Page 15 of Sing Your Secrets
Flexing my abdomen to fight the swoop in my stomach, I press my lips together to control my widening smile. “Thank you. That was sweet.” And smooth.Points for you, my friend.
I tuck the loose piece of hair behind my ear but it’s pointless, it pops back free, too thick to be contained. I love it when a man compliments something other than my tits or ass. That old record is tired. See me. The real me—my sassy brazenness and my wild curly hair.
“Sorry,” he says while adjusting the soft rim of his beanie, as though he’s embarrassed.
“For what?”
“I’m not hitting on you. I just…”
I squint at him and tilt my head to the side as his words trail off into nothingness. “Okay.” I raise my eyebrows at him. “Too bad.”
“Oh, you really are forward, aren’t you?” His smile is laced. Somehow, he seems both taken aback and impressed.
I open my mouth to respond, but I’m hit with a sudden sense of déjà vu as I stare at Miles’s handsome face. I’ve never been attracted to a man who looks this “Colorado.” He’s basically a sexy version of a lumberjack—except sort of stylish. It’s a strange combination, and I’m definitely interested. But I digress. This strange thumping in my chest isn’t just because of the hot guy, or the flirty conversation. It’s something else…
Like I’m remembering a feeling. The flutter of excitement circles in my stomach and funnels through my limbs one by one, as if I can feel the blood rushing to the tips of my fingertips and toes. What is this? Hope? Nerves? It’s been so long since I’ve felt like this and I have no idea what sparked it. It’s this place…
The Garage.
So many memories, laughs, and monumental moments. It was the place I felt most like myself. It was a time when I was…oh. It becomes so clear.
The déjà vu feeling is happiness. I’m sure of it. So why do I feel like crying? Why am I suddenly so overwhelmed?
I let out a quick breath as I meet Miles’s concerned expression. Aware of how long it’s been since I’ve said anything, I interject with the first thing that comes to mind. “Do you want to eat outside? I need some air.”
“Sure.”
It’s too brisk outside to enjoy a picnic. I’m hoping the stench of piss and mold in here is a valid enough excuse to make my sudden and desperate need for fresh air—due to an impending emotional outburst—a little less obvious.
Miles follows me through the front entry and out into the gleaming sunlight. While it looks like it’s springtime and sunshine, in reality, it’s cold enough that I know my nipples are eagerly putting on a show through my thin outfit. The end of March is tricky in Colorado. Flowers are sprouting across the country, but our snowy season isn’t quite done with its assault.
I plant my ass at the edge of the sidewalk, my knees bent, and my feet resting at the edge of the quiet street. Miles stands to my right and tents his hand over his forehead, his lips turned down as he stares at me.
“What?” I ask, reaching for my bag of sandwiches.
“I didn’t take you for a pop-a-squat-on-the-curb kind of girl.” His smile is teasing.
“If it wasn’t so damn cold, I’d take my shoes off too. Don’t be fooled. Under these clothes”—I gesture to Quinn’s fancy business outfit that I stole…ahem borrowed—“lies a hot mess.”
Miles groans as he sits down next to me. I wonder if he can also feel the freezing concrete under his ass through his thick denim jeans. He must be warm enough because he slides off his flannel button-down and drapes it over me. I smile and snuggle into the warmth of his thick shirt, relishing the smell of his cologne.
“Are you sure you’re not hitting on me?”
He laughs. “That was just being a gentleman. I run hot anyway.”
Liar.I see goosebumps on his now-exposed muscular forearms. His scant arm hair matches the espresso color on the top of his head.
“Well, thank you.” I pull out my French dip sandwich wrapped in grease-stained brown paper. I only had a Coke Zero and a latte for breakfast. I’m starving, and at the moment am slightly annoyed I offered to share my sandwich. Tearing the sub in half, I hand the larger piece to Miles.
“Thanks,” he says bringing the sandwich to his lips but pausing immediately when he sees the look of horror on my face. “What?”
“Wait for the au jus, man. What’s your problem?” Unpacking the little container of sauce, I set it between us.
“I like ‘em without the sauce.” He takes a big bite and I balk.
“That’s like ordering a cheeseburger with no cheese.”
Covering his mouth and searching my bewildered expression he asks, “Have you ever tried it?” He holds up his half of the sandwich.