4. Miles

CHAPTER 4

MILES

B y the time we get to the South Beach, I could not be more done with the idea of this tour. It's bad enough that I'm being dragged around against my will, but I'm also jet-lagged and boiling in the Miami sun. At least if we had gone to a museum, we would have been inside.

I don't know what it is Olivia's got against me, but I don't like it.

"You know," I say, glancing down at her as we walk along a relatively quiet street, "you can always come back to mine anytime you like."

She gives me a thin-lipped smile, but all it does is draw my attention to her soft skin and make me look at her button nose and think about how cute she is. But clearly, she's not even into having a little bit of a casual flirt. So, like, what is the point of any of this at all? No drinking. No flirting. No fun.

She leads me along a path towards what I can only presume is going to be something incredibly dull. She starts droning on about some historical artifact or something, and I completely tune out, looking distantly at the ocean.

It's gorgeously blue out there, as vivid as the sky, the waves crashing against the shore with the sound one of pure relaxation. The beach is silky white and looks perfect, dotted with parasols and towels. People are running around in their bare feet and bikinis, and all I want to do is go and sit with them. Not even to flirt — just to sunbathe. Lying in the sun right now, even if it is too hot, feels like a great idea.

We wander the past another mural. I guess it is kind of cool, not that I'm going to tell Olivia that.

"All this architecture is Art Deco from the twenties — it's pretty iconic," she says, gesturing at buildings that are covered in pops of color, bright blues and pinks. It makes my eyes hurt. "They do a lot of work preserving it; much of it is original from the time it was built."

"How much of the tour guide manual did you memorize before this?" I ask, cutting the monologue short.

She bites her lip, and I can't tell if she's being demure to wind me up or if she's just genuinely embarrassed by being called out. "I thought it would be nice for you to get an idea of the place you're living in, that's all."

"I guess," I say, shrugging. "Anyway, where next?"

She gives me a long, hard look that I don't react to. I'm sure if she were asked, she would say I'm winding her up on purpose too. But the reality is, I really don't really care about any of this at all. "To the beach?" I try, pouting at her.

"No. Come on," she says, turning back towards the path.

We continue our promenade walk, though this beachfront is missing everything that would be on a British beach: no fish and chips, no woolly hats, no sad ice creams dropped by sad children being glared at by sad donkeys. There's barely even any seagulls. All I can see for miles and miles is sand and sea and sandals. Everyone is smiling like they're having the best time of their life, and I wish more than anything that that was me.

Olivia is still droning on, but a shining beacon of a sports bar comes looming up on the street before us. I stop, all but digging in my heels to prevent her from dragging me any further. "It must be dinnertime, right? I'm hungry. Let's stop here for a bit."

"Here? Really?" she says, raising both eyebrows as she takes in the bar. I'm sure she can sense my ulterior motives, but I'm not really lying.

"Unless you can think of somewhere better, yeah. I want to eat. I want to drink. I want to watch some sports. What's wrong with that?"

"Well, I mean…" she stammers, her mouth opening and closing like that of a fish. Clearly, she's trying desperately to think of a good reason why we shouldn't go in — and failing. I grin. I've won this battle, at least.

She glances between me and the bar again then sighs. "Okay, fine. We can eat. But don't you dare start getting any ideas about anything else."

I gasp in mock offense, pressing my hand into my chest in a picture of perfect innocence. "Would I do such a thing?"

The look she gives me says it all.

We head inside, and I hold the door for her, which she treats with suspicion too. Honestly, I know my reputation precedes me, but I'm not that bad. I like to think of myself as a cheeky guy, not a bad one.

The lighting in here isn't great, which is perfect, a contrast to the bright sunshine of outside. There are at least ten screens behind the bar, each of them showing a different game: two baseball, two American football, one basketball, and the others seem to be flicking between various matches without any particular pattern. I scan the screens for soccer, and my heart sinks when I can't see anyone playing the beautiful game. I know that it isn't a particularly popular sport in America, but for a bar that seemingly has every other type of sports, to not have at least one game is a bit disappointing.

A girl in a short skirt comes up to us, welcomes us with a smile so wide it must be fake, and leads us over to a small table with an ideal view of the bar.

The waitress drops some menus in front of us, and in a voice that seems to be a caricature of itself, says, "Hey, folks, how are you today? What can I get for you both? My name is Kelsey, and I'll be your server. Just let me know if I can help you with anything at all."

I blink in surprise. "I'll just get a water, please," says Olivia, pulling her phone out of her bag to stare at it.

"Water? Sure thing, honey. I'll get that right over for you. And for this handsome gentleman here?"

"A beer, please, hon," I say with a wink.

The waitress doesn't react or falter with her smile. "Which one can I get you?" She reels off a list of beers, and I pretty much pick one at random. I feel like I should have done some more advance research on this one. Whatever. They'll bring me something and I'll drink it. And if I hate it, I will never order it again.

The waitress gives us another huge smile and bounces off towards the bar. Olivia fixes me with a stern look. "All right, Livvy?" I ask, confused at her sudden sour face.

"Don't call me that," she snaps back.

I throw up my hands in mock surrender. "Whoa, sorry."

"Look," she says. "I don't really want to be here any more than you, but we both signed a contract and we both have to follow it. Couldn't you just at least try to make my life a little bit easier?"

"Sorry, sweetheart," I say. "I didn't realize my presence was taking that much of a toll on you."

"I'll blame it on the jet lag for now," she huffs, folding her arms.

She is one of the most hard-to-read people I've ever met. Usually I'm great with people, even if we go slightly too hard on the drinks, but Olivia doesn't seem to want to engage with me at all. It's fascinating. And it makes me want to work even harder for her to like me.

"I'll be even sweeter tomorrow," I say, hoping that teasing will soften her up.

No such luck. Her sour look just gets sourer. Fortunately, the waitress comes back over to us and breaks the awkwardness, dropping our drinks down in front of us. I order a burger and a whole banquet of sides. Olivia doesn't order anything to eat at all.

As the waitress skips off to put our order in, I beam at Olivia and raise my glass. "Cheers."

"To what?"

"To lunch with a pretty woman and the next few months of your wonderfully happy company."

That at least gets a smirk from her. She hesitates, then picks up her glass too. "I'm so excited," she says dryly, though she doesn't return to her scowl. That's better than nothing. If I can just keep her from frowning, then I'll be winning. "To the next few months."

Our glasses chime together and a silence falls, filled with the burbling of crowds cheering the players on the various screens, and the chatter of other diners having a nice day out with their friends.