by Sierra Hill
Although my dating experience isn’t all that impressive or vast—mainly because I’m overly cautious and extremely picky—when I do feel an attraction, I’m not shy about seeing where it goes.
I don’t date much these days. Not that I’m not interested in meeting someone, or someday finding my soulmate, but dating takes a lot of time. During the school year, I’m focused on studying and working, and I don’t have extra time for anything more than infrequent hookups.
Realizing how much time we’ve spent already, I try to hurry my furry-little buddy along. “Are you going to take all day? Some of us have jobs to get to.”
Blackie blinks up at me as if to say, “Slow your roll, sista. You can’t rush excellence.”
I snicker at this and adjust the leash in my hand, extracting my phone from my back pocket to read the news while the dog does his own communicating with his world of scents and smells.
There are texts from both Ben and Christiana that came in last night after I’d crashed for the night, falling asleep in bed while watching a Netflix episode of The Great British Baking Show.
I read Ben’s first.
Ben: Hey, cuz. Doing anything next Saturday? My company has a volunteer event, and we’re drumming up help. It’s for a teen homeless shelter. LMK.
I smile down at my phone like a loon. Ben is such a sweetheart. While I was crashing on his couch and searching for jobs, I’d mentioned how I really wanted to find something to help wayward teens because of the special place it holds in my heart. Mainly due to what happened with Melodie.
There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think about or miss my friend. We were best friends throughout elementary, middle school, and the first part of high school. When I look back, there’s not one single event during those years where Mel and I weren’t together. The thought has my heart squeezing in anguish. It also makes me curious why Miles doesn’t seem to recognize me as the girl who used to be his shadow. I realize I’ve changed a lot since the last time we spent any time together, but I practically lived at his house during my formative years.
Mel and I met when we were five years old and enrolled in tadpole swim lessons through the YMCA. We both loved the water, and as we grew older, we both swam on swim teams, making the varsity team as freshmen in high school.
During those summers, when we were gangly, pimple-faced teenagers, we’d head to the J. Burkley Public Pool outside of town where her brother was a lifeguard.
It’s there that we both experienced our first crushes. Those summers were the best.
What Mel didn’t know, and something I’d kept a secret from her all that time, was that my first crush came well before the summer of our freshman year.
My first crush blossomed when I was in sixth grade, when my twelve-year-old self fell head over heels, madly in love with the handsome seventeen-year-old Miles Thatcher.
I remember leaving our Barbie dolls in a box never to be played with again, replacing them with hitting up the local mall and hanging out in Mel’s basement. We’d listen to music, watch movies, and spend time with Miles and his friends. Well, that’s a stretch. What we did was watch Miles and his entourage play video games all day long. Mel and I were always in the background, like wallpaper, garnering no attention from them whatsoever.
From my perch on a recliner, I’d watch his biceps flex as he easily and deftly maneuvered the controller in his hands. He’d been taller than his friends, more built and muscular—which made him every girl’s dream date.
I became enthralled with the shape of his arms and shoulders, which were well-defined from spending his summer playing baseball and lifeguarding. Mel and I would go with their grandmother to watch him play during the summer league games.
He was by far the hottest older boy in our town.
And the only one I ever dreamed about kissing.
But by the time I got to high school, Miles was already in his sophomore year at Yale, leaving Melodie behind at home with their grandmother, and me with a crushed and broken heart.
That’s about the time when our friendship changed. Mel grew more distant little by little until one day, our friendship was just gone. Looking back, perhaps it was Miles leaving home that was the catalyst for Mel’s downward spiral. Whatever the cause, I still feel remorse over not being there for Mel when she needed me.
That’s why I’m in school to become a social worker, and why this volunteer event would mean so much to me.
Glancing up from my phone’s screen, I see some action starting to happen as Blackie squats next to a tree he’s been loitering around for the last five minutes, and I smile with relief.
“Finally,” I groan.
But that relief is short-lived, and everything happens in a slow-motion reel, like that paper towel commercial where the guy is carrying a fresh-baked lasagna casserole in his hands and he trips, sending the food flying across the kitchen floor.
Which is exactly what happens to me.
From my peripheral vision, I see Miles striding out of the front door of the building, his messenger bag wrapped securely around his broad torso, his hands occupied with a cup of coffee and his phone. His head is down, so he doesn’t notice Blackie or me, but I can’t let this chance pass me by. I want to grab his attention. Because it’s important that I change his opinion of me. For some reason, he seems to find me annoying.
“Hey, Miles! Good morning,” I say and wave enthusiastically, but my greeting falls on deaf ears because he doesn’t hear or see me. In his ears, he’s wearing earbuds.
Well, that just won’t do.
I take a step forward, hoping to get in front of him just enough to flag him down when I realize I haven’t side-stepped far enough from where Blackie just dropped his doodie. My flip-flop slides right into the steaming pile of shit and sticks there.
“Oh shit!” I yelp loudly, trying to extract my foot off the ground, only to find the flip-flop is stuck in the poo and my foot slips out, which is when I lose my balance.
And because I’m now hopping on one foot trying to regain my balance, the other one dangling in the air, Blackie gets excited at my little dance and swings around in front of me, which is precisely when he sees another dog coming toward us.
Blackie surges forward, giving the leash just enough momentum so I’m flying forward, my feet having no traction against the slippery surface, as I land with a thud in a mess of doggie doodoo. The sound is just like you’d imagine, and it squishes hotly between my toes.
If my greeting a moment earlier hadn’t garnered his attention, this little uncoordinated act—flawlessly executed, I might add—does the trick to perfection.
Miles stops in his tracks, lifts his head from his phone, and sees me sprawled out, tangled up in a dog leash, brown poo smeared all over my feet and legs, helplessly staring up at him.
Heaven, take me now. I could just die.
“Sutton?” Miles clears his head with a shake as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
And why would he expect to see his neighbor’s dog sitter lying on the ground covered in shit? Not exactly an everyday occurrence.
“What the hell are you doing down there?”
There’s nothing I can say or do at this point to make me appear sane or rational, so I simply lift a hand in the air and shrug with a smile.
I just as quickly drop said hand when I see it’s been painted with dog feces. Oh, gross.
Wiping away the shit the best I can on the ground, I snare the flip-flop from the goop with my fingers, as Blackie sniffs at my hand with an upturned nose, as if to say, “lady, you stink.”
Miles opens his leather bag and pulls out a bottle of hand sanitizer and a tissue, gingerly handing them to me, which I gladly accept.
“Christ almighty, Sutton, you’re fucking a mess.”
I’m not sure if he means that literally or figuratively—or maybe both?
Miles gives me another judgmental perusal, his eyes roaming over my body, and for a moment I think he’s abo
ut to say something else. But, instead, he shakes his head brusquely, turns abruptly, and walks down the street toward the subway entrance.
And I’m left covered in shit and feel like it too.
So much for changing his opinion of me.
7
Sutton
After the great doggie doodoo debacle, I don’t see Miles again until Thursday night when I’m in a much cleaner state of appearance. In fact, I’m freshly showered and wearing a one-piece bathing suit on my way down to the building’s indoor pool and fitness center.
Before leaving on their vacation, Soraya gave me a tour of their building and showed me all the amenities I could use if I were so inclined. The apartment complex boasts a large fitness center, including a workout room, a sauna, and a full-length indoor swimming pool and spa.
Could it get any better than that?
Why, yes, it can.
Because as I walk out the door of the women’s shower and dressing room, I pass by the workout room, where I not only see Miles, but I’m treated to the view of a very sweaty and very shirtless Miles lifting weights.
It’s official. Thursday night is now my favorite night of the week.
Good God, the man is ripped and chiseled sight to behold.
Miles is fit in a way that only the most disciplined men who work out daily can get. His body is lean and tapered, with impressively broad shoulders, flat washboard abs, and has that perfect V-cut, which dips indecently into his gym shorts. My tongue tingles at the thought of running down the smooth lines of that V.
And unlike the other night when I stood in front of a shirtless Miles, this time I gawk unnoticed, without interruption, at his svelte body. Miles is so busy with his set, his side profile facing the mirror in front of him and not toward me, he doesn’t notice where I stand hidden behind the gym door.
It’s the one and only time I’ve ever wanted to go unnoticed by Miles.
I take the time to peruse the length of his solid body, enjoying the way his muscles chord and bunch tight with every rep he does. The sweat pours from him, dripping down his chest, neck, and back. Clearly an indication of how long and hard he’s been working out.
Once he’s done with the bicep curls, he reracks the weights, reaches for a towel hanging over the barbell and wipes the perspiration from his face with a masculine groan. And like a heat-seeking missile, the sound of that groan finds a target between my legs.
My mind goes wild, as I clench my thighs together, grabbing the doorframe for support to keep myself from falling, or worse, touching myself.
My gaze lowers to the fit of his nylon gym shorts hanging loosely at his hips, and my eyes roam over the curves and slope of his perfectly sculpted ass. Holy hell, I’ve never ogled a man like this in my life. I’m not shy when it comes to my sexuality or the men I’m with, but this is different. I’ve never just stared and enjoyed the view.
Miles, still unaware of my creepy presence, bends forward at his waist and picks up a different set of larger weights. My mouth dries up like a desert at the view. His calves flex, the veins popping at the intensity of his movement, his thighs bulking as he lifts the new set of weights.
There is no other way to describe what is happening to me physiologically than to say I’m getting hot and bothered. I continue to watch his slow, intentional moves as he straddles the incline bench now, my eyes locking onto the visible bulge outline in his shorts.
A little squeak of excitement escapes past my lips, and it’s loud enough to gain attention. Miles lifts his head from the bench, his eyes flare in surprise when he discovers me hiding around the corner.
Oh, crap. I’ve been caught.
Slapping a hand over my betraying mouth, I flail to the side and out of sight around the corner. Flattening my back against the wall as if I’m a secret agent on a mission. My heart pounds wildly and tries to break free from my chest.
Thump thump thump.
I waste no time and run down the short corridor to the door leading into the pool and fling it open. Rushing to the far corner, sucking in a lungful of chlorine-scented air as I go, I flop down at the edge of a lounge chair and smack my hand against my forehead.
“Way to go, Sutton. You idiot,” I scold myself in a censorious tone.
Taking a few moments to catch my breath, I remove the towel I’d wrapped around myself and head to the pool’s edge. Since I’m on the far end, there’s no easing into the water, so I plug my nose and jump into the deep end.
Feels reminiscent of how I do most things in life. I just jump in, feet first.
The warmth of the water covers me, and the beautiful underwater silence blacks out all the surfaced noise in my head. Noise about Miles. Thoughts about what to do once the Morgan’s return home, and I need to find new living arrangements once more.
At least by their return date, I’ll have money saved up for the fall when school starts again.
School has me thinking about Christiana, who called me earlier today to ask me if I want to go out with her tonight to celebrate one of our mutual friend’s birthday. Not taking no for an answer, she reminded me I need to go out and live it up now before I’m buried in books, lectures, and writing papers in September. Guess I’m going out tonight.
The empty pool is luxurious. I haven’t been for a swim in months. I think about what it must cost to live in a place like this as I take smooth strides across the length of the pool, the water rippling around me as I stroke and paddle, easing into my old routine. Miles sure has come a long way from our humble beginnings in Mystic to afford a place like this.
Mel would be so proud of him and what he’s accomplished.
I continue swimming, enjoying the quiet and serene sense of being submerged in the water. The gentle lick of cool water over my limbs as I glide through the chlorine-blue pool lulls me into a peaceful trance, as I swim from one end to the other.
With my face underneath the water’s surface, my hands reach out to touch the rounded cement curve of the pool’s edge. I flip around, pushing off with my feet and back toward the other end. I’ve counted fifteen laps so far, and I’m hoping to get in ten more before I jump in the sauna and then shower and get ready to go out tonight.
Something catches my attention above the pool’s surface as I turn my face to the side, breathing in and breathing out. Without goggles on, the water stings my eyes when I open them, and I can’t see very clearly. I lift my head from the water and wipe off my eyes, and my breath stalls when I see a pair of men’s feet at the pool deck.
Miles sits down at the edge and dangles his feet and a good portion of his legs over the side, as I swim up to greet him.
He’s blurry as I stare at him through wet lashes, but oh good heavens, even in a blurry state, the man is so dang hot. He must’ve showered off before coming in because he smells soapy-clean, his hair wet and slicked back and out of his face. It only highlights his tanned features and square jawline that has a sexy, scruff covering his rugged jaw.
His voice is low, deep, and so very masculine. “Hello, Sutton. You’re looking cleaner than the last time I saw you.”
A hint of amusement dances in his eyes and a barely-there stretch of a smile plays at his lips. By comparison, my face breaks into a huge stupid grin, and I giggle with a big shrug.
“Hey, Miles. Not being covered in dog shit is quite an improvement, for sure.” I splash him so the water laps at his shin. “How was your workout?”
He flicks his toes up and gives me a return splash, and I don’t miss the way his lips edge up into a smirk. The mischief bouncing in his blue eyes tells me he saw me watching during his workout. I wonder how long he knew I’d been watching.
Miles lowers himself into the pool, easing slowly into the water. I watch his torso dip under the waterline, his biceps bulging as he lets go of the side.
My tongue darts out to sweep over my bottom lip, wicking away the trace of wetness there, and I notice his gaze zoom to my mouth before flicking back to my eyes.
“Yo
u tell me, since I think you saw most of it?”
I wear a look of confusion, glancing around the space as if it’s the first time I’ve ever seen it. “Huh?”
Miles dunks his head underwater and then pops back up, his hand swiping his hair out of his face before his smile unfurls before me, his brows lifted knowingly.
And for all that’s holy, that smile is the same one he employed with all the girls back in the day. The one that exudes charm, arrogance, and straight-up sex appeal. It sends a current of electricity coursing through my body, which is a really bad thing when you’re near water. I feel like I could easily get electrocuted and drop dead of shock from too much of this Miles.
The flirty, sexy Miles.
I laugh nervously and chew my lip.
“Do you swim as your regular workout?”
I feel the color bloom over my skin, the flush budding and mapping every visible part of me out of embarrassment and the sensual heat that passes between us.
Deciding I need to move to gain some distance from him for fear I’ll make an even greater fool of myself, I push off the bottom of the pool and swim on my back, leisurely stroking my arms overhead as I float over the rippling of the water. “I’ve come down a few times. It’s more nostalgic than a workout. It reminds me of my high school swim team. But that was a long time ago.”
Miles gives me a dubious look. “Right. . . so long ago.”
I want to slap the water hard at my stupidity over bringing up the swim team. The one sport I did with his sister. The sister Miles doesn’t remember that I know or was friends with. I should tell him. Come clean about how I know him and Melodie.
But I play it off, laughing shortly at his comment about my age and continue with my strokes and flutter flicks, slowly moving further and further away from him. Along with the chance to tell him about our past.
And then he pushes off, his long, lean body easily catching up to me as he swims alongside me. My belly does its own version of flutter kicks as we glide across the length of the pool, completely in sync with one another, our strokes in even patterns of movement.
