Page 24 of One Billion Reasons

Miles

You should listen to George

Jonah

I’m going to find this person. I’m done with this shit.

Jason

Good morning from Tahiti. I see everyone is nice and relaxed today.

He sends a picture of the ocean from his overwater villa and Jonah responds with several choice expletives.

I laugh and drain my drink.

The whiskey is warming me from the belly out. I need the relaxation, but the hum in my blood is a reminder that it’s still early and I can’t afford to go overboard. A knock sounds, and I open the too-thin door between our rooms to see Lane, pink-cheeked and annoyed. And still beautiful, even though her dark eyes are glinting dangerously. I can’t help but catalog the changes to her appearance. The gold stud that sparkles on her pert nose. Her pale hair, silky and jaw-length. Her full pink lips, soft and glossed in a way that makes me want to press my thumb against her mouth. She’s utterly delicious in a black dress that skates over her body and dips low between her full breasts. How are they even held up like that? She can’t be wearing a bra.

“Ready?” Her lips are pressed in a thin line, and she only meets my eyes for a moment.

“Come in for a second. I need to do my bow tie.” For a second it looks like she might say no, but then she steps over the threshold and shuts the door softly behind her.

I button the top button of my dress shirt and work the tie, tilting my head back. Her eyes flick to my fingers and my throat. Her tongue darts out to lick her lips. Like she might be imagining tasting my skin. Heat pools in my groin, and I shove the thought down. Lane Overton does not want to taste my skin unless she’s in the process of murdering me with her bare hands and somehow it happens by mistake.

“I need to apologize for earlier.”

“Oh, that.” Her face reddens.

I finish tying the tie and take a step toward her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have implied…well, I don’t know what I was implying.” Why did I start this conversation? My tie already feels like it’s choking me. “But it sounded like I was implying that your ah, sexual experiences, have been bad, and I would never mean to imply that.” The words come out a little strangled. I do not want to think about Lane having mediocre sex with one of the accountant types she goes for. And I wish I didn’t know what type of guy she likes, but she used to bring them around on holidays and I’ve stalked her social media enough times after one too many drinks.

“Thanks.” She fiddles with her delicate gold necklace. “So Liam didn’t say anything to you?”

“About your sex life?” My eyes widen. “No. He would never.”

She blows out a breath and turns. “Let’s get this over with.”

All I can think as I trail her to the elevator is what would Liam have told me? I’m sure there’s more there. And I intend to find out what.

13

Lane

Miles is tense and quiet as we head to the party on the outdoor deck. He looks beautiful, even brooding. The black and white of his clothes set off the tan perfection of his jaw. And why is he so tan? Does he still surf every weekend in Montauk? All those years ago, it was his passion. I took photos on the beach, and he and Liam surfed. Jonah and Jason were always too hungover to get up at dawn, but I did it for the soft light on the horizon, the way it made Miles and Liam all hazy. We used to whisper on those early mornings, like the spell might be broken if we were too loud.

Now the silence around us is awkward. Not least of all because of his apology earlier. I can’t decide if it’s worse that he implied I have bad sex or worse that he apologized. Or worse that I almost told him no man has ever made me orgasm from penetration alone. It’s always taken a little bit more to get me over the finish line, and so many of my past boyfriends haven’t been willing to try. And I wish Liam didn’t know either, but Mal let it drop one night when we were drunk, and he’s never let it go. God, this couldn’t be more awkward.

Miles drums his fingers on the wall as we descend. He’s silent as we exit the elevator and stride through the elegant lobby toward the outdoor deck, where the party is in full swing. Heads turn and eyebrows go up as we enter. I’m reminded of all the awful parties I attended at the Becker house. Every time Louise demanded Miles’s presence, Liam and I tagged along. And while his mother was nothing but lovely to us, her friends were another story. They could tell what your outfit cost in one glance, and they used that to determine your worth as a person. I hold myself stock-still as Miles scans the room, his brows drawing low.

“I hate this,” I mutter.

“Parties? You’re a wedding photographer. How can you hate parties?”

“Rich people’s parties. And it’s different when you’re a guest.” Different when they’re judging you and you know with certainty that you don’t belong. “Just don’t desert me, okay?”

He gives a short nod and snags us drinks from a passing waiter.

“When did you get so angry, Miles?” The words pop out, and my cheeks redden.

“You’re paying attention?” He slides me a look that says he’s surprised. I guess I’m surprised too. He’s always been there, like a thorn in my side, an itch I can’t scratch, a puzzle I can’t solve. We don’t really know each other like that anymore. But even I know he used to be a lot more fun.

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