by Amy Daws
A short while later, we’re back in Miles’s truck and on the way back to reality. As silence envelops us inside the cab, I can’t help but wonder where we go from here. Did last night change what we are? He’s sure acting the same. Are we still just friends with benefits? Do I go back to Boulder and start writing at Tire Depot again?
After a painfully quiet car ride, Miles finally pulls up in front of my house. We both jump out and move to the back of his truck where he reaches in and grabs my bag.
I take it from him, and our hands brush together as I say, “Well, thanks for helping me with the research.” I half-smile up at him, his steely blue eyes intense on me.
“Anytime,” he replies, his voice deep and melty.
“You okay?” I ask curiously, shielding the sun from my eyes so I can get a better look at him. “You seem quiet.”
He shakes his head and offers me a lopsided smile. “Just tired.”
“Shouldn’t have gotten the mattress pad.” I give him a playful shove that doesn’t move him an inch.
A shuffling noise from behind has both our eyes swerving toward my front door. My anxiety sparks to life when I see Dean standing on my front step. He adjusts his glasses while watching us carefully. His arms are crossed over his chest. His body is propped up against a support beam.
Miles clears his throat from behind me, and I look back at him as he mumbles, “Looks like you’ve got company. I’ll see you later, Mercedes.”
“Bye,” I reply, wistfully watching his back as he moves to get back into his truck. For a jealous guy, he sure has no problem walking away from me. Though he has no idea that Dean told me he wanted more than friendship only a few days ago.
My life is getting seriously complicated.
With a rumble of his truck, Miles pulls away, and I exhale heavily. Turning on my heel, I walk up to my front door. “Hey, Dean,” I murmur, fishing out my keys and unlocking the deadbolt.
“Hey, Kate.” Dean looks awkward as he scratches his fingers through his beard.
I take pity on him and ask, “Want to come inside for a coffee?”
He smiles. “Is it complimentary?”
I pin him with a look. “For people who aren’t assholes, yes.”
His eyes cast downward. “I won’t be an asshole, I swear.”
“You sure?” I ask, gesturing down the road. “Nothing to say about Miles’s truck? Did you hear how loud that muffler was?”
His brows lift. “I’m surprised you even know what a muffler is.”
I frown at that comment. “Me too, actually. I guess some of my research has been sticking.”
The corner of his mouth tips up into a smile. “I’ll be good, I swear.”
Dean follows me inside, and I drop my bag on the floor and set about making us a couple of coffees. Exhaustion begins to overtake me as well, but I know I need to talk to Dean. I’ve been avoiding his calls and text for the past several days, and I don’t want this to completely ruin our friendship.
He props himself on a barstool and takes the coffee from my hands. “Did you spend the night at Miles’s house last night?” he asks, his eyes staring down at my neck.
I look at him and blink a few times. “Are you really asking that?”
He rolls his eyes and points at a spot on his neck. “You may have a little something…”
My eyes fly wide at the memory of Miles sucking hard on my neck. I move to cover the mark, and Dean quickly says, “I’m not judging, Kate, I’m just making small talk. Work with me here, okay?”
I take a deep breath in and pull my shirt up to try to cover it. “We were camping.”
“Camping?” The disbelief in his voice isn’t lost on me.
“Yes, camping,” I reply, dropping my hand. “It was for book research, and it was really fun.”
Dean shakes his head. “So I take it you’re writing something quite a bit different from your other series?”
I shrug. “I’m trying to.”
He stares down at his drink. “Inspiration must be flowing.”
“It has its moments.” Even if they do involve sneaky little hickeys.
“And Miles is the guy who brings that out in you?” Dean asks, looking up at me. I look closely for a sign of judgment in his expression, but I don’t see anything. It’s a genuine question.
“He’s certainly not hurting things.” I shrug and prop my elbows on the counter, hunching over with my coffee mug between my palms. “He’s not like anyone I’ve ever hung out with before. He’s a salt of the earth kind of guy. So different from Dryston.”
“So different from me,” he adds, a pained look behind his dark-framed glasses.
I pin him with a look. “Dean, look…I never had a clue you had feelings for me. If I had, I would have done so many things differently.”
“Like what?” he asks, his brows pinching together in confusion.
“I don’t know. Maybe come over less often. Acted differently.” I run a hand through my hair and sigh. “I love you as a friend, but I just don’t see us that way, and I’m sorry if I led you to believe otherwise.”
“You weren’t leading me on, Kate. You were being yourself. And that draws people in.” He stares at me through wide, understanding eyes, then adds, “It’s the same reason Miles can’t stay away from you even though he’s told you he doesn’t want a relationship. You’re so…magnetic.”
It’s really weird getting a compliment from a guy you’ve just rejected, but I can tell Dean is trying really hard here to make amends, and I’m so relieved. “Well, Miles is still keeping me firmly in the casual corner, so apparently, I’m not a strong enough magnet.”
Dean thinks on that for a second while taking a sip of his coffee. “I think if you really like Miles, you need to come clean with him. If you guys develop into more and he finds out you’re keeping stuff from him, it’s not going to end well, Kate.”
“I know,” I groan and run my hands through my hair. “I just like who I am with him. I like having no baggage.”
“You still technically live with your ex, Kate. That’s about the worst kind of baggage you can carry. No guy is going to take that information well, and the longer you wait, the harder it will be.”
“Are you sure I can’t keep pretending to be Mercedes? She never would have gone out with dippy Dryston.”
“You’re not pretending to be anyone,” Dean corrects, adjusting his glasses to pin me with a serious look. “You are Mercedes. You are Kate. You need to quit looking at them like they’re two different people because they are both you. You’re the porn writer and the friend. You’re the bestselling author and the neighbor. You don’t have to keep the two sides of yourself separate. Let them merge. Maybe the Kate part of yourself that you’re holding back will be exactly what brings you and Miles together.”
I look over the counter at Dean. My friend. My true friend who I’ve become so comfortable with the past couple of years. He’s sitting here, giving me advice on how to win over a dude that I’m rejecting him for. Whatever asshole tendencies he may have on occasion, he’s still a really frickin’ good person as a whole.
“Thanks, Dean.” I smile softly.
He exhales heavily. “Does this mean we can we go back to being friends again? You’re like one of four people I actually like in Boulder. Losing you would be a huge deficit in my social life.”
“Of course, we’re friends.” I smile and shake my head. “Because there’s no way in hell I’m going to start cleaning my own gutters.”
He laughs and rakes his hands through his hair in frustration. “I’m hoping you can work out this thing with Miles. I’m tired of being Lynsey’s and your damn handyman. Especially because I’m not fucking handy. I’ve told you both this. If you need help with investments, I got you. But pretty soon, I’m going to start drawing the line at favors that make me sweat.”
“Yeah, yeah…whatever, Dean.”
With double smiles, we clink our coffee mugs and get back to being exactly what we
were always meant to be. Just friends. Great friends.
I’m stir-crazy this week at the shop. Something is off between Mercedes and me, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. She’s been in and out of the comfort center. We do our regular flirting thing where I come in and eat cookies, and she asks me about my day. It’s nice. It’s friendly. But it’s limited. She hasn’t asked me to help her with any more book research, and I guess I’m just wondering what she’s waiting for.
Our camping trip was amazing. More than amazing. Spending a full twenty-four hours with a person and not wanting to kill them means you’ve really found a true friend. And that’s how I see her still. A friend. So why does it feel like she’s still holding a part of her back from me?
I head up to the counter to find Sam and see if he wants to go get a drink this weekend. I need to talk this shit out, so I’m not fucking up vehicles or losing any fingers this week with my wandering thoughts.
Sam’s standing at the end of the long, high top counter where the customer service agents all check people in. I sidle up next to him, my coveralls still on, but not so dirty that I felt like I had to take them off first.
“Hey,” I say, and he looks up from his computer.
“Hey, man,” he says with a smile that’s practically hidden under his red beard.
“What are you doing this weekend?” I ask as he pulls the Bluetooth device out of his ear.
“Nothing,” he replies with a shrug. “Beers?”
I nod and slow blink.
“That bad?” he guesses.
I inhale deeply and finger the piece of red licorice behind my ear. “I’m just…in a rut, and I don’t know. I need something.”
“I’ve been seeing Mercedes in the comfort center,” he says, clearly already picking up where my mind is at. “Is she here today?”
I shake my head. “I haven’t seen her yet.”
He furrows his brow. “You guys good?”
I shrug. “I think so? I don’t know. That’s partially why I need a drink.”
“Say no more,” he replies with a congenial smile.
A light reflects off the front door as two blond guys walk into the reception area. They look about the same age as Sam and me. Maybe a little younger. They also look like they do nothing but lay out because their tans are way too perfect.
But above all that, there’s something about the way they hold themselves as they walk that has my alerts pinging. I decide to stick around and hold my spot at the counter.
Sam is busy typing something into his computer when the guy in a pink polo flicks his keys up on the counter. “I have a flat. I need it fixed.”
I cringe at his rudeness and slide my gaze to the other guy who’s decked out in a bright, neon green golf shirt. It’s fucking blinding.
Sam smiles politely at Pink Polo. “Okay, what’s your name and what kind of car are we talking about?”
“Why does that matter?” the guy snaps. “It’s a tire. Just need it repaired quickly because I have a tee time to make.”
The guy’s condescending tone has me shifting out of my leaned position to stand at full height. Green Shirt eyeballs me.
Sam is not the least bit put off as he smiles around his beard and replies, “We just need to know if you’re in the system. Because if for some reason your tire can’t be repaired, we can prorate it with your warranty to get you a new one at a discount.”
“Why could my tire not be repaired?” Pink Polo snaps.
“If there’s a puncture in the sidewall of the tire, those are unfixable, unfortunately.” Sam offers an apologetic look.
“What a rip-off,” the guy snaps. “What kind of business are you running?”
I glance down at this asshole’s shoes and know instantly money isn’t the problem here. Privilege is.
“Hey brah, who’s that chick?” Green Shirt asks, leaning over the counter closer to me as if we’re a couple of bros or something.
I look over at where he’s gesturing to Alexa who works two computers down.
I shrug noncommittally. “She’s a customer service rep.”
Green Shirt smiles. “Perfect, we’ll take her.”
Sam clears his throat. “I’m afraid you don’t get to pick. And you’ve got me already.”
Pink Polo apparently wants to pick up where Green Shirt left off. “I think we could pick if we really wanted to.”
“And believe me, we want to pick at every part of that.” Green Shirt leers at Alexa so hard, my teeth grind.
I slam a fist on the counter in front of me and say, “Hey! This isn’t ordering a girl off the internet, moron. Do you want your fucking tire fixed or not?”
Pink Polo’s eyes fly wide. “Who’s your goddamn manager? I want to speak to him.”
Sam’s voice cuts in, telling us to calm down as Green Shirt and I stare at each other over the counter. He’s a good five inches shorter than me, but his privilege makes him think he’s untouchable, and I can’t stand douchebags like that. It’s exactly the kind of dude Jocelyn was looking for and found apparently.
“Manager. Now,” Pink Polo states again, and Sam presses a hand to my chest.
“Just go back to the shop,” he says, turning his back on the two douchebags and shoving me backward a few steps. Through clenched teeth, he adds, “I’ll let my uncle deal with these fuckers.”
I narrow my eyes one more time at the pair and exhale heavily, turn on my heel, and make my way out of the reception area and back into the alley for some air.
I take a deep breath of the balmy summer air and bite off the ends of my licorice. “I really wish this was a cigarette,” I mumble to myself as I suck air through the hole.
Frustrated that it has zero effect, I chuck the piece of stupid candy on the opposite wall. I’m so in my own head I didn’t even hear Mercedes approach when her voice says, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, what’d that licorice ever do to you?”
I swerve my eyes to her and eye her outfit. It’s that blue summer dress with the pink flowers. The one that shows her whole ass if she turns in it.
“Nothing,” I reply through clenched teeth.
“What’s going on with you?” she asks, her blue eyes looking me up and down. “You look like you’re ready to rip someone’s head off.”
I shake my head and drop my eyes to her dress. “Nice dress.”
She half-smiles. “I thought you might like it.”
“So long as you don’t twirl in it,” I state firmly.
Her brows pull together. “What’s going on with you?”
“What’s going on with you?” I volley back.
She frowns in confusion. “Excuse me?”
“What’s your deal lately? You’re not into me anymore? Someone better come along to help you with your research?” Dean maybe?
“Miles, you’re acting crazy. I was actually going to ask you if you’d show me your place tonight.”
“Tonight?” I ask, pressing a hand against the brick and trying to calm myself down in some small way.
“Yeah, after work, maybe. I want to see your house, specifically your garage. You know…research. Get our hands dirty.” She waggles her brows suggestively.
I nod, my jaw tight. “Fine.”
“Well, don’t look so thrilled,” she balks.
I blink slowly, knowing she doesn’t deserve this. Those two douchebags set me off, and her timing was just too close on the heels of that bullshit. “Sorry…I’m good with this.”
“Good!” she states and gives my arm a shake. With that simple touch of her hand on me, my mood lightens as she adds, “But I have to say there’s something seriously hot about seeing you in a mood…I hope that works to our advantage later.”
She winks, and already, I can think of about five different places I want to lose myself inside her at my house. I feel this strange desire to claim her further. I pin her with a serious look and reply, “Babe…having you in my house gives us all sorts of advantages.”
Her eyes alight with an
ticipation as she replies. “I can’t wait. Now, go take your anger out on some poor car and pick me up back here after you’re done.”
I nod and watch her skirt sway in the wind as she strides back toward the employee entrance of the comfort center.
I could have picked his house out by a mile. Pun intended. With my arms wrapped tightly around his waist, Miles pulls down a short gravel lane that’s tucked away from the main highway that runs through Jamestown. When a rusty, shabby chic ranch nestled right in some beautiful foothills comes into view, I know it’s his place. It just screams, Miles: masculine, rustic, and a little overgrown.
The outside is stained cedar plank siding, and it has two tuck-under garages beneath a huge wraparound porch. He has a couple of Adirondack chairs positioned by his front door, and I can so easily picture him sipping a cup of coffee and gazing at the creek that runs through his property.
He stops his motorcycle in front of the garage and kicks out the kickstand before cutting the motor.
“Oh my God, Miles!” I exclaim, shaking his shoulders a little to show him my enthusiasm.
“What?” he asks, pulling down his aviators and looking over his shoulder at me. His mood seems slightly better than earlier, but I have a feeling I know what will turn him around completely.
“Your place is stunning!” I exclaim, gazing at his face in the setting sun. The golden colors really making his blue eyes pop.
“Eh.” He shrugs and climbs off the bike, turning around to take the helmet from me.
I comb my hair out with my fingers, my eyes wide in disbelief. “Are you kidding? It’s gorgeous!”
He props the helmet under his arm and looks out toward the creek. “I couldn’t find anything in Boulder, at least nothing I could afford that gave me a little land and some privacy. I really hate neighbors.”
I laugh and look around to see he’s completely secluded here. His own private little sanctuary plunked onto a stretch of the wilderness a mere twenty minutes from Boulder. “Well, this is perfect. Something like this would easily cost two million in Boulder.”
“No shit,” he replies instantly and rubs the back of his neck. “As I said, it’s a work in progress, but it’s mine.”
