Page 73 of Tourist Trap

Without my permission, my mind starts to move along the walls, putting in photos, furniture, or decorations I think would fit Miles’s personality. I saw a giant old poster of the original map of Seaside Point while thrifting with June recently that, in the right frame, would look stellar over his bed.

Eventually, he reenters the room, a pair of shorts riding low on his hips, no visible underwear to be found. He has my water bottle in hand and a glass of water for himself. My heart skips a beat at the sight. He smiles at me, and the look of it warms me to my core as I sit up.

“I brought you Margo.” I smile at his use of the silly name I gave my water bottle, putting my hands out to grab it because all of that did, in fact, make me thirsty.

Before he gives it to me, though, he gently presses his lips to mine, sweetly, melting me on the spot.

“Thank you,” I whisper as he sets his water on the bedside table and then climbs into bed next to me, tugging and shifting me until his back is to the headboard, my back against his chest, nestled between his legs. Finally, he reaches down, grabbing something from his pocket: a plastic baggie he must have filled with different cereals, handing it to me. He even reaches in, grabbing a few and popping them into his mouth.

“Foodandmy emotional support water bottle?” I ask with a silly giggle, looking over my shoulder at him. “You give good boyfriend, Miles Miller.” He chokes on the cereal, and I smile. “Oh, hit a nerve, did I?” He coughs once, reaching for his water, and suddenly, my nerves kick up. “We don’t have to—I didn’t mean—I’m not saying—” I start a few different sentences but can’t seem to find the right words to finish a single one because the truth is, I want Miles to be my boyfriend, and the thought that I may have just jumped into this without any kind of thought makes me feel sick.

In the heat of the moment, I told Miles this changes everything, and I meant it: I won’t go back to flirting and teasing that goes nowhere. I’m happy to keep the harmless arguing because I think that could end pretty entertainingly for both of us, but I’m not going back tojust friends.

But as seems to be Miles’s way, he puts that fear to rest instantly, setting his water to the side and using a hand on my chin to keep me looking at him over my shoulder. “You said everything changes, and you were right, Claire. I’ve spent far too long pretending you aren’t everything to me, and I’m not going back to that, especially not now that I’ve had you.”

Relief washes through me and with it, emotions. My mind runs over a dozen other examples of how this is turning into something more.

I should be nervous about that, since I was only supposed to be here until September, but I’ve never lived by anyone else’s schedule, much less my own. Maybe this is me finding my place, finding my people.

I fuckingloveSeaside Point and the people here. I could easily find myself settling into everyday life here.

With Miles.

It's been a long night and a long summer and, honestly, a long year, and all of it rushes over me at the same time, emotions bubbling to the surface.

“Hey,” he says as I sniffle. “Are you crying?” He shifts me in his lap so my head rests on his chest, both of his arms wrapping around me.

“I’m a crier. Get over it.” A blush burns over my cheeks, the tears spilling up as I turn away from him with embarrassment.

“No, no, no,” he says, a hand moving to my chin that I’ve buried into his chest and forcing me to look at him. “I like it.” His thumb brushes over my cheek, swiping away one of the wet tracks.

“You like that I’m a crybaby?”

He smiles at that, the wide, carefree one I like most of all.

“I like everything about you, Claire. But mostly, I like that you don’t hide things, don’t hold them in. You get a feeling, and you feel it. Not many people do that.”

“Like you?”

“Like me,” he agrees softly.

A beat passes, and I lift my hand, resting it on his cheek and looking over his face.

“What are you keeping in, Miles?” I whisper, my thumb brushing over his mustache. I liked it before, but now that I felt it scraping between my legs while he ate me out, I like it even more. I fight the shiver that wants to roll through me because this isnotthe time.

“I kept how much you affected me in for a while,” he says, and I let out a laugh.

“Sorry to tell you, bud, but you didn’t really do that too well. I knew I affected you, just not that you were totally obsessed with me.” I’m smiling as his eyes go softer.

“The first time I saw you,” he whispers, and my body stills. “The first time I saw you, I knew I wanted you.” I let out a slow breath in an effort to still my heart, but it doesn’t work. “You came with June to some party, and Grant dragged me along because he wanted to make sure she didn’t drink, since she was underage.”

“We totally did,” I confess. “We pregamed before we went, and we got so sick the next day.” I choose not to tell him Deck got us the liquor or that he was our “supplier” every summer until we turned twenty-one.

He smiles and nods. “We know, trust me. But I remember sitting on the beach, and there was this big bonfire. You guys were on the other side, and I heard this ringing laugh—your laugh—and I knew I wanted to find you.”

“It was so loud that night,” I whisper, remembering the music and people talking. It was some kind of rec department event on the beach.

He shrugs, a smile on his lips as a rough thumb moves over the apple of my cheek.

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