Page 108 of Falling

When my song’s over, Miles takes the floor, psyching himself for the song he’s chosen. He does a mini warm-up, jumping up and down and pretending to crack his neck before the song starts. When the song starts, I immediately burst out laughing. Obviously, because Miles is Miles, he choseMy Shot,fromHamiltonthe musical.

He can’t fucking sing to save his life; I’ve known that. But he can sort of rap.

I watch as he has the whole place captivated while rapping every single line of the song. There aren’t many people, but it makes this whole thing feel like a real performance. I’ve never seen him so at home. I never would have pegged him as a theater kid, but from the way he’s clearly memorized these lines, I might have been wrong about him. He keeps his eyes on me the entire time, giving an Oscar-worthy performance, pointing at me at any chance he can get until I’m crying-laughing so hard that I need to sit down.

I don’t know how I didn’t realize it earlier. Maybe weeks ago, when he picked me up from that bar and looked after me, or maybe it was way before that, but I might have real feelings for this guy. Like, feelings I definitely shouldn’t have. The kind of feelings that I have not only between my legs but also in my chest.

When his five-minute rap is done, he stumbles toward me, out of breath and chest heaving. “That was the most tiring workout I’ve ever done in my life,” he says, falling into me.

“Okay. Come on, big boy,” I say, pushing his weight off me and onto the bar stool beside me. “I’m hoping that five minutes isn’t how long you always last.”

He gasps, holding a dramatic hand to his chest. “Are you making a sex joke?”

“No,” I say, fiddling with my straw in my lemonade.

He tuts at me, shaking his head. “Didn’t want to get me a drink?”

“And miss another second of that toe-curling performance? No way,” I say, pushing my drink toward him. “You can have mine.”

“Wow, Wren. Making sex jokes and letting me drink some of your drink? If I didn’t know any better, I'd think you’re finally warming up to me.”

“Youdon’tknow any better,” I murmur. “Plus, I warmed up to you a long time ago. It just took a vacation and a day full of surfing for me to show it.”

“Nah, I think I figured you liked me when you let me finger fuck you until you came on my hand,” Miles murmurs, sipping on my drink innocently.

“Are we talking about the same thing because I remember you were the one who begged for it,” I say, my cheeks flashing at the memory. Webothasked for more, but I’m not going to admit that right now.

“Okay, fine. I'm admitting it because I’m not going to deny the fact that I wanted you badly that night, and you let me have you,” he whispers so low that I can feel it in my stomach.

All I can focus on isthat nightbecause that is all it was. It was a moment of weakness. We were both turned on and reckless. That’s it. It might have driven me insane for weeks, but I’m over it now.

I think.

When we get backinto the hotel, Miles immediately goes into the bathroom, desperate to get the smell of the ocean and the bar off him. I’ve become comfortable in my sticky bikini top over the past few hours, and I don’t want the smell of the beach—or the smell of him—to come off me just yet. Instead, I sit outside on the balcony, letting the last of the summer breeze flow through my hair.

I pull up my phone and call Kennedy, knowing that she should be with Scarlett right now. They pick up on the second ring, their bright faces filling up the screen.

“Hiiii,” Kennedy coos. “We miss you!”

“I miss you guys too,” I say, smiling at them. “What are you doing?”

“We just came back from Miles’s house. Apparently, hockey players want to party every night. You should know the kind of lifestyle you’re getting yourself into,” Kennedy warns.

“Well, it depends on how long you’re planning on keeping this up for,” Scarlett adds, trying to keep her whole face in the tiny screen.

“Yeah. I’m not exactly sure where we’re going with this,” I say, glancing back into the bedroom to make sure he’s still in the shower. When I turn back to the screen, both of the girls are looking at me confused.

“What does that mean?” Scarlett asks.

“You guys have to promise not to kill me,” I say. They both cross their hearts, holding up their Girl Scout promise.

Before I can speak, Kennedy pipes up. “You’re falling in love with him, aren’t you?”

My eyes widen, and I turn down the volume on my phone. “No! God. What? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You totally are,” Scarlett adds in.

“I’m not,” I say as confidently as I can. “I just like him a lot more than I thought I would, okay? He actually listens to me and makes me feel valued and seen. He forced me to go surfing with him, and then we went to a bar to do karaoke, and I think I’ve had one of the best days of my life.”

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