burning on the inside, no need to exasperate it by lighting my ass on fire.

“I’m good.”

“Mind if we hit up a couple outlets in Kittery before we eat?”

“Was taking me on a hike a ploy to get me to help you shop again?” I tease.

“No.” He laughs. “But I’m all about taking advantage of an opportunity. Not that I’m trying to take advantage of you.”

My body wouldn’t mind. Ugh. Stop. Miles doesn’t really mean that. He respects me, which is disappointing. Messed up. I know.

“I don’t mind. What are we shopping for today?”

“My sister has crap for appliances and cooking shit in her apartment. She’s using it as an excuse to not eat or to eat poorly.”

My heart pitter patters at the way he takes care of his sister and his aunt.

“Does she like grad school?”

“Like? Hard to tell. In case you didn’t notice in your two-minute interaction with her last month, she’s a bit surly.”

“Right. The grump to your sunshine.”

“I am sunshine, aren’t I?” He beams at me and I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up inside.

This is much better. I’m more comfortable with his joking nature than his serious side.

“Are you sure she wants cooking appliances? Most Boston apartments have kitchens the size of a linen closet.”

At least mine does.

“She’s got the counter and cupboard space. Stubborn brat refuses to spend money on anything decent though. Ramen and plain spaghetti are fine meals if you’re struggling, but she’s not.”

“I’m all too familiar with the cost of grad school. I’ll be paying off my college loans until I’m ready for a nursing home.”

“I made sure Julia won’t have that kind of debt, and I pay the rent on her apartment so she doesn’t have to stress about money and can focus on her studies.”

“That’s really sweet of you, Miles.” I reach across the center console and squeeze his forearm.

It’s something I’ve done before. To his friends. To him. But this is the first time I felt a current of electricity running from his skin through my fingers.

Have his forearms always been so thick? Has he always had those veins that pop? Especially when he grips the steering wheel like that.

He clears his throat and turns into the parking lot in front of Crate and Barrel. And here I thought we’d go into Target again. I guess when you’re a professional football player, money is no object.

“She’d do the same for me if she could.” He blows off the compliment and turns off the car. “Jules freaks out on me when I splurge so I’m gonna need you to let me know if I pick out stuff that’s unnecessary.”

“I’ll try.” I unfasten my seatbelt. “But since I have no idea what she already has and what she likes to cook, I’m not sure how much of a help I’ll be.”

Miles meets me at the front of the truck and holds the door open for me when we reach the store.

“She lives off caffeine, pasta, and Snickers.”

“Three important staples.”

“Jules doesn’t want to take time to cook, so something that will help her eat better without all the fuss.”

“Does she have an air fryer?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why don’t we start there? Although, I’m not sure you’ll find one here. We can stop at Target or Walmart on our way home.”

“That works. Let’s see what we can find here too.”

I follow him around the store and laugh at half the stuff he picks up. I’m pretty sure he’s joking when he holds up a two hundred dollar garlic press, but who knows with Miles.

We leave the store with two full bags of kitchenware. Most of it is practical. I especially love that he tossed in cute kitchen towels and potholders.

From what I gathered, Jules isn’t the type to have festive fall decor in her apartment, but I don’t want to burst Miles’s bubble.

He locks the bags in his vehicle and takes my hand, pulling me to an athleticwear store next door.

“She wears the same disgusting sweatpants every time I stop by. Says they’re comfortable, but I don’t care. I’m getting her new ones.”

“There’s something about wearing a pair of worn-in sweats while studying all night. A little comfort when your brain is on overload.”

“She’s close to your size. Will you help me find something for her?”

Julia is nowhere close to my size. My thighs are double the size of hers. I don’t correct him as I push through the racks until I find a pair of the softest joggers I’ve ever felt and pull out a small.

When I see the price tag, I gasp and put them back on the rack. Ninety bucks for sweats?

“Find something?” Miles leans over me and picks up the sweatpants I put back.

“I’m sure we can find something more realistic.”

“What’s not realistic about these? They’re plain. Nothing weird on them. That’s what Jules likes. Simple.”

“They’re almost a hundred dollars.”

“Is that bad?”

“When was the last time you spent this much on a pair of comfort clothes that you’d never leave the house in?”

Miles shrugs his giant shoulders. “I’d leave the house in my boxers if I wouldn’t get arrested for indecent exposure.”

Indecent my ass. I’m sure naked Miles is quite decent to look at.

“Do you think she’ll like them?” he asks, picking out a pair in dark gray and another in navy blue

“Who wouldn’t? They’re like cashmere.”

“Would you wear them?”

“If I had a hundred bucks to spare? Sure.”

Miles grabs two more and drapes them over his arm. “I guess this is good for now. I’m starving, and I hate shopping when I’m hungry.”

I follow him to the register, but he stops short when we come across a rack of Boston Revolutions jerseys. Miles looks at me then hands me his keys.

“Mind waiting at the truck? I hate to leave all that kitchen stuff unsupervised in the parking lot.”

Unsupervised? Is he for real?

I can see his vehicle from where we’re standing, but I take his keys. “Um. Sure.”

A few minutes later, he climbs into the driver’s seat. “Hungry?”

“Sure.”

We drive out to a seafood shack by the water. It’s not too crowded with tourists now that it’s early September. I imagine it’s packed in the summer though.

Miles orders two fisherman’s platters and two lemonades and I sit at a picnic table while he waits for our number to be called.

It doesn’t take long, and I take one of the trays from him when he returns. “I can’t believe you ordered two of these. I’ll barely make a dent in mine.”

“Perfect because I can easily eat them both.” Instead of sitting across from me, he takes a seat next to me.

Our shoulders bump, as do our thighs as he gets settled. It’s not an easy feat climbing into a picnic table when your legs are as long as a football field.

I squeeze lemon over my fish and scallops and juice hits his face.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry.” I laugh as I dab a napkin to his chin. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Squirt on my face?”

My hand freezes, and even with the cool breeze coming off the ocean, I can feel my face heat up with embarrassment. He didn’t mean...no. It’s my dirty mind taking the comment out of context.

He darts his tongue out and swipes it along his bottom lip. “No apologies needed. You...it tastes good.”

Oh. My. God.

I squeeze my thighs together and return to my meal. I can’t tell if I’m famished or too nervous to eat. After a few bites of fish and two scallops, I push the tray closer to Miles.

“All yours.”

“You sure?”

I nod. “I’m going to get more napkins.” I shuffle out of the table and back to the shack to walk off my lust. Am I seriously lusting after Miles Buckingham? It’s gotta be my late-night chats with Adam that have my mind in a sexual haze.

There’s no way in the world Miles would be interested in anything other than a shopping and hiking partner. I’m not his type.

He’s not mine.

I keep telling myself that on my way back to the picnic table. Miles has turned so he’s straddling the bench, and I return to my spot, putting a little more distance between us.

He scoots across the bench and his long legs encase me. If I avoid him and continue staring out at the ocean, he’ll think I’m uncomfortable. Which I am, but not how he might think.

I’m uncomfortable with my thoughts going in a direction I hadn’t anticipated.

“Rowan.” His voice is gentle. Not a word I ever imagined using to describe Miles.

I flip on my girl next door smile and turn toward him, pretending I feel nothing sexual about him. About us. About this. Nope. Nothing at all.

And then he ruins my pretending by reaching out and capturing a strand of my hair in the wind and gently pushing it back behind my ear. He leaves his hand on my cheek longer than appropriate for a strictly friends relationship, then cups the back of my neck.

Is he going to...kiss me? Me? Rowan McDaniels, who has as much sex appeal as Hermione Granger in the first Harry Potter movie. Sure, she turns into a sex goddess. I mean, who doesn’t love Emma Watson?

But I’m more like twelve-year old Emma Watson.

“Are you okay?” Miles studies me and I notice his caramel eyes appear lighter out here in the sun.

“Um. Yup. Fine. Good. You? Get enough to eat?”

His eyes drop to my mouth and I instinctively lick my lower lip. Even if I knew how to be a seductress, that’s not why my tongue darts out. It’s instinct. Or maybe it’s my body’s way of inviting Miles to taste me.

He leans in and I panic. I just ate fish. Gross. Fried fish. My mouth is greasy and fishy and so not kissable. Miles is used to glossy lips and classy women who sip on martinis, not gorge on fried food.

I jump back and kick my feet over the bench, thus also kicking Miles in the crotch. Shit. I should have swiveled the other way.

“Fuck.” He cups himself and leans over, this time not for a kiss, if that was even his intention a few seconds ago.

If it was, it’s not anymore. Not after being close enough to smell my fish breath and now protecting his balls.

“Miles. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Can I get you ice or something?”

“No.” He shakes his head and holds up a hand. “Give me...a sec.”

I cover my mouth with my hands and pace around the picnic table. A few minutes later, he slowly picks up his right leg and moves it over the bench. He rests his elbows on his thighs and takes a few more breaths before straightening his shoulders and standing.

His eyes are closed and his face pinched in pain.

“Miles.” I rush to him and squeeze his massive forearms. That bolt of electricity zings through my fingers again.

He opens his eyes and stares up at me. I’ve never seen him look so serious. So strained. I bite my bottom lip and wait for him to say something. He doesn’t break the intensity of his heated stare, and I swallow the lust building in my chest.

It’s so wrong of me to drool over this man while he’s in obvious pain.

“I’m sorry. What can I do to help?”

The corner of his lip quirks. “Is a massage out of the question?”

I glance down at his crotch, and when I see his impressive package twitch, I snap my gaze back to his face.

“I take it you’re feeling better if you can tease me about it.”

“Who says I’m teasing?” He picks up our paper trays and napkins from the table and throws them in the trash. “You ready?”

“As long as you’ve had enough to eat.”

“For now.”

When we’re back on the highway heading south, he turns down the music. “So tell me about your family.”

“Not much to tell.”

“Only child?”

“Middle child. I have an older sister and younger brother. Parents are still married and live in the home I grew up in.”

“Where is that?”

“Springfield, Mass. It’s kind of a rough city but we lived in a safe middle class neighborhood.”

“What do your parents do?”

“My dad works in insurance and my mom is a substitute teacher.”

“She always done that?”

“Yeah. She liked having a flexible schedule when we were kids and still enjoys the freedom of not going into work if she doesn’t feel like it.”

“Those are definite perks. Are you close with your family?”

I squirm in my seat and let out a sigh as I stare straight ahead at the silver minivan in front of us. I don’t like talking about my family, not even to Kendall and Riley.

They know the basics, but not the harsh truth of the dynamics of the family. I’m the neglected middle child. The caretaker of everyone, yet no one ever took care of me. Not then. Not now.

But if I voice how I really feel, it’ll make me sound like a selfish brat, so I give Miles my canned response anytime anyone asks me about my family.

“My sister was a competitive cheerleader and gymnast, so my mom had to take a lot of time from work to travel with her. She made it to the Olympic trials when she was eighteen but didn’t make the cut. It was a super competitive year. My brother was never big into school but did well in vocational school. He’s a mechanic in Springfield.”

We drive in silence for a few minutes before Miles responds.

“That doesn’t answer my question though.”

“Are we close?” I pick at my fingernails and contemplate telling him the whole truth. “It’s hard to be too close when our lives have taken us in different directions. We get together for the holidays though.”

So much for the whole truth. It would be freeing to let it all out, but that’s not who I am. Nothing good would come of it, so I keep my personal feelings to myself.

Thankfully, Miles doesn’t pressure me for more details. He pulls off the highway before our exit and I’m about to ask him where we’re going when he turns into a parking lot.

The giant ice cream cone in front of the mom-and-pop stand is a welcome reprieve from my thoughts.

“Still hungry?” I ask.

“Always.” He winks at me before getting out of the truck. We stand in line reading the long list of flavors. “What’s your poison, Doc?”

I scan the list and only one flavor suits my mood right now.

“Rocky Road.”

Miles tilts his head and studies me for a moment before pinching my chin. Such a brotherly gesture. Hence the need for Rocky Road.

I’m on a destructive path lusting after this man who wants to be my friend.

If I can’t have Miles, I might as well have my decadent chocolate.

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