Page 27 of Tourist Trap

“Not interested,” I say, then step to the side to move around him. Unfortunately, he takes the same step, stopping me once again.

Punching him would be a horrible idea.

Reasonably, I know that. He has more money than God and the mentality of a privileged fuck who has always gotten his way: punching him would be certain bankruptcy, at best. So, instead, I take a deep breath to try and center myself before, once again, stepping to the side. He doesn’t mimic me this time, and with relief, I walk past him.

“Is your brother on the same page as you?” he asks to my back.

My steps falter, then stop. Slowly, I turn, looking over my shoulder at him, a shit-eating grin I seriously want to knock off his lips.

“Excuse me?”

“You co-own the property with your brother, right? That’s what the word around town is. He isn’t on the title, but town gossip is usually more reliable anyway.”

He’s looking into the details of the house.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“That’s none of your business,” I say as calmly as I can muster.

His head tips to the side with an arrogant smirk. “It could be,” he says, and I start to walk again, realizing he’s fucking with me and I’m giving him exactly what he wants. “I’m just saying, I wonder what your brother would think about my offer, you know?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I say as I continue to walk toward my house, my mind calculating the amount in my savings and anything else I could possibly sell. Even if I cleared it out, I’d be short, and if, God forbid, some incident happened, I’d be fucked.

I need to keep hustling, or there’s a good shot I’m going to lose everything.

It’s the reminder I need that I have no time, room, or energy for distractions, and this summer has to be nothing but working and trying to make the money I need to buy my brother out before I get fucked.

TEN

CLAIRE

Miles walks in the front door with no shirt and a pair of short running shorts that definitely shouldn’t be as hot as they are, a thin sheen of sweat all over his body, and a grimace on his face.

Despite the grumpy look, for the millionth time since I’ve moved here, I’m blown away by how fucking hot he is. Okay, so I always knew Miles was hot, but living with him further cements the concrete proof that I absolutely dated the wrong Miller brother, and that alone seems like a giant shame.

He storms into the kitchen where I’m eating breakfast and avoids my gaze as he takes out a headphone and moves to the fridge for water. After he pours himself a glass, he stands and watches me eat cereal out of a salad bowl. The box of sugary cereal is before me as I read the back, my eyes winning the maze for the third time in an effort not to be a creep and trace the lines of his abs.

“Morning,” I finally say with a smile before taking another big bite of the colorful stuff. He gives me a glare, and it’s clear to me he’s not having a great morning. I can’t blame him, considering it’s barely light out, and he just did physical exerciseon purpose.

Could never be me.

“Don’t you have work?” he asks, judgment in the words.

“Such manners,” I say with a laugh he is obviously not entertained by. “No, I don’t work until later today. Noon to five.”

He rolls his eyes at me. God, he’sreallyin a shit mood. I wonder what happened.

“Must be nice, only working for five hours.” He means it as a barb, but I shrug it off. Miles thinks I’m some flighty little girl who flits around on a whim, and that’s fine: he’s not the first to see me that way, and he won’t be the last.

At least, that’s what I tell myself because, despite it all, I want Miles to like me.

I always have.

“My hours are shortened until the season starts after Memorial Day. Right now, I’m just learning the ropes before all the kids start next weekend,” I explain, even though I don’t feel like I owe it to him.

He continues to glare as he downs his water, and he must find my answer satisfactory since he shifts to a new subject.

“What are you eating?”

---