by Hayes, Lane
My smile slipped. I didn’t understand what it was about Miles that made me uneasy. I wanted to blame it on his campy affectations, but that didn’t ring true. I lived in the Castro, San Francisco’s gay mecca. I was exposed to a wide spectrum of “fabulous” on a daily basis, and I loved it. But Miles was different somehow.
Sometimes it felt like he made it a personal goal to see how long it would take him to get under my skin and stay there. No wonder Eric noticed that I kept my interaction with his secretary to a minimum. It made no sense, but the guy made me nervous as hell.
“Uh, that’s good.”
Miles returned my tight-lipped grin with a wide, radiant one that made my heart skip a beat. I gulped and licked my lips. I didn’t get it. I wasn’t attracted to him, and though he loved to tell me about his giant crush on me, I knew he was after my reaction, because he was madly in love with his boyfriend. Except, they weren’t together anymore so…I pulled at my collar. Damn, it was hot out here.
I glanced toward the winery, hoping someone would pop outside and take over for me. Then again, if I could handle a few minutes alone with the guy now, I could legitimately satisfy my promise to Eric to “be nice” to Miles and then avoid him for the rest of the party. I braved another look at him, hoping my pulse didn’t go into overdrive.
He didn’t look particularly melancholy to me. In fact, his beautiful blue eyes twinkled with what looked like barely contained amusement.
“Wanna sip?” he asked, lifting his glass of red wine.
“No, thanks.”
“You sure? I overheard your conversation. You sound like you could use a little vino.” His thick mop of auburn hair fell across his forehead as he patted the empty space beside him. “Come sit.”
I obeyed then shook my head when he tried to hand his glass over. “I’ll wait. I’m a notorious lightweight. If I’m going to make a fool of myself, I’d prefer to do it at night when hopefully everyone else is equally as wasted.”
Miles grinned as he hiked his knee up onto the bench and turned to face me. “Good plan. I was going with ‘get drunk and stay drunk,’ but wine isn’t my beverage of choice for temporary oblivion. And this is a work function. I have to behave.”
I studied the elegant bend of his wrist, noting how fine-boned he was. Miles was a couple of inches shorter than my six two, but his lean frame always made him seem taller. His graceful carriage and sophisticated manners reminded me of a movie star from the ’40s.
He was famous for pairing snappy suits with accessories that pushed the boundaries of taste. He had more socks and ties depicting superheroes in compromising positions than anyone I’d ever met. The funny part was that it wasn’t until you got real close that you realized Batman and Robin were engaged in X-rated activities. He appeared to be almost conservatively dressed today in faded designer jeans and a short-sleeved floral button-down shirt. No socks, no tie.
Miles reminded me of a model who knew his angles well. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’d posed to take advantage of the afternoon sun’s glow streaking his hair with golden highlights. He was so…interesting-looking and truthfully, I’d always been fascinated by the contrasts between us. He was thin and fair with reddish hair. And while I was lean too, I had dark short hair, olive-toned skin, and green eyes. We looked nothing alike, and we had nothing in common. Except Eric.
When he cleared his throat noisily, my cheeks flushed for the second time in less than ten minutes. The shame of parental admonishment was preferable to getting caught ogling a good-looking guy at point-blank. I swallowed hard and adjusted my sunglasses, grateful for the thin shield, though I was pretty sure I wasn’t hiding much. Miles’s playful demeanor and impish grin always made me feel like I was two steps behind—no matter how hard I tried to keep up.
You don’t have to keep up, I reminded myself. Just be nice.
“Uh…right. And what is your beverage of choice?”
“Margarita,” he answered quickly. “Preferably frozen like a good ol’ fashioned slushie. Just add tequila and yum…insta-heaven!”
“Slushies are sugar water,” I said woodenly.
“Correction. They’re the bomb…dot diddly com.” Miles winked before lifting his wineglass and taking another healthy sip.
“Right,” I replied lamely.
“You look hot,” he commented idly. “Then again, you always do. You must get tired of random people drooling over you.”
I huffed with amusement. I felt like a kid in grown-up clothes at the moment. Not hot in the slightest.
“Thanks. So do you,” I replied. Though now that I was closer, I realized he looked pale and thinner than normal. Miles was the kind of skinny that didn’t have any fat to spare. In spite of his cocky grin, I was beginning to see why Eric was concerned. “Which superhero are you wearing today?”
Miles let out a weary sigh and then looked away as he tilted his wineglass back. “I’ve given up on superheroes.”
“What? No Spiderman ties or Deadpool socks?” He shook his head in response. I knew I was just giving him ammunition, but something made me add, “What about underwear?”
Miles snorted and immediately choked on his wine. He held his glass out and then doubled over in a coughing fit the second I took it from him. I patted his back awkwardly, not sure what the protocol was now. He yanked his sunglasses off and wiped tears from his eyes. When he had himself under control again, he shot a dirty look at me and shook his head.
“Jesus, you almost killed me.”
“What did I say? Underwear?”
“Yes! When the man of your dreams mentions your unmentionables, it’s liable to give a girl a heart attack!”
I huffed at his outrageous remark. It was so…Miles. He was too quick for me. I glanced toward the winery and contemplated making a quick escape, but I wasn’t in the mood to be in a crowd yet. I needed quiet.
Such as it was.
I held his wineglass up. “Want this?”
“Yes, but—hang on to it for a sec. I’ll be right back,” he said as he jumped to his feet and then raced toward the wine-tasting room door.
I stood and stared after him for a moment, weighing my options. I should go now. I could leave his glass on the bench and wander through the vineyard. Hanging with Miles wouldn’t do my whirling mind any favors. He was a human hurricane. I needed peace.
I twirled the burgundy contents and gauged the distance to Wes and Nick’s house. They’d hosted a pool party last month and if I remembered correctly, it was a short walk from the winery. I’d been a little tipsy that day, I mused as I absently lifted Miles’s glass and took a sip.
It took me a moment to realize what I’d done.
My brain buzzed, and a few seconds later my fingers tingled and felt numb. My hypersensitivity to alcohol was legendary among my friends. I was a tragic lightweight. A myriad of factors from caloric intake to humidity controlled how much I could safely drink at any given time. No joke. On a warm day with an empty stomach, one sip could have the effect of a whole glass. Like now.
But it wasn’t the alcohol that got me. All I could taste was Miles.
I furrowed my brow as I held the glass to the light. Maybe our lips touched the same part of the glass. I didn’t see how that would make a difference, but it felt eerily as though I’d licked the curve of his neck where his jawline met his earlobe. The heady sensation was laced with a carnal quality that seemed impossible to transmit without physical contact. I sniffed the contents warily, but it just smelled like wine. Not a magic potion.
“You’re still here. I thought you might make a getaway,” Miles commented, ripping me from my reverie.
He thrust a water bottle at me before grabbing his wineglass and draining the contents in one long drink. I couldn’t tear my gaze from his throat. I watched his Adam’s apple slide then fixated on the smooth skin under his perfectly shaped ear where—holy fuck. I winced and stuffed my free hand into my pocket, hoping to adjust my cock before Miles noticed me perving on hi
m in the weirdest way possible. What was wrong with me?
“Um, I’m gonna…take a walk. I’ll see you—”
Miles set his empty glass on the bench then turned to me with an expectant look. “Can I come?” When I hesitated, he held his hand up in surrender and shook his head. “Never mind. Do your thing. I’ll see you ’round, Grant.”
“No, it’s okay,” I heard myself say. I grabbed his elbow as he started to turn and felt that same inexplicable tingle of awareness at the innocent contact. I uncapped the water bottle he’d given me, to keep my hands busy, and then inclined my head toward the vineyard. “Join me. I think you were going to tell me your favorite flavor of slushie. Cherry or cola?”
I sounded like a total dweeb, but Miles’s wide grin indicated he didn’t mind. “Both. Mixed,” he answered.
“Both mixed with what?”
“Cola and cherry flavors mixed together, Ding Dong.”
I stopped under the olive tree and narrowed my eyes. “Ding Dong?”
Miles threw his head back and laughed. The merry sound floated above us under the canopy of leaves, wrapping us in a happy cocoon. I couldn’t help joining in.
“Sorry. Too much? I know we’re not really friends, but we’ve known each other for a millennium. Don’t I get to call you names now?”
“Like ‘Ding Dong’?”
“Sure. It connotes familiarity with a touch of humor. Don’t you think?”
“I’ll take a pass on ‘Ding Dong.’ If you have to call me something, stay away from names that sound like Hostess treats or dick slang, please.”
Miles nodded profusely. His eyes were lit with humor when he gestured for me to follow him between a row of lush vines. “A challenge! Let’s think of a non-penis pet name for you.”
I snorted in amusement. “Yeah, let’s not. How come you’re out here? I thought you helped plan this party. Don’t they need you inside?”
“I’ll get there. Don’t push me away yet. How’s the real estate game treating you?”
I shot a curious glance sideways then shrugged. “It’s fine.”
“You didn’t sound ‘fine’ when you were talking on the phone earlier.”
“Were you eavesdropping?”
“Of course. That’s what Eric trained me to do,” he quipped. He rolled his eyes when I frowned. “I’m kidding. I didn’t hear anything. Just your tone of voice. You sounded…exasperated. Was that work or a tiresome boyfriend?”
“Neither. It was my dad, who called to talk about work. I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Me either,” he said in a small voice.
I stopped and made a production of taking a drink then recapping the water bottle before I spoke. “I’m sorry. I just heard about it.”
“Meh.” He turned his gaze toward the horizon before continuing. “It’s old news.”
“When did it happen?”
“It happened six months ago, but I didn’t let the cat out of the bag until a few weeks ago. I wasn’t sure how to say, ‘I got dumped’ in a way that didn’t make me sound pathetic.”
His tone was even and almost bland, but the fact that he wouldn’t look at me told another story.
“You’re not pathetic.” I winced at the lame platitude then motioned for him to keep walking. Maybe if we were moving, I’d be less inclined to make stupid commentary. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”
“He met someone else,” he replied with faux nonchalance.
“Oh. That sucks.”
“I know, right? But I’m done feeling sorry for myself. So what if I’m thirty years old and the last seven years of my life officially went down the drain? Four and a half were good, two were blah, and the final six months were hell. C’est la vie. It’s over, and I’m over it,” he said sharply.
“You don’t sound over it,” I observed, noting the tight set of his jaw.
Miles gave me a lopsided grin. “Honestly, I am. I’m pretty sure I’ve hit all five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression. I got stuck in that last one for a while, but I’ve finally moved on to acceptance. I loved, I lost, but ultimately it’s for the best. I’ll survive.”
“Of course you will.”
“Damn right, and you know what? I really feel like belting out some Gloria Gaynor right about now. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
“Cool. Give me an intro.” Miles halted in the middle of the path and raised his face skyward before slowly lifting his water bottle to his mouth.
I glanced up and down the deserted pathway for an audience then back at Miles. “Uh…what do you mean?”
He opened one eye and shot a look at me that I couldn’t read without translation. “Try something like, ‘For all the lonely souls who just want to throw in the fucking towel, don’t do it! Miles Harrison is here tonight to tell you—you will survive!’ Or something like that.”
“Um…”
Miles set both hands on his hips and scowled. “Work with me, Grant. I’m in the throes of a nervous breakdown here. Help a dude out.”
“All right.” I cleared my throat and then repeated his words in a far less theatrical intonation.
Miles rolled his eyes. “Wow. That was inspired.”
I snickered at the sarcasm. “I’m new at this. Cut me some slack…dude.”
“Fine.” He hummed an intro and was about to break into song when I waved my hands over my head to stop him.
“No, that’s the wrong one. You’re about to sing Thelma Houston.”
“Oh. You’re right. Let me try again.”
Miles lifted his water bottle to his lips like a microphone and belted out the disco classic in the middle of the vineyard like he was standing onstage in a glittery costume with a rabid audience cheering him on. I wanted to laugh at his comical expressions and flourishing gestures, but his off-the-cuff rendition was laced with a desperate passion that teetered precariously between life-affirming and downright depressing. His voice petered out to a barely audible hum after he sang the line, “I’m saving all my lovin’ for someone who’s loving me.”
I smiled cautiously to be sure he was finished then tucked my water bottle under my arm and clapped. “Well done.”
Miles acknowledged my praise with a nod then took a sip of water. “Thanks, but I know my disco, and that sucked. You don’t get points if you can’t nail the ending.”
“I think Gloria would give you a pass. You know, you’re a nice guy, Miles, and you deserve to be happy. You’re going to be fine.”
“So you do like me!”
“Well, sure but I—”
Whatever I was about to say was reduced to static when he smiled. It was no ordinary smile. This one had impact. It hit me smack in the middle of my chest. I couldn’t help returning the gesture times ten. We stood there grinning at each other like a couple of fools for a long moment until his cell buzzed.
Miles pulled his phone from his pocket and read his text.
“Eric needs something from his bag.” He responded to the message and then waited for a response before reading aloud, “ ‘It’s at the house, in the blue guest room.’ I suppose I’d better get back to work. I’ll walk with you till the path ends then head up the hill. You can entertain me on the way.”
“What kind of entertainment did you have in mind?”
“Tell me about your love life,” he suggested, batting his eyelashes when I gave him a funny look.
I huffed. “It’s good it’s a short walk back, because I have nothing to share.”
“No sordid affairs, clingy lovers, or troublesome conquests?”
I snickered at his faux-serious tone. “Nothing. Sorry to disappoint you. At the moment, I’m kinda grateful. I’ll have my hands full dealing with my folks next week. I can’t imagine adding boyfriend-level stress to the mix.”
“Understandable. However, I didn’t use the word ‘boyfriend.’ Who was the last person who made your pulse race?”
I furrowed my brow as though giving his lightheart
ed query serious thought. Then I stopped abruptly before we neared the gravel path leading to the winery and snapped my fingers. “You.”
Miles went perfectly still. I couldn’t tell if he was breathing either, which of course only proved the point that he was, in fact, guilty of giving me heart palpitations.
It was a known fact that on top of my inability to hold my liquor and effectively handle overbearing family members, I had terrible comic timing. I couldn’t tell a joke to save my life or pull off witty banter without it coming across as awkward flirtation.
My satisfaction at rendering him temporarily speechless was ruined when I opened my mouth a moment later, and nothing came out. This was why I stuck close to guys like Josh and Eric, who seemed to know how to extricate themselves from sticky situations. When I was a kid, I would literally run for the hills to find a quiet place to hide until my anxiety faded.
Now I had no idea how to get myself out of this. I didn’t want to give Miles the wrong impression but I didn’t—
“Relax, Grant,” Miles said kindly. “I get it. A racing pulse can be caused by indigestion too. Is that what you were saying?”
“Of course not. I would never—”
“Oh, please.” He raised his hands in exasperation and then stalked ahead of me. Then he spun around and pointed a finger at me. “Why can’t anyone say what they think anymore? I’m not talking about crackpots spouting inflammatory BS on social media. I’m talking about honest, face-to-face communication. If everyone only says what they think others want to hear instead of the truth, how will we know what’s real or who can be trusted?”
“I wasn’t lying. You really are the last person to make my pulse race,” I admitted with a weak smile. “You make me nervous.”
“I do? Why?” he asked, tilting his chin curiously.
And this was exactly why I avoided Miles. One minute we seemed to be on the same page and the next, I was scrambling to keep up with him or I was dragging my feet, hoping he’d move on without me.
“I don’t—I mean…I—don’t know.”
Before I could add a quick good-bye and get the hell out, Miles pivoted on his heels in a half circle then moved back to my side. His eyes lit with easy humor. “If it’s any consolation, you make me nervous too. See you later, handsome.”