Why don’t I come out and say it?
What’s holding us back?
I can’t come up with an answer, especially when the answer to, ‘Who’s the perfect man’, is the same man who wants me…I think.
Sometimes I just think he’s being overly protective because of everything I’ve gone through recently, plus I think he feels like he owes it to my dad.
But as the days became weeks and weeks became a few months, I can feel it’s more than just that.
I know he’s wrestling with this just as much as I am. I see how little he eats in the training room now. I see the way he rubs his hand through his hair, those graying patches down by his temples are new. Does the agony he feel because he can’t, no shouldn't pursue me have anything to do with that?
Either way it’s sexy as hell. He’s so much more distinguished, masculine, and perfect than any man in town…and certainly the boys my age can’t compare.
He’s a real man…a man who knows what he wants. And I’m starting to feel a lot more confident that my assessment of what he wants might be accurate.
That what he wants is me.
But if I’m wrong, and I swing for the fences and miss, it could ruin everything between us. It could make things weird not just for me, but for the whole team this final season…my final year of high school.
I’m old for my class, almost a full year older, but he’s older and wiser in an experienced and worldly kind of way.
I can’t keep doing this to myself. I have to know if that world of his is ever going to include me.
Because a world without him in it, sure seems like not much of a world at all…to me.
CHAPTER 3
Myles
Later that day
I roll my wrist over and look at my watch, noticing the hairs on my arms are standing on end.
It’s almost seven in the evening, the time when Morgan usually comes into this coffee shop to study, from what I can gather from her Instagram page.
Almost as if her ear is to the ground, the door jingles and then opens and she enters.
I don’t look up from my book, not that I even know what book it is. I just grabbed the first thing I saw when I got here five minutes ago and slid into my seat.
The real reading was last night…her social media page to see who she’s hanging out with. I really am being a father figure for her. If I ever saw someone I thought looked fishy, or didn’t have her best interests in mind, I would let her know. Better yet, I wouldn’t bother her. I’d just tell them to stay away, or they’d have to deal with me…and who in their right mind wants to deal with an insane, feral beast who will protect what’s his at any cost?
Last night also consisted of studying a calculus book well past two in the morning. I was a wreck today at work, but I know she’s going to have questions sometime soon…and I’m going to have answers.
What I need to do, if I manage to get caught up on my sleep, is read some books on investing. I need to be ready when it’s time to have a family with her.
Damn. I grit my teeth at the thought…how perfect it sounds.
She moves through the coffee shop and picks a spot that’s not her usual one. My brows knit and I wonder what’s up. I’m sure she’s going to have questions about her homework and I’m ready to help her, but she doesn't come this way, or even look at me.
I stare at her over the top of my book, my mind racing and trying to fill in the blanks. What’s going on?
A few seconds later the door jingles again and the captain of the high school football team walks right in and approaches her table…and sits down.
My eyes lock in on him as I shake my head and mutter more than a few profanities. The little shit’s got a reputation a mile long, and none of it’s good. The thing is he’s not just some little high school kid anymore. He’s six foot four and well over two hundred pounds, a quarterback who’s already committed to one of the best college programs in the state.
But he’s got nothing on me. I’m just as tall and just as big, and I’ve got years of real work in the weight room, and in life, behind these dense muscles.
I wring my hands, like I’m dry washing them before I press a fist against my mouth and puff out my cheeks, my other hand rubbing my opposite forearm.
I roll my shoulders, my clothing is suddenly uncomfortable and constricting, and a shirt unnecessary and a liability if I was to get in a fight.
My mouth tastes bitter and my throat burns as I keep my eyes locked in on him, watching the way he looks at her just a little too friendly.
I keep an eye on his hands, making sure he keeps them to himself, or else I might just have to snap off a few of his fingers.
The kid is not quite eighteen, so despite his size and his cocky attitude, I have to be careful if something does go down between us. I’d go to jail without a second thought if I knew of anyone trying to harm my Morgan, but if I’m in jail then there’s no one out here to protect her. That can’t happen.
The bottom of my book hits the table with a thud and a few people look, but Morgan and that jock just stay focused on their conversation.
I watch as his butt comes off his seat and he inches his chair closer, his arm rubbing against hers.
I’m so enraged I could blow my top as I sneer in his direction.
My posture stiffens and I hear the table creak, not even realizing I’d moved my hands to the sides, squeezing the life out of the already dead wood that makes up the furniture.
My double espresso rattles in its saucer, my forearms shaking like twisted ropes being serpentined on the dock of a shipyard.
I can feel my pulse in the side of my neck as my jaw tightens, and when that little shit leans in and brushes her beautiful brown hair off her ear so he can lean in and whisper something to her, I’ve had enough.
CHAPTER 4
Morgan
I didn’t even want to do this project with Casey, but the teacher said we couldn’t change partners. I saw Myles in the corner when I walked in and I was immediately embarrassed. I wanted to go to him, to sit with him, to study by him.
He’s smart. He knows calculus better than I do, and he knows how to make me feel safe, loved, and how to make something as dry as math fun so I’ll be laughing in no time.
But I have to stay focused. The sooner this project is over the sooner I don’t have to deal with this juvenile boy. If anything he just serves as another reminder as to why guys my age don’t do it for me, and why one particular older guy, absolutely does.
“I think we need to take a break,” he says to me.
I knit my brows wondering what he’s talking about. He just got here and he’s sliding closer, too close, and acting weird already.
“The bathroom stalls are big here…if ya catch my drift.”
“We need to stay focused.”
“Oh, I’m focused all right,” he continues, not catching my hint, as his eyes skate up and down my body as his arm presses into mine.
I feel the need to run home and take a shower, this guy is so disgusting, and I know it’s only going to get worse.
I intentionally sat at a table where Myles wouldn’t be able to see us very well, if at all. I’m embarrassed to be here with Casey and now I’m even more embarrassed if Myles walks by and sees how he’s acting.
“You know what they say about guys with big hands, right?” Casey says, his oversized hand that will make him a professional athlete one day engulfing mine as he places it on the table directly above mine.
“They say, when you break a finger the snap is even louder,” a deep voice booms out from behind me and Myles’ hand comes down over Casey’s, pulling it off mine as he grips his hand hard.
“Oww. Fuck man! Let go of me,” Casey wails as Myles’ grip crushes Casey’s as he bends his elbow and drops his shoulder trying to move in a way to relieve the pain, but it only makes him look like he’s trying to do some sort of weird, drugged out dance.
“You touch my woman and then use bad langu
age in front of her.”
“Let go of me or I’ll call the cops!” Casey yells, and some of the other patrons pull out their phones and start recording the event.
“How are you gonna type on your little pink, glittery phone when I break your fingers?”
“You wouldn’t. I’ll sue you for millions. I’m gonna be pro and if you don’t let go you’re gonna pay.” He pauses before continuing. “And my phone’s not pink and gl—”
Myles shoots his arm forward, jamming Casey’s elbow into his body as he guides him backward right to the door.
He opens the door with his other hand and pushes him out onto the sidewalk.
I can see Casey shaking his hand, trying to remove the pressure when suddenly he puts the knuckles of his first two fingers in his mouth and sucks them…kind of like a child.
Half of the coffee shop laughs and the other half claps.
“Thanks, Mr. Mason. I always hated that jerk,” one boy my age says. “He wouldn’t leave my sister alone.”
Myles marches right back over to my table, a look of worry in his eyes. “You okay, princess?”
I nod.
He grabs Casey’s books, pivots on his heal and calmly glides right back over to the door and outside.
Casey scrambles on the sidewalk, but he’s not fast enough. Myles shoves his books into his chest. “Don’t you ever cause trouble with anyone in this town again or we’re going to war…and only one of us is coming out alive. You understand me?”
Casey nods and takes off running in the other direction.
Myles needs to be careful. This is a new generation that apparently he’s not used to. Parents don’t discipline like they used to and a threat like that could bring Myles a lot of trouble.
But who am I to complain or try and correct him?
Myles did what was right, even if he did take it a bit too far. And even though he’s not helping me with my homework at the moment, or listening to me as I talk about how painful these last few months have been, he’s helping me in another way. He’s showing me just how much it turns me on when a real man stands up for me in front of everyone, regardless of the consequences.
Guys like that are hard to find these days, and the problem lies right there in the word ‘guys.’ Guys are the ones that sit at home competing in video game competitions online and looking at Internet porn.
Men are something different. Men protect their women and do what’s right, without being told and whether or not anyone’s looking. It’s not what they do, it’s who they are.
And right now I’m beyond wet, and I want Myles to do something to me that no one else ever has…and I want him to do it to me over and over and over again.
“Let’s go study somewhere else,” Myles says as he returns.
I nod.
He carefully places my books in my backpack and grabs it by the canvas fabric as if it’s nothing. There are multiple hardcover textbooks in there and they’re not exactly light…at least not to me.
But to Miles they’re like nothing…and he makes me feel like everything.
Holding the door open for me as we leave the shop, I accidentally brush past him feeling the heat from his skin and it sends a shot of electricity straight through me.
His long strides allow him to arrive at his Jeep before me, opening yet another door and helping me up and into the passenger seat.
The top’s open and I can see a big bag of soccer balls in the back.
“Did you come here right after practice?” I ask.
“I did.”
Suddenly there’s a crack in the sky and I feel big drops of rain.
“Mind if we run to my place real quick?” he asks. “I didn’t bring the tarp with me. It wasn’t supposed to rain today.”
“Sure,” I say, and he carefully backs up and we take off.
I look in my rearview, seeing a few students’ faces pressed against the glass of the coffee shop, watching us as we leave.
Everyone knows Myles and my dad were best friends, but still…this just feels different. I know people are going to be talking at school tomorrow.
The only question is, will their rumors and accusations about something going on between the two of us be true?
I’m about to find out.
CHAPTER 5
Myles
A crackle of thunder shoots through the air, followed by lightning creasing the sky just before we pulled into my garage.
And then the heavy garage door, my personal version of the vaults of Ft. Knox, closes behind us.
You could hear a pin drop, or in this case my heart beating in my ears.
She’d been so quiet the whole drive and I was starting to wonder if I scared her. It’s just that…if only she knew the truth about how I feel about her, she’d understand why I act the way I do sometimes. Hell, I had a death grip on the steering wheel the whole drive back…and it was longer than expected.
No way was I going to drive straight down Main Street where the whole town could see us. It wasn’t because I didn’t want the world to see her right there in my passenger seat…mine…but because her shirt was quickly soaked and no way was I letting anyone get so much as a glimpse of those rock hard nipples cutting through the wet fabric of her top.
The rain was cold and unrelenting…the coldness like my life before my need for her, and unrelenting just like my need for her ever since she turned eighteen.
“This is my place,” I said, wondering why in the hell my voice sounds like it does right now.
I drum my fingers along the steering wheel, but don’t get out of the seat. I don’t move. And I sure as hell don’t look over at her, knowing how damn perfect she looks right now…knowing that that sweaty soccer uniform was nothing compared to this drenched white top that she’s in now…and how much “trouble” I’d be in if I took one look.
Or more importantly how much trouble she’d be in. I’d go completely savage, ravishing her and unable to stop myself. I know this.
“I know it’s your place, and…maybe it’s not my place to tell you this, to burden you with this, but…”
Complete silence.
Slowly my head turns and I make sure to keep my gaze only on her eyes, but I see pain, as her eyes narrow.
“What happened, beautiful? Just tell me and I’ll make it right.”
Nothing.
“Tell me!” I say, not realizing how loud my voice is, and surprised by how my anger gets the best of me. But when it comes to her…the thought of her being in trouble, in pain, or suffering in any way, I just want to rip that problem off the face of the map and toss it straight to the depths of hell, because anything that bothers her belongs in a fiery pit as far as I’m concerned…facing eternal damnation.
“I don’t know if I can,” she says so softly it’s barely audible.
“Did someone lay a hand on you? You tell me right now and I’ll go over and put my hands on him and make sure he doesn’t have fingers to touch you with again.”
“It’s not that.”
“A grade?”
She shakes her head from side to side and it’s only then I notice her top teeth biting down hard on her lower lip.
“What’s causing you stress, worry, these problems? I can make it right. I will make it right.”
“Only you can, but I’m not sure you want to.”
“What? How could you ever say that?” I’m not melodramatic, but it damn near sounds like it. I’m not one for hyperbole, or grandiose claims or bold gestures, but dammit! This is something different. She’s different…she’s everything.
“You…you said something back at the coffee shop. Something I didn’t even process until after we left. I was just too caught up in what was happening in that moment that my brain had to go back and process what you said.”
“About you being my woman?”
She nods, her eyes looking up to me submissively and the ache in-between my legs begs to be relieved. “Was that true?”
“No. It wasn’t
true,” I begin, watching her entire face and body deflate.
“I knew this was a bad idea,” she said, as her whole body turns toward her door.
“It is true,” I say, causing her to slowly turn back toward me, blossoming like the flower she is.
“I am?”
“You always have been. We just never knew it, until…”
More Than Dad's Best Friend: An Instalove Possessive Alpha Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 121) Page 2