Page 50 of Ride By Your Side

A delightful warmth spreads through me at his words, even if I get how illogical it is.

“Yeah, but it’s not like we’re married for real, or at least not in the way it counts. If you really wanted to, you’d be free to date whomever you want,” I remind him, even if saying so makes those warm and fuzzy feelings evaporate just as quickly as they came.

“Who would I even go on a date with in this town?” he asks, turning his attention back to the wall as he makes wide strokes.

I let out a small chuckle as I start painting as well. “There are plenty of interesting women in Evergreen.”

“Name one,” he challenges.

“Gemma,” I state without thinking. “In fact, she may have mentioned the other day that she thinks you’re pretty smoking hot.”

“Hmmm,” is all he mumbles in return as I sneak a glance his way.

“Hmmm? What does that even mean?” I ask, finding myself annoyingly curious. I’d like to think I wouldn’t stand in the way if there was an actual connection between my friend and him, but the green-eyed monster is definitely making its appearance, since it’s not something I want to see or even think about—even if I’d been the one who brought it up in the first place.

“It doesn’t mean anything. I don’t even know Gemma, other than that she was one of your bridesmaids.”

“So you don’t find her attractive?” I ask, trying to look nonplussed as I continue to move my brush up and down the wall.

“I didn’t say that.”

I stop mid-stroke. “So you are interested, then?”

“Well, I definitely didn’t say that either,” he says, stopping his painting as he turns to look at me. “Why do you even care? You really want me out there dating that badly? I mean, come on. You aren’t seriously trying to set me up with one of your friends, are you?”

“I mean, no, not really.” I mutter, doing my best to avoid his gaze.

“Well, then what do you want out of this?” he asks, turning his body to fully face mine, forcing me to look at him as his eyes search mine. Suddenly the air in here feels way too thick with tension.

“I want…” I start, my gaze locked on his, but I can’t let myself fall into this trap again, especially not after he turned me down the other day. “What I want…” I finally continue, using a huskytone as I take a step toward him, “is for you to stop being a goody-two shoes who makes me look bad.”

His brows furrow, clearly not expecting that response, nor the swipe of my brush across his cheek, leaving a big white mark behind.

His mouth drops open. “You did not just do that,” he says, his eyes growing dark as he takes a step toward me, while I have the good sense to match his movement and take a large step back as well.

“I mean, I sort of did,” I say, triumphantly smiling, the corners of my mouth twitching with laughter that’s desperate to escape.

Before I can react, his arm swings out, and with a swift motion, his paintbrush makes a bold swipe across my cheek. I try to turn my head in time to block some of the damage, but I’m not quick enough.

“Hmm, well, I guess I sort of just did that right back.”

“I can’t believe you, Broody Bennett. This is so not becoming of you,” I playfully chastise, the giggles I’d been trying to push back finally making an appearance. I’m not sure how I was expecting him to react, especially since he’s usually the put-together type, the one who hardly ever acts on impulse, and despite the fact my entire left cheek is covered in paint, I fucking love it.

“So I’m guessing this is unbecoming as well?” he asks, a warning in his tone as he comes at me again. Luckily, I dodge, darting to the side and ducking with a loud, girlish squeal.

“Did I just create a monster?” I ask, quickly dunking my brush back into the white gallon bucket before lifting it in front of me like a sword, or maybe a shield. At this point, I’m not quite sure.

“You realize you’re the one who started this, right?” he asks, holding his brush out in front of him as well. “All I wanted to do was paint so we could get out of here.”

“Okay, fine. We can call a truce. Plus, I’m pretty sure Blair isn’t going to be too happy if we waste all her paint on each other instead of the walls.”

“A truce? You really think I’d trust that coming from you?” he asks, still keeping his brush up and ready to go.

My mouth drops open and I place my free hand over my heart. “Ouch, Miles. I’m a woman of my word. How could you ever think that?” I ask, and this time I raise both my free hand and the one with my brush up into the air, as if to surrender before ultimately bending down to place it on the ground.

He gives a slow nod, his lips curling into a mischievous grin. “Wrong move, princess.” Before I can even process his words, he’s already darted toward me. I let out a shriek as I scramble to run, but it’s no use—he catches me effortlessly, lifting me up and throwing me over his shoulder like I’m nothing more than a sack of potatoes. “I’m putting you in time-out,” he announces with a smirk.

“A time-out? Really?” I ask, attempting to look up at him over my shoulder.

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