Erin seamlessly switches from hard-ass to loving mom and tips her wineglass at her son. It’s funny because while Tyler might be her eighteen-year-old baby, Erin has to take a step back and tilt her head to make eye contact with him. He already towers over her.
Tyler shifts his weight and opens his mouth but stalls. Poor kid looks like he wants to melt through the boards of the deck and disappear. At his first opportunity, he does exactly that, slinking through the patio doors and away from all discussion of his grades.
“The only person responsible for his playing time is Tyler.” Blake offers me his hand. “Mrs. Triplett, it’s good to meet you.”
I shake his hand and wash down my cheese with a quick swallow of wine. “Please, Chloe is fine.” Though he didn’t say it, there is no doubt in my mind that this is Tyler’s father. The resemblance is unquestionable.
The air sizzles around me, almost uncomfortably, but when I take in the man behind Blake Amarre, I’m met with deep chocolate eyes. My cheeks heat as recognition washes over me because the last time I looked into those deep brown eyes, I was flat on my back.
The beautiful man who caught me in my literal fall from grace as we arrived in town is standing before me. My heart kicks into overdrive, and I almost feel light-headed as he approaches. Tall, broad, and with a confident bearing that sends chills down my spine.
“Hi,” I say, trying to ignore the zing of warmth spreading from our clasped hands.
The gravelly chuckle he emits doesn’t help with the task.
“Miles Kent. You’re looking better than the last time I saw you.” He does a full once-over, smiling broadly at the confusion painted across my face. Shooting a look at Erin, he clarifies, “Clark is just a nickname.”
He accepts a beer from Blake, tilting the bottle to his lips. Each long, thirsty pull sets his throat bobbing as he swallows. His dark stubble hints at a beard in progress. Wind tousles his thick brown hair.
“So, they call you Clark, and your last name is Kent. Really? Do you moonlight as Superman?” I ask.
He could totally pass for the superhero. From what I can see, he’s certainly got the body for it. His long-sleeved shirt clings to a solid chest, straining to contain his biceps. And he seems to have found the damsel-in-distress angle in me.
I would love to push his dark hair back from his face, leaving just one sexy curl twisting against his forehead. Another flush of heat singes its way up my chest as my thoughts startle me.
I tried to date a couple years ago, but it was awful. Guilt fought with disinterest, and I decided I wasn’t ready yet. I resigned myself to just… not.
Like he can see my thoughts, Miles runs his fingers through his hair. “Could always be worse. I’d have hated hearing Lover Boy whispered in my ear over comms, dick deep in a shitstorm with another guy’s hand wrapped around my shoulder.” He gives a chin lift to Blake, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Dry. Sarcastic. He speaks my language.
Erin snorts a laugh, and Blake shrugs, saying, “I got no problem with my call sign. I’m secure in my masculinity. You still questioning yours, Clark?”
“Wait, wait, wait. Back up a minute,” Erin interrupts, looking back and forth between Miles and me. “You two have met? Whendid this happen?” She settles into Blake, where he’s sprawled on the outdoor love seat next to her.
“Uh, I… Well?—”
“Chloe was overcome by her mere proximity to me and fell helplessly into my arms.” Miles raises his hand and bows his head in false modesty as he slings his absolutely perfect bullshit version of what happened. “I’m just glad I was there to catch her, soften her fall, and revive her from that fainting spell. I’m used to it,” he adds, cocky smirk firmly in place. Catching my shocked expression, he winks and lifts his drink to Blake. “Top that, Lover Boy.”
“Oh my God,” I mumble and then go on to explain what really happened when we met. Maybegloss overis a better description thanexplainbecause I sure as hell don’t go into details about why I passed out in a convenience store. No one needs to hear about the crazy new teacher’s panic attacks.
“Was it low blood sugar?” Erin asks, jumping to her feet. She pushes the charcuterie board toward me. “Blake, go start the grill, so we can get Chloe fed. We don’t need her fainting again.”
Blake lights the grill and then follows his wife inside, leaving me alone with Miles.
Miles reaches across me to pluck a selection of cheese and sausage from the board. Muscles bunch and flex beneath a long-sleeved black shirt that seems to be molded to every dip and ridge across his torso and shoulders. “So, tell me, Chloe Triplett, what’s your story?” He settles into the seat across from me. Leaning back, he props his ankle on the opposite knee. He slouches low in his seat and drops his snacks in a pile on the flat plane of his stomach before choosing a chunk of cheese and popping it into his mouth.
“My story?” Lord have mercy, I’ve already shared it once tonight with Erin. I’m not sure I want to do it again.
“Mmhmm. What brings you to Virginia Beach? Where’s your little sidekick, and do you always drop like a ton of bricks at the gas station?” He sucks a smear of creamy brie from his thumb and waits for my response.
Nope. Not ready to share. I’ve just met the man—officially met him. And while dating hasn’t actually worked out for me since Dallas died, I’m aware enough to know that a conversation about anxiety and losing the love of my life isn’t a great way to test the waters.
And, if I’m being honest with myself, that whole slew of questions was a bit forward.
“I wanted to be closer to my parents. They were sweet enough to take Jake for a bit since I was meeting with Erin, though I should probably go soon and get him.” I set my wineglass down and scoot to the edge of my seat, my skirt sliding up higher on my thighs. I shift and tug at the hem.
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Erin’s got it in her head to feed you, so you’re going to have to eat before you’re allowed to go,” Miles says. “It’s easier not to fight it.”
