Page 68 of Tourist Trap

“The fuck it was,” Miles grumbles.

“Oh, hush you,” I say, slapping his back. “I’m still mad at you.”

“That’s fine, I like you mad,” he says before shifting me as he walks through the sand, never faltering in his mission to get us home, until he’s holding me bridal style. Once my arms are securely around his neck, he bends down and nips at my bare shoulder.

The brush of his teeth on my skin goes directly to my clit, I swear to god.

Still, I force myself to collect my thoughts as we make it to the boardwalk because I can’t afford to let my mind get jumbled. Not when he owes me a true apology and an explanation. I can’t fall into this without some kind of surety that this isn’t just envy taking the reins.

June suggested a fling, but that’s not something I do. Not even just because I don’t do flings, but because I couldn’t bear to have Miles asjust a fling.

Once we’re off the sand, he sets me down, his hand moving to mine, but when we’re at the front door, I step back, putting my hands to my hips and glaring at him.

“What was that, Miles?”

He looks at me with a hint of confusion. “That was me saving you from the world's most boring date.”

Something in my heart deflates. Was this just another example of Miles letting his jealousy get the best of him?

“I didn’t ask you to do that. I’m a big girl, Miles.”

His jaw goes tight, and he takes in what seems to be a steadying breath before speaking. “I know, but I still wanted to get you out of there. You shouldn’t have gone out with him. He’s not good enough for you.”

“Oh, what, and you are?” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him.

He shakes his head, surprising me.

“Not even close, but unlike him, I’ll keep working until I get there.”

My heart skips a beat at his confession, but I shut that flickering hope down.

“Miles—” I start, startled by his honesty, but the word dies on my lips when he steps closer, backing me against the door of the house. My breath catches in my chest with the serious look on his face, with the way his head dips to look at me.

“I should have told you that the reason I didn’t want you to go on this date wasn’t because I fucking hate that man, which, to be totally up-front, I do. I hate him and what he’s doing to this town, but I hate more that he got to touch you. That he took you out before I got the chance. I spent the last six years wanting you, and I should have told you that the reason I didn’t want you to go is because I’m crazy about you, because I want you for myself, but I’m chicken shit, so I didn’t. But now I don’t want to be anymore, Claire. I’m just hoping it’s not too late.”

A lump grows in my throat as that hope blooms out of control with the sincerity in his words and the ones written all over his face.

“You want me?”

“You know I want you.” He says it like it’s obvious, yet it’s anything but to me, so I shake my head, feeling my hair move against my skin.

Every inch of me is a crackling mess of on-edge nerves, my mind capturing every single moment for future inspection and dissecting it, as if Iknowthis is a pivotal moment, for better or worse.

“No, I don’t. I know you’re attracted to me because, duh, just look at me,” I say, going for silly and aloof because that’s who I’m supposed to be, right? “I know you’re stuck with me because I live here, and I flirt with you, and it annoys you—” I would continue, but I can’t.

I can’t because Miles has pulled me into his body, his strong, sun-kissed arm wrapping around my waist and pulling me in so tight, the breath leaves my lungs. His other hand goes to the back of my head to pull my face to his before he’s kissing me.

Hard, deep, tongues and teeth clashing, and it’s like he is trying to prove something to me by showing me before he gets to tell me. Or maybe like he couldn’t help it, like the need to have me won.

But for a moment, I don’t even care.

For a moment, I bask in the moment of being held and wanted, my hands moving to his neck to hold him against me, the same need and desperation coursing through me as he kisses me.

Finally, he pauses it, pressing his forehead to mine, our panting breaths mingling in the small space between us.

“Then let me correct that horrible fucking misstep of mine,” he whispers, his lips brushing against mine with each word. “I wanted you when you were nineteen and too fucking young for me. And I wanted you when you were twenty and started flirting with me because it got a rise out of me. I wanted you when you were twenty one, and I told myself I’d go for it once you graduated so you could enjoy your carefree years without some boyfriend waiting for you in a dead-end town.”

My breath catches in my chest.

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