Page 14 of Ride By Your Side

Emerging from the steam-filled bathroom, I rummage through my bag and retrieve a black short-sleeve button-up shirt and a fresh pair of jeans. It would have been more convenient had I unpacked first, but I was too damn cold to think aboutanything else as I hurriedly stripped out of my wet clothes where they’re still sitting in a sopping wet pile in the middle of the bathroom. I decide to leave that problem for future Miles to deal with and grab my phone to check the latest text message from my sister.

Blair: So, I got the picture Ronnie sent. Looking good. Although, I have to know how in the hell did she convince you to get in the ocean completely dressed?

Miles: Oh, there was no convincing. I was all but forced as she pulled me in.

Blair: Still. I’d be dead if I so much as tried to pull that, and I’m guessing since she was the one who sent the picture, that she’s still alive... So once again, I have to ask how the hell did she manage that?

Miles: The only thing keeping her alive at this point is the fact that she’s your best friend and that, when wet, she looked like a sopping wet kitten. Even I have morals, and you know I can’t kill a drowning cat.

Okay, so maybe that’s not entirely true. It’s starting to feel like I’m beyond just playing nice for Blair’s sake or because of how her wedding day ended. Maybe that’s how it started, but now I find myself doing whatever I can to see her smile, especially when it feels so damn good to know that I was the one who put it there.

Blair: Hmm, I’m not sure how she’d feel about being compared to a drowning cat. So, what else is on the agenda for tonight?

Miles: As long as the sensation comes back in my hands and feet, I think the plan is to go out for dinner. My body is craving something other than burgers and all the candy your friend force-fed me.

Blair: Are you really complaining about burgers and candy? You must be a load of fun. But seriously, though, it sounds like a blast.

Blair: Oh, and please keep the pictures coming. They’re the only thing making me feel less guilty about not being there.

Miles: I’ll try.

Even after I send the text, I know I won’t actually be trying all that hard. Pictures aren’t my thing, and I’m certainly not going to be the awkward lunatic in the middle of a crowded restaurant taking pictures of my food. I’ll leave that to Veronica.

Plus, I’m pretty sure there will be no time to stare at my plate, since I can already imagine that the second I get some actual food in front of me I’m going to scarf it down. I’m starving, and I wasn’t exaggerating when I told Blair about what we’d actually eaten on the road.

While Veronica had been fine munching on sweets all day, I had reached my limit before we finally stopped and went through a McDonald’s drive-thru. However, a McDouble canonly go so far, and I’m definitely looking for something less greasy and more sustaining.

Despite feeling hungry, I also feel oddly bloated and am eagerly looking forward to taking advantage of the on-site exercise room to go for a quick run tomorrow. Or who knows, maybe I’ll go for a run on the beach. When in Rome, right?

Fully dressed and ready to go, I flop onto my bed and wait for Veronica to finish getting ready. Growing up with a younger sister taught me to always expect delays. No matter how much time you think they’ll need, always plan for at least fifteen more minutes.

Then again, Blair has always been known for her perpetual lateness, so maybe Veronica will actually surprise me. However, with the two of them being so close, maybe it’s best I don’t hold on to any extra hope, even if my growling stomach is currently wishing for the best.

Trying to distract myself, I keep busy by doing something I promised I wouldn’t do: Checking in with my work emails. There isn’t much to look at, since it’s just a mechanic shop in a very small town, but a guy can dream. I should be relieved that business seems to be carrying on as usual without me, and that the guys are holding down the fort while I’m away. However, something to distract myself with would’ve been nice, especially as another small grumble escapes my stomach.

A timid knock breaks the silence as I reach for my wallet and keys, stuffing them into my pocket before answering.

While I know exactly who to expect, it still shocks me to find Veronica standing in front of me. She looks stunning in a white sundress, with a light-blue sweater thrown over it, casually slipping off one shoulder. Her short brown hair is perfectly styled, half of it pulled back and fastened with an oversized white bow.

It’s obvious she’s wearing little to no makeup, with freckles visibly lining her nose. But as my eyes scan her from top to bottom I find it difficult not to stare. How big of an idiot did Pete West have to be to fumble this bag so badly?

Perhaps it’s only because the last time I saw her, she was nothing more than a waterlogged mess, but now it’s impossible to ignore the fact that she looks incredible. I know I need to look away, but I just can’t get myself to follow through.

“So, what do you think?” she asks, clearly amused by my reaction as she lifts the ends of her dress and shimmies from side to side. “Am I still giving drowned cat?”

I roll my eyes. “Of course Blair would tell you.”

“Duh! What did you expect? She tells me everything. Believe me, Broody Bennett, I know all your dirty little secrets,” she teases with a wiggle of her eyebrows, even though I actually find myself wondering how much of that is the actual truth. Those two were attached at the hip growing up, and I wouldn’t put it past Blair to share both the good and the bad with her best friend.

“Can we just go and get some dinner? I’m starving,” I say, choosing to ignore the fact that she likely knows more about me than she should as I shut the door behind me. Plus, I’m not particularly in the mood to tell her just how good I think she looks. That’s not the type of relationship we have, and I plan to keep it that way.

“Fine, but for the record, I’d say you clean up mighty nice there, too, but I don’t know...” she trails off, following after me. “For you, I kind of liked the whole soaking-wet look you had going on. Who knew you had all those muscles underneath that shirt of yours?”

Once again, I decide to ignore her words and start the trek down the long hallway. I’m way too hungry for this.

“You really expect me to eatthat? It looks like something Bubba threw up.” I all but gag as I watch her pick up the oyster and slide the meat into her mouth.

“They’re amazing. Seriously, just try it,” she encourages after finishing, then grabs another one and pushes it toward me.

---