He's safe, comfortable. I'm not going to fall in love with him. It could be one easy night.
He leans closer, his mouth a few inches below my ear. He's quite a bit shorter than I am, and I'm wearing three-inch heels.
"Can I buy you a drink?" he asks.
"Yeah." I wave goodbye to Kara—she's already dancing with a jock—and follow Business Guy to the bar.
He slides his hand around my waist and over my hip. It's a little much so soon, but there's something nice about his touch. Not electrifying. Just nice.
"I'm Johnathan," he says.
"Meg."
"What are you drinking, Meg?"
"Paloma."
He signals the bartender and orders our drinks. Whiskey on the rocks for him. Paloma for me. Figures I'm drinking something girly and pink.
I take another look at Business Guy. Johnathan. He is cute. And he seems nice enough. He probably owns his own house. Not a mansion in Malibu, but a modest house somewhere nice. He'd probably take me to breakfast in the morning then never call me again.
The bartender arrives. Drinks are ready. Johnathan hands the pink one to me and raises his glass to toast.
Whatever. I'll toast. To all the lonely people in the club.
He scans my body. It's sexy when Miles looks me over, but this is awkward. I pull my arm over my chest. I don't want Johnathan picturing me naked.
"Do you go to school around here?" he asks.
"UCLA."
"Let me guess your major."
Oh, lord. I take a long sip of my drink and nod politely. He bought me this amazing grapefruit concoction. I'll entertain his stupid guessing game.
"Sure," I say.
He scratches his chin. "There's something intellectual about you."
Yeah, I look really intellectual in this tight silver dress. Does he use this line on every girl he meets, or just the ones who strike him as gullible?
I take another sip. It's perfection. I guess I can entertain him for another thirty seconds. "Is there?"
"Yeah...I can see you curled up in bed with a good book."
"What kind of book?"
He smiles. "History."
My drink is empty, but the good news is that my head is spinning. There's something amusing about his little guessing game. It's been a while since I've been tipsy, but I'm sure it's the alcohol talking.
"Excuse me." A familiar voice cuts through the room.
And Miles steps in between me and Business Guy...Johnathan. Whatever. What the hell is Miles doing here?
"You mind, buddy?" Johnathan says.
"I do, actually." Miles plants his hand on my hip. "Since when do you drink?"
"Since tonight." I swat him away like my body isn't humming from his touch. "I'm having a conversation."
"You don't seem interested," Miles says.
"None of your business what I seem anymore. Excuse me." I step away from Miles and lean over the bar the same way Kara did. "Another Paloma please!"
"How many have you had?" Miles asks.
"Oh, let me check. Hmmm. That's also not your business."
"I'm talking to the lady," Johnathan says.
Miles turns and glares like he's going to deck Johnathan right in the mouth. It works, and Johnathan steps back.
"Bitch," Johnathan mutters. He turns and disappears into the crowd.
Miles brings my attention back to me. His eyes find mine. "What the hell are you doing?"
"You're the one who followed me here. What, did Kara rat me out to you?"
"Drew."
"Asshole acted like he could keep a secret." I shake my head. "Did he at least tell you to apologize?"
Miles nods. "Threatened to break my jaw if I broke your heart."
"I knew there was something I liked about him."
Miles reaches for my hand.
I take a step back. "Last time I checked, we're nothing. So what the hell are you doing following me to clubs?"
"I wanted to see you."
"To what—screw with me one last time? Leave me alone."
He leans closer, until his chest is pressed against my back. "I can't."
"Sure you can. It's called self-control. You made yourself clear a hundred times. You don't do boyfriend. You don't fall in love. Hell, you want to be alone. You don't have any right to scare that guy off."
"You'd rather he be the one pressed against you?"
I bite my tongue. "Doesn't matter. We're nothing."
His mouth hovers over my ear. "I miss you."
"You miss fucking me."
"No, I miss you." He digs his fingers into my hips and pulls my body closer. "Let's talk somewhere private."
"Oh, you want to talk now that you can't have me." I press my palms against the hard muscles of his chest. "You had a million chances to talk. I'm not interested in talking to you anymore."
"But you'd fuck me."
I stare into Miles's eyes. As usual, he's unflinching. Staring through me like he's untouchable. Heat surges inside me. I'd certainly like to fuck him. His body already feels so damn good.
"Yes," I say. "I'd do it right here."
"Are you drunk?"
"Not yet."
Right on cue, the bartender drops off my drink. Miles pulls a twenty from his wallet, slams it on the bar, and waves the bartender away.
I grab my drink and make a move for the booths. Miles follows, but I ignore him.
I take a seat and wrap my lips around the straw. It's just as sweet and tart as my first drink, but this time I'm much more desperate for the release from my inhibitions. There's this nasty bit of politeness in my brain keeping me from telling Miles exactly what an asshole he is.
Miles sits next to me. He's wearing converse, jeans, and a t-shirt. Even his clothes are cool and casual.
I down half my drink. "Can I help you somehow?"
"I should have told you about my recovery."
"Hmm, so close to an apology, yet something is missing."
His eyes find mine. "I'm sorry I kept that from you."
I finish my drink and slam it on the table. "I appreciate the apology, but it's too little, too late."
"Meg." His voice is low, desperate. He pulls the curtain closed so we're mostly hidden from view.
"You're playing a game, but nothing has changed. You don't respect me. You don't love me. You don't trust me."
He pushes a stray hair behind my ear. "I respect you."
"And the other two?"
"I don't know." He traces the outline of my collarbone. "I've never done the other two before."
His fingertips skim the neckline of my dress. My body buzzes with want. He feels so much better than Business Guy. He feels so much better than anything.
"Let me take you somewhere quiet."
I squeeze my thighs together. "I don't want to talk."
He pulls my dress aside, exposing my bra. My heart races. Someone might see me. Might see us. Might take a photo and post it online.
He slides his fingers inside my bra. "I do."
I bite my lip. "You're not exactly encouraging conversation."
He rubs my nipple. "Is this really all you want from me?"
His eyes meet mine. There's a desperation in his expression. He means this. He wants more from me, more than sex.
But I'm not so sure.
He yanks my bra down, exposing my breast then covering it with his hand. Want surges through my body. I need Miles now.
His eyes light up. He knows he's driving me out of my fucking mind.
"Someone might see," I say.
"Do you care?"
"No."
"Answer me. Is this all you want from me?"
His lips are inches from mine. I close my eyes and kiss him. He's soft and warm, and he tastes like Miles. Like going home.
"No," I breathe. "But I'm never going to get what I want from you."
"What makes you so sure?"
I copy his words, the ones he used to explain why he was so sure he'd never f
all in love. "I just know."
He drags his thumb over my nipple, sending pangs of lust to ever corner of my body.
My breath hitches in my throat. "There must be two hundred people here."
"I know." He drags his fingertips over my thighs. Up, up, up. Under my dress. "But I'm not leaving until I hear you come."
"Miles." A groan escapes my lips.
"That's a start." He unhooks my bra.
Then his hands are on my panties. He doesn't waste any time. He pulls them to my knees and runs his fingertips over my clit.
I bite my lip to keep from screaming. God, I missed this. I missed him. I missed everything.
I press my lips into Miles's. He kisses back hard like he's claiming me as his. My head is swimming. This is wrong, this is dangerous, but this is so fucking good.
He pulls me onto his lap, so I'm straddling him. I can feel him over his jeans, hard. I can't have him now, like this, maybe not ever again.
I tug at his t-shirt. "Let's go someplace quiet. Like you said."
His breath is warm on my neck. His fingertips are light on my thighs. "Hmm...Let me check. Have I heard you come yet?"
I shake my head.
He smiles. "Then I'm not leaving yet."
All those awful you shouldn't do this thoughts swirl around my brain, but in my inebriated state, they simply fly away. This is far from my best idea. Someone might see. Miles might think I forgive him. That this means I'm his.
I still don't know if I can be his for the long haul. But for tonight, it’s perfect.
His touch is gentle as he strokes me. I kiss him hard, digging my nails into his shoulders. He moves a little harder, a little faster, until I'm moaning into his mouth.
The noise around us fades. I'm on top of the fucking world. This is so easy.
My body fills with pleasure. It starts in my fingers and toes and spreads to my wrists and ankles. Then it's in my arms, my legs, my shoulders, my stomach.
He rubs my nipples, sending pangs of want through me.
His hands are so much better than I remembered.
He strokes me with an even rhythm. Again, and again, and again. An orgasm wells up inside me. It's so tight, so tense, so fucking amazing.
I hover my mouth over his ear, and moan his name again and again. A wave of pleasure washes over me, and every bit of tension in my body releases.
It feels so fucking good.
He kisses me. I sink into him, my chest against him, my thighs against his. I can still feel him—hard through his jeans.
I grind my crotch against his. "Fuck me. Please."
His eyes are heavy with desire. "I fucking missed you." He tugs at my dress, exposing my breasts. He flings my bra aside. "I'm been going out of my mind thinking about you."
"Like this?"
He pulls my dress lower. "Like everything." He grabs my hips and lifts me. "This is going to be quicker than I'd like."
"I don't care." I shift closer to him. "As long as you're inside me."
"Mhmm." He unzips his jeans, shoves his boxers aside, and wraps his hand around his cock.
Yes, please. I shift my hips so I'm hovering over him. He grabs me, bringing me down hard.
I gasp as Miles enters me. It's like coming home, like I'm exactly where I need to be. I grab his shoulders and shift over him, pushing him deeper and deeper.
He sinks his nails into my ass, guiding me over him. His eyes find mine. He's staring at me, through me. Before, it was too much. But it feels right. I see him, everything inside him. He's not honest yet, not mine yet, but maybe we can get there.
He presses his palm against my back, bringing my tits to his mouth. His lips close around my nipple. Pleasure floods my body. He's so much better than I remembered. He's perfect.
He sucks on me as he fucks me. I squeeze my thighs, pressing my hands against his shoulders for leverage. My body screams. I never want this to end. Never.
I dig my hands into his hair, holding him close. Everything else about this relationship is a mess, but this is perfect.
Here, we're perfect.
I groan, arching my back to push him deeper. My heart thuds. My breath is strained. Pleasure wells up inside me again. It's so tense, so tight, so much.
Miles sinks his teeth into my nipple, a tiny hint of pain. Then his eyes are on mine. He's looking at me like he loves me. I almost believe him.
I arch until he's deeper, until he's as deep as he'll go. One more thrust, one more tug at the knot inside me, and an orgasm washes over me. It's harder, more intense, and it takes everything I have not to scream.
Miles claws at my back. He holds my body against his as he thrusts into me.
He lets out a heavy moan.
He sinks his teeth into my shoulder. He groans and shakes and scrapes his nails against my skin.
He moves faster, harder. He's about to come. I can feel it in his body, hear it in his voice. Pressure wells up in me again. I'm making him come. I'm bringing him all this pleasure.
"Mhmm."
He holds me against him as he fucks me. Hard, fast, deep. I squeeze his shoulders to stay upright. His cock is pulsing, filling me.
He collapses, slamming his back against the wall. His eyes find mine. His lips part like he's going to speak, but he says nothing.
I shift off him, find my underwear, and pull it on. The bra—that might be hopeless. It was nothing special.
He reaches for my wrist. "Come home with me."
"That's not a good idea."
"Then tell me what this was."
"I don't know." I find my purse on the bench seat. "But I enjoyed it."
"Go somewhere with me."
My heart flutters. "Where?"
"It's a surprise." He runs his fingertips over my wrist. "I'll fuck you there. If you're still in the mood."
"That's not a good idea, either."
He stares right into my eyes. "There has to be some way I can convince you."
That look cuts straight to my soul. No matter what I do, I can't fight it. I still want to take all his pain away.
I swallow hard. "Okay. I'll go."
CHAPTER THIRTY
The night air rushes around me. Damn, that cold has bite. Southern California is so sunny. It's easy to forget the temperature plummets on winter nights.
Goosebumps spread across my arms. I shiver and hug my chest. A cocktail dress isn't the warmest attire in the world.
Miles slides his leather jacket off and slings it around my shoulders. He pulls me a little closer, plants his hand on my waist. "I guess that means your buzz is wearing off."
I don't laugh. I don't know what that's supposed to mean.
Or what the hell this trip is supposed to mean.
My high heels poke tiny holes in the grass. I try my best to lean forward, weight on my toes, but one of the heels gets stuck. I trip and land just shy of a gray tombstone.
Yes, we're at the cemetery, the one in Ladera Heights. It’s too dark to see most of the place, but I still make out a large stone crucifix and a statue of the Virgin Mary.
It’s funny. There’s a mall four blocks away. To my left is the somber remembrance of death. To my right, there’s a Target and a Forever 21 and a parking lot with bright white lights.
Miles rushes to me. He kneels down next to me and gingerly unhooks my shoes, one at a time. He pulls them off my feet, his fingertips lingering on my ankle.
It should be criminal for anything to feel this good. Especially in a place where everything usually feels so bad.
"You okay?" he asks.
"Not really dressed for mourning."
"I disagree." He takes my shoes with one hand and helps me up with the other. "You're celebrating life. Death is just another part of that cycle." His eyes find mine. "You know that tattoo on my chest."
"I'd love to be reminded."
He pulls his t-shirt down, exposing his gorgeous, perfect, pectoral muscles. There it is—be brave, live—in thick black letters.
"That's
awfully new age for you," I say.
"It's a recovery thing, actually. A reminder to experience life instead of trying to numb myself to anything that might hurt."
A very nice sentiment, but I don't see how it's relevant to the discussion at hand. If there's even a discussion. This is more like show and tell. Miles shows, and Miles tells, and I can take it or leave it.
He studies my reaction. Runs his fingers over my cheek to my chin, tilting me so we're eye to eye. Those blue eyes of his...they're so damn earnest.
"I know you hate when people are cryptic," he says.
"Accurate."
"But give me a minute." He brings his hand to my lower back and leads me down another row.
We walk for a few more moments and Miles stops in front of a plain gray tombstone. Damon Webb. Father, Uncle, Friend. He died last year, just like Miles said.
"He adopted me legally after my mom died. I took his name instead of my dad's," Miles explains. He sets my shoes on the ground, turns to face me, and takes my hands. "The quote. It's cheesy. But it was something my uncle always said when I started causing trouble. He saw right through my bullshit. When I got suspended for getting into a fight, he'd sit me down on that leather couch and toss a bag of frozen peas in my hands. He'd kneel next to me, look at me real close, and he'd tell me that if I wanted to run, I'd be running forever."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, he was a smart guy. Self-made fortune, all the business stuff that bored me to tears. He knew how I felt losing my mom, especially to suicide. It hurt him, too. He was angry, too. But I got into fights every week. I got suspended fifteen times. I broke all my guitars."
I suck in a deep breath. I care that Miles went through this, I really do. And it doesn't seem like another bullshit story, but there's still this tension in my chest...I can't let his words wash over me. I can't trust him quite yet.
Still, we were friends, or something close to that, and I want to be there for him right now. Maybe not tomorrow, or next week, but right now.
He squeezes my hands. "After my twentieth fight, he made a deal. He'd buy me one more guitar if I agreed to be brave and confront how much it hurt to lose my mom. I could wail on that guitar all day. I could scream my lungs out, write a song that was nothing but 'Fuck Simon'—that was my father's name. But if I got in trouble, even one more time, that was it. I was going to boarding school."
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