The Supermodel's Best Friend (A Romantic Comedy) (18 page)

“I don’t want to be late,” she said, but
didn’t move.

He kept his hand near her cheek, feeling huge
and clumsy, and looked for something in her expression that would
give him permission to touch her some more.

But she stepped back and turned away, and
Miles felt the opportunity evaporate like the haze overhead.
Nevertheless he said, “Would you like to have lunch with me?” and
waited a long moment before she slowed her steps and glanced
back.

“I can’t.”

“Dinner?”

She smiled but shook her head. “I should
probably eat with Alex. To make up for last night.”

“A hike this afternoon, then.”

“Miles—”

“You’ve got to do something. Might as well be
with me. I’m sure you like Alex a lot, really I’m sure you do, but
you probably don’t want to spend the entire day with him.” Her
mouth dropped open to protest, so he hurried on. “Until after
you’re married. Then you won’t be able to spend a minute apart, of
course. You wouldn’t want to.”

“Just because—” She crossed her arms over her
chest, lips in a flat line. “That’s not the kind of relationship I
was looking for anyway.”

Maybe it should be
. “How about three
this afternoon?”

They stared at each other a couple of seconds
too long. He felt his body respond with excessive hope, especially
when she said, “Have to do something, I guess. All right.”

He smiled. “I’ll come by your cabin.”

“I can meet you at the West Side trailhead.
It’s on the map.”

“I’ll come by your cabin at three.”

“It’s out of your way. We can just meet
there,” she said.

“I’ll be at your cabin.”

She rolled her eyes but was fighting a smile.
“Yes, Camp Leader.”

“Bears,” he said. “There might be bears.”

She snorted, looked him up and down, and
turned away. “Something like that.”

Man, how he wanted to pick her up and do wet,
happy things to her body.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and
watched her walk away. It was almost worth having her leave to be
able to study that ass move like that. He wondered if she had a
tattoo. Bet she did under there somewhere. Somewhere good.

Readjusting his jeans, he headed back to his
cabin where he found Huntley sitting on the steps with his chin
propped in his hands.

“Need your help,” Huntley said.

Miles went past him into the cabin and kicked
off his shoes. “It’s too early. Come back after noon. I’m going
back to bed.”

“You need to talk to my parents.”

“Close the door. I’m taking off my pants.”
Miles sat on the bed and shoved his jeans down to his ankles. The
bed was still unmade from the night before, but it was soft and
cool and didn’t demand any unusual flexibility on his part. He slid
under the covers and let out a deep sigh.

“Please, Miles. They’ll listen to you.”

He closed his eyes. “No. Your job. Past time.
Good-bye.”

“What’s the matter with you? Not like you
were out drinking last night.” Huntley hesitated. “Right?”

“Jealous?”

“All you have to say to them is that you’ve
changed your mind about Fawn. You realize she loves me. That she's
brilliant and hard-working and wonderful and everything.”

Miles pulled a pillow over his head. It was
only Wednesday, and early morning at that. That left at least
twelve hours today, and all of Thursday and Friday. “What time is
the wedding on Saturday? Morning or night?”

“Morning,” Huntley said.

“Thank God." He might even make it home in
time for the game. And all of Sunday would be his, quiet at home in
blissful solitude.

Miles thought of Lucy and sighed into the
down pillow. What would she think of his apartment in the city?
Would she call it a dump in the ghetto like Felicia had?

He was sick of defending himself and the
choices he had made. Lucy wouldn’t ever see his apartment because
Lucy wanted a husband. Whatever fun they might have over the next
few days, it wouldn’t follow them into their real lives. They’d
spend the afternoon together, then he’d try to extend it through
dinner and many hours past that—but next week? Her spreadsheet
didn’t have room for him next week.

How ironic. He’d like to pursue his
attraction to her, hers to him, see where it led—but she’d fight
him at every step of the way because she was the one who wanted a
commitment.

“Women are irrational creatures,” Miles said,
his voice muffled by the pillow.

“Fawn’s got a point, though,” Huntley said.
“I’ve been paranoid about any public displays of affection because
I don’t want to push my parents over the edge.”

Flinging the pillow aside, Miles looked at
him. “There’s a lot of wiggle room between treating her like a
leper and going down on her while they watch. Maybe hold her hand.
I know that’s a big step for you, but I think your parents can
handle it.” He pulled the covers up to his chin. “She deserves at
least that much.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Huntley sat on
the bed, crushing Miles’s toes. “Think how much more effective it
would be if you warmed them up a little bit beforehand.”

“You want effective? Man up.” Miles pulled
his feet out from under Huntley’s bony ass and kicked him off the
bed. “You’re too old for this. Handle it yourself.”

“Some best man you are.”

“We’ve established that.”

Huntley ran his hand through his pale hair
and walked to the door. “I know you’re right. I just wanted a
little backup.”

“This is your backup.”

“Just one little conversation—”

“The only conversation I’ll be having is
right here with Mr. Pillow.”

Huntley snorted and slammed the door on his
way out.

Miles rolled over to dream about an
irrational, round-bottomed redhead.

* * *

He was at her door at two fifty-nine, smiling
at the blue sky with a bounce in his step. He’d put on new hiking
boots, a fresh sweatshirt, and shaved a second time—he wasn’t James
Bond or anything, but at least he smelled okay.

She came out before he knocked, her cheeks
flushed, and didn’t hold his gaze for more than a split second. But
he saw the spark there and smiled again.

“How’s the face?” he asked.

She glanced up at him, a smile twitching in
the corner of her mouth. “Fine.”

“I agree.”

“Miles—”

“Sorry. I’ll tone it down. I thought we could
stop by the lodge for water and trail mix. I brought my pack.”

“Is that really necessary? My plan is to be
back by five-thirty.”

“What’s at five-thirty?”

“It’s only three. Do you think we’ll be gone
that long?”

“Easy. I was just curious.” If she had a firm
date with Alex, she’d say so, wouldn’t she? “You want to be back at
five-thirty, we’ll be back by then. I’m very punctual.” He held out
his wristwatch. “See? Got here right at three. Reliable guy, Miles
Girard.”

She snorted and walked ahead. “I suppose it
would be a good idea to have some water.”

“And an energy bar or something. Bears like
me have to eat frequently. Storing fat for the winter.” He patted
his stomach, watching her carefully to see if she look disgusted,
but she was fighting down another smile.

The sun slipped through in a white diagonal
stripe through the trees, illuminating a vast spiderweb that
stretched between the redwoods across their path. Lucy paused,
glanced back at him to see if he noticed it, and they both set to
discover the orb weaver at its center. When they found her, a
surprisingly small creature for such an enormous web, they silently
admired her and her miraculous accomplishment for a long moment.
However hopeless the gesture, they both ducked below the web to
continue walking down the path.

With a deep, contented sigh, he followed her
the rest of the way to the lodge, reflecting that Huntley had
picked a nice spot to get hitched. Miles had backpacked through the
north coast before, but he had to admit it was nice to enjoy the
beauties of nature after sleeping in a heated cabin with all the
perks of a luxury hotel.

He watched Lucy’s bouncy step, the way her
bottom swayed, the hint of skin at the nape of her neck under the
copper-bright hair.

She was one perk he hadn’t anticipated. They
had rare chemistry—mutual, sudden, instinctive attraction—and they
were in an oasis away from their normal lives where they could
actually enjoy it.

It would be stupid to waste it.

He jogged ahead of her to open the door to
the lodge, holding her gaze with his as she came up the steps,
sliding his hand down her back to usher her inside. Pretty sure he
saw her shiver, he grinned.

But as soon as he stepped inside after her,
he felt a sixth sense prickling the back of his neck. Smile
falling, he looked over to the right.

A woman stood with her back to him. Tall and
fashionable, she had honey-blond hair, tight jeans, and a lean
figure that would be the envy of a woman half her age. She was
only—Miles clenched his jaw, remembering—in her mid-forties
now.

Of course she still looked good. Heather had
always looked good. That’s why his father had married her.

Then he saw him.

Alan Girard, looking shockingly older than
the last time they’d seen each other. His hair was white, not a
hint of dark brown remaining. The pale skin of his scalp was
visible through the fine strands. Miles had always thought of him
as a giant, bigger than he would ever be, but today, with fresh
eyes, he saw the slight sag to his father’s shoulders, a thinness
in his cheeks, the whiff of weakness. He’d been a middle-aged man
when Miles was born. No longer.

Miles had to wait until his breathing
steadied and he was in complete control of himself before
acknowledging him. The last time they’d seen each other, neither
had spoken—in rare accord that his half-brother Chas’s wedding was
no place to end a cold war and start an open one.

But Huntley wasn’t family, years had gone by,
and all bets were off.

Miles shoved his hands in his pockets and
gave him a cool stare. He hoped the emotion flooding his body
wasn’t obvious. “Father,” he said carefully.

Neither took a step toward the other.

His father stared, frozen in place,
unblinking.

Just as he looked as if he might say
something, Heather swung around and flung up her hands. “Miles!”
she cried. “We hoped to see you here!” She walked over.

Warily, Miles watched Heather approach,
distastefully aware of how she checked him out. He wondered what
she saw when she looked at him. The one that got away? Her lucky
escape?

Jailbait no more?

“Heather,” he said roughly. His face felt
hot. Childish shame washed over him.

At least his father wasn’t going to pretend
this was some lighthearted reunion. He stayed on the other side of
the room and stared into a coffee cup.

Heather’s pale blue eyes flicked over to
Lucy. “Who’s this?”

Without thinking, Miles put a protective arm
around Lucy. “We’re late for our hike. See you later.”

But Lucy held firm and stuck out her hand.
“Lucy Hathcoat. Maid of honor.”

“Heather Girard.” She gave Lucy a slow
once-over, her gaze lingering on her heavy black boots. She turned
her attention slowly back to Miles, making a show of tilting her
head back as though the journey from Lucy’s face to his had taken
her a while. “Old friends, you two?”

“Very. Have to go.” He squeezed Lucy’s
shoulder.

This time, she got the hint.

“Sorry, Miles knows I’m pressed for time. The
bride needs me in a few hours but I’m dying to see the ocean while
the sun’s out.”

“The beach is close by?” Heather turned back
to his father, still standing there like a secret service agent,
cold and important and silent.

“Close enough,” Alan said.

They stood awkwardly for another moment.

“We’ll see you around.” Miles took Lucy’s
hand in his and  pulled her back outside. When the sun hit him
in the face, he realized he’d fled without buying anything at the
store. “I forgot to get water and snacks.”

Lucy didn’t pull her hand free. “We’ll be
fine.”

He forced a deep breath and turned his
attention to the soft, warm palm pressed against his.

“Yeah,” he said.

He didn’t say much. Lucy didn’t mind. The
afternoon was bright and clear, and feeling the sun on her face for
the first time in three days made her realize how much she’d missed
it. Everything seemed lighter, warmer, easier.

For her, anyway. Miles was obviously shaken
by his family reunion back at the lodge. She pulled a field guide
to birds out of her pack pocket and flipped through aimlessly, not
really caring about the difference between Great or Snowy egrets
but not wanting to force unwanted small talk.

The physical resemblance between Miles and
his father had been striking. Both were linebacker-sized men with
gray eyes and broad faces, each visibly tense and unhappy to see
the other.

“Sorry I didn’t introduce you,” Miles said
suddenly. They were walking along a narrow path next to the creek,
sheltered from the wind by the hills to the northwest. Soon they’d
be passing out into the open, grassy wetlands that led to the
coast. “He and I aren’t very close.”

“I heard.”

“What did you hear?”

“No details. Just that you had some falling
out years ago.”

“Alex tell you that?”

“He might have mentioned it. And Fawn, too.”
She picked up a long stick and snapped off the thin side branches
one by one. “We love to sit around gossiping about you, of course.
Exchange notes. Secret pictures.”

He snorted, but some of the gloom faded from
his eyes. “I’d like to see your secret pictures.”

“It’s amazing how small they can make cameras
these days. I’ve got a great one of you doing Downward Facing
Caterpillar.”