Page 29 of Next in Line
My mouth waters with that analogy, and a strange tingling begins in my fingertips. “I don’t think that’s true. He was probably looking at me like Miles does. In a brotherly fashion. He’s protective just like Miles.”
“Think what you want, but I know romance, girl. And that man wasn’t looking at you like his little sister.”
“We’re just friends,” I state, knowing I can’t give that thought too much headspace or I’ll be a total idiot with him today. I reach past Kate and grab my coat off the hook. “Will you tell Miles I went to work out or something? Cover for me…on…all of it? The ex and everything?”
She nods, the grin basically permanent on her face right now. “I will, but eventually, you’re going to have to spill the details on the ex, okay?”
“Fine,” I reply, rolling my eyes and opening the front door. “I’ll see you later.”
“Later, loverrrr,” she coos, hanging her head out the front door and waving at me coyly.
And with a nervous feeling in my belly, I punch in Sam’s address on my phone and head toward Boulder.
It’s a sunny morning, but the road is still covered in frost as my GPS takes me west on Boulder Canyon Drive, a curvy blacktop that winds through the mountains. This area reminds me of Salt Lake City, so I can see why Miles feels so at home here. It’s an outdoor lover’s paradise—if you’re the adventure type. I never really was, but I seem to be changing now, which is good.
In high school, I was the girl who did everything but loved nothing. I was class president, captain of the cheer team, and an active member in the drama club. I was even a mathlete for a while because I had a huge crush on a guy in my geometry class. I was never labeled one thing because I did everything.
Miles, on the other hand, was a gearhead through and through. He was always working on cars and motorcycles. He was stir-crazy if he didn’t have his hands on something, whereas I was perfectly happy curling up with a book and letting the written word take me on a journey.
But I have to admit, putting myself out there—even with just ice fishing these past couple of weekends—has brought me a sense of pride and accomplishment that I never expected. I can’t imagine how I’ll feel after climbing a frozen silo.
I turn onto Sam’s narrow gravel road that has sharp curves and seems to only go uphill. This has to be dangerous during a storm or in heavy snow. Maybe that’s why Sam has a snowmobile? Regardless, it is beautiful back here. The farther I drive in, the more and more stunning the area becomes. It’s heavily wooded and full of fresh, untouched snow as far as the eye can see.
I drive uphill a while longer until a small log cabin finally comes into view. It has a high-pitched roof and a large wraparound porch with Adirondack chairs positioned on either side of the bright green double doors. Smoke billows out of the chimney above, which I can only assume is from a wood burning fireplace inside. Talk about rustic. The entire cabin looks like a scenic painting topped with fresh snow and sweeping views of the mountains on all sides. It reminds me of a much larger version of the fish hut I saw out on the lake—secluded, quiet, peaceful.
I pull up alongside the house and get out, eager to take in the sights when I hear the front door open. My gaze swings over to Sam’s broad frame as he turns to lock the deadbolt. I swallow slowly as I unabashedly zero in on his ass. Has it always been that…full? I don’t remember ever noticing it before. Maybe because he’s wearing different pants now? He’s wearing some sort of special mountain trek trousers by the looks of the label, and they are tight! His ass looks like two footballs stuffed under a blanket. I sincerely hope there’s some stretch in them, or he most certainly isn’t going to be climbing any sort of silo today.
He turns on his heel, his eyes cast down as he zips up his black winter coat. He begins descending his front steps, finally looking up, and then pauses on the last step. “What are you wearing?” he asks with an accusing gaze as he stares down my body.
My brows furrow as I tighten my red wool coat around me. “Clothes. What are you wearing, Mr. Tight Pants?” I mumble the last part under my breath.
“I’m wearing winter climbing gear because it’s January and cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey. Where’s the stuff you bought at Marv’s?” He looks damn near angry with me!
“It’s in my trunk,” I reply. Walking to the back of my car, I pop the trunk and produce the infamous red and white snowsuit. “I couldn’t leave my house in this getup in case Miles woke up before I left. I thought I could change here.”
Sam exhales heavily and turns to reclimb his front steps. “So this means you’re not backing out?” he states with great disappointment as he fumbles through his keys.
I walk up the steps, squeezing my snowsuit and boots to my chest. “I didn’t back out of ice fishing, and I’m not backing out of this. I’m excited to get some shots of me in action today. Sterling will flip out when I send him pictures of me on an iced silo!”
He grumbles under his breath as he finally finds the key he was looking for and begins to push open the door. When I move to walk inside, he steps into my path. “Wait, did you call me Mr. Tight Pants down there?”
I bite my lip, a deep flush rushing up from my neck. “Maybe.”
His brows lift, and he does that shy smile thing again that he’s horrible at hiding. “Were you checking out my ass there, sparky?”
“No,” I bark out a bit too aggressively. “I was just watching you, and I couldn’t help but notice that you bought your pants a size too small.”
“These are professional climbing pants,” he states, leaning closer to me. “They are supposed to fit snugly so they don’t get hung up on any jagged edges.”
I shrug my shoulders dismissively. “I knew that.”
He chuckles under his breath and steps back for me to enter, and I do my best to ignore his manly scent as I pass him. When I walk into his foyer, I’m surprised at how grown-up looking Sam’s cabin is. For a ginger brawny man bachelor, I guess I expected it to be a mess of mismatched furniture—an old couch from college and maybe a folding table and chairs.
But Sam not only wears man jeans, but he also has a man house on top of it. The entryway opens into the living room with a black sectional sofa and cozy leather armchair. On the far right wall is a natural stone fireplace that still has embers glowing inside it. On the left is a dining room with a long rustic table and unique chairs with industrial piping that make a strong statement. Just past the dining area, I can see a bit of the kitchen. It has knotty white cabinetry and a small island in the middle. This cabin is adorable.
Sam’s footsteps march across the pale pine flooring as he directs me to the hallway straight ahead. I follow him closely as he points to the left. “Bathroom is there on the right.” He turns around, clearly not expecting me to be standing so close because our bodies brush up against each other, reminding me of the moment at the bar last night and that damn kiss last weekend.
“Sorry,” I mumble, stepping back and ignoring my racing heart.
