Page 55 of Stuck-Up Big Shot
“Whatever,” I concede. “The point is, I was almost twenty-three. A grown-ass man and you were a young girl who’d never even been fucking kissed. Jesus Christ, I’m such a morally depraved asshole.”
Sutton covers my hands with hers, pulling them down to her lap, absently stroking my palms.
“Miles, I didn’t want this moment to be a scene. You were my first kiss. A kiss I’d dreamed about for years before. I worshipped you. I loved you from afar. I would’ve given you my innocence had you not been the gentleman that you are.”
I groan inwardly. God, had I fucked her that day, I’d never forgive myself.
It’s bad enough I failed my sister, but then to have potentially ruined her best friend and taken something so precious from her while I could barely stand up on my own, would’ve been unconscionable.
“I’m no gentleman, Sutton. But I’m glad I had the wherewithal not to go there with you.”
She sighs, lifting her hand to place it over my heart.
“Miles Thatcher, you are a good man with a good heart. I wish you could see what I see in you. And for the record, you were the best first kiss I’ve ever had.”
30
Sutton
“Good evening,Mr. Thatcher. It’s so good to see you. Miss Iris will be pleased as punch to have you here for dinner. She’s been chattering all day about her handsome, smart grandson.”
I quirk an eyebrow at a blushing Miles—yes, he’s blushing—as the nursing home’s front desk receptionist fusses over him like he’s the town celebrity.
In a way, he kind of is a hometown hero. He was a star baseball player in high school, the valedictorian of his graduating class, and then became one of the more successful former townies. And let’s face it, he’s super easy on the eyes and has been charming women, young and old, for years since he was just a punk kid.
As if finally realizing that Miles isn’t alone, she turns to me with a smiling expression. “Well, it looks like Iris will be getting an extra guest tonight. And who might you be, my dear?”
“Hi there. My name is Sutton. Sutton Fuller.”
The woman’s eyes blow wide. “My, my, my. Little Sutton Fuller. I remember you when you were just yay high to a grasshopper.” She demonstrates this by lowering her flattened palm to below her waist.
“Your mama and I used to work the church clothing drives together. I haven’t seen her in ages. How is she doing, honey?”
I smile broadly, my head swiveling to look between her and Miles, who stands facing me with an amused twinkle in his eye.
“Oh, she and my dad are doing great. She’s still teaching third grade at Mystic View Elementary, and pretty sure she’s driving my dad crazy as usual.” I chuckle. My parents have been married almost thirty years, and since I’ve moved out, they seem to bicker over everything. “But they’re doing well.”
“Well, you tell her I said to say hello.” She hands me a visitor badge with my name penned neatly on the front. It has an adhesive backing which I adhere to my chest and discard the film in the wastebasket below the window.
“Thanks, Mary Jane,” Miles says, accepting his and doing the same. “Do you want me to sneak you some butterscotch pudding if it’s on the menu tonight?”
Miles whispers to me conspiratorially, “Don’t let her sweet looks fool you. Mary Jane here has turned me into a hardened criminal and accomplice due to her butterscotch pudding addiction. And she makes me steal extra pudding cups anytime I come for dinner.”
She laughs boisterously, waving a hand in the air. “Pish. That’s so untrue. You just like spoiling an old woman for sport.”
I nod in agreement at her statement, raising my eyebrows in solidarity. “Isn’t that the truth. He’s such a flirt and charmer when he’s not being broody.”
Mary Jane laughs again as Miles gives us a teasing look of innocence. “I can’t believe I’m being picked on when all I’ve been is nice to both of you.” He points between us, eyebrows narrowed judgmentally.
He playfully walks off, flipping his hand in the air behind him, pretending he’s all butthurt.
I roll my eyes and lean into the window. “Men. So sensitive to the truth.”
“Amen, sister.”
I wave goodbye to Mary Jane and rush to catch up to Miles, who has just rounded the corner of a long corridor leading into a cafeteria where the smell of Clorox disinfectant and turkey meat fills the air.
“She’s a sweetheart,” I comment, threading my fingers through Miles’s hand. “And you really do know how to charm women. Always have.”
