Page 59 of Fragile

“Okay,” I breathe out, the word fragile.

I can’t wait any longer. I step closer, my hand reaching up to cup her face, my thumb brushing her cheek. The warmth of her skin beneath my fingers calms the nerves firing in my chest. I lean in, hesitating for just a second, and then I kiss her—soft, tentative, because I don’t want to rush.

But then she leans into me, and my restraint weakens. The kiss deepens, slow and deliberate, and I hold her closer, my hand sliding to her waist, feeling her melt against me. Everything else disappears, and all that’s left is her—us—right here, like nothing else in the world matters.

Chapter twenty-seven

Quinn

My whole life, Mileshas been the guy who made things fun. Seb wanted to build a treehouse, but we didn’t have the wood? Miles found old sheets that we pegged to our tree—actually, just his dad’s current sheets, which totally got him grounded, but it was worth it. Until it rained, and we all got soaked. But we stayed under the tree, in our fort of not-waterproof cotton draped over our heads and played go fish until the cards were ruined. Miles was also the first, and only one of us, to get tattoos. He got his first when he was sixteen. Seb and I both thought he was badass because our parents would kill us. But Miles didn’t care; he got what he wanted anyway.

My point is, somewhere along the way of growing up and accepting responsibility, he lost that fire, that fun-loving personality trait. And I’m determined to get it back.

“Studying sucks,” he whispers, bringing me back to the present. Okay, maybe today isn’t the best example of getting back his “fun” as we sit in a darkened library, studying. I’m calling this balance, though.

“I know it’s boring, but this is in our calendar for this afternoon.”

I never thought I’d be in this position, being potentially involved with the boy I’ve loved my whole life. Then again, I never thought he’d have secrets either. It hurts more than I expected, realizing that there’s a side of him I never knew, something he felt he had to hide from me, from everyone.

It’s not anger I feel. It’s something softer, sadder, like a quiet ache in my chest. I’m confused, trying to understand how someone I know so well could be carrying a burden this heavy without me ever realizing. It’s like a part of him was hidden in the shadows all this time, and I never even noticed. I still have so many layers to peel back, to understand what’s driven him to this point, what kind of pressure his dad puts on him that he feels like he has no other choice.

Last night when he opened up to me, I hadn’t seen much of that Miles for a while, probably not since his mom passed, and even then, we were so young I barely remember everything. This isn’t the Miles I thought I knew—the one who was always so strong, so certain, so ready to take on the world. But maybe that’s why I offered to help him. Because I love him too much to let him face this alone, even if it means stepping into something I can’t fully grasp. I’m not sure if occupying his time and organizing his life is the right thing to do, but I know I can’t just walk away. Not when he needs me the most.

Falling in love with Miles was never a choice.

It always felt inevitable.

I can’t help but stare at him, his brow drawn, thick lashes framing his warm eyes. He might not be feeling like the boy I love, but he sure looks like him.

Working his thick fingers into his hair that’s back to its usual length now on top, he flicks his gaze to me to catch me staring. A wolfish grin spreads across his lips as he leans closer. “Youknow, looking at me like that, Queenie, will only get you exactly what you’re thinking about.”

“What am I thinking, Miles?” I ask, feigning confidence.

I watch with rapt attention as he drags his teeth over his lower lip, letting his gaze drop deliciously slow over my face, lips, breasts, and farther where he can’t see because of the table we’re at, but I feel it,everywhere. His attention is like holding your hand above a flame for a second too long. You crave the warmth of it, and even though everything tells you to pull your hand away, you don’t want to feel the cool air again. “I think you’re imagining kissing me.” Shifting his chair a little closer to mine, he deftly spins my chair with a swoosh on the carpet so we’re facing one another. The heat of his palms rests heavily on my thighs and something ignites deep in my belly. “I think you can’t stop thinking about how badly you want my lips pressing against yours, my tongue sweeping in your mouth, tasting you, licking you, devouring you.”

My lips part, but I swallow the gasp, even though it takes a monumental amount of effort. “Impressive,” I croak and clear my throat, leaning toward him, making sure I slowly drag my tongue across my lips, drawing his attention there. “I think you’re imagining doing a lot more than just kissing, Miles Cooper. And that will earn you a red dot on your calendar if you don’t complete the task set.” I settle my attention on his lips too, so full, and right there for me to take. “Maybe, if you get your green check, I’ll let you kiss me,” I say, a little too breathlessly, before pulling away.

My body protests as I shift my chair back to face the table, but my mind knows that if I jump headfirst into whatever it is we’re dancing around, I’ll lose my head. The kisses we’ve shared, and the night of the party, play on a loop in my head. I want more. I crave more from him. Impulsively, I want to dive into the deepend. I want to give him everything. But as much as I have spent countless daydreams on him, we can’t move too fast.

“Focus, Miles,” I coo, still feeling the weight of his gaze on me.

“I am,” he says confidently, without making moves to look at his physio textbook he has open in front of us.

“On the textbook, not me.”

A huff leaves him as he moves his chair around. “For the record, that was a test to see if you’d soften on me now that I can kiss you and…” He clears his throat intentionally not saying the part that makes my cheeks flame.Touch me.“Good news, you’re still exactly the same girl who busts my balls. Difference is, now they belong to you, and they’ll stay blue for as long as you say so.”

I turn to look at him, needing to see his expression, and when we lock eyes, I know he’s telling the truth. My body thrums with need, the urge to throw myself at him and let him do whatever he wants to me feels far too tempting. “I mean it. I’m in no rush with you. I like to tease, but whatever happens, you’re in charge.”

Tingling. Everywhere. I barely register the fact that my mouth is hanging open a little, or that he’s the one who uses the pad of his index finger to close it. Tingling like I’ve been sitting with my legs crossed for too long. Like I’ve been stung by a bee. All the tingles.

“Okay, great,” I manage to force out.

And then he pecks my cheek in the most ordinary way. In a way that has my unrequited love brain flashing forward sixty years when we’re married and sitting on our front porch, telling stories to our grandbabies about how we’ve known each other our whole lives.

Getting these flash-forwards used to be a recurring thing for me, but now, with meaning behind them, coupled with his confession of waiting for me to be ready, my feelings have just been carved into stone.

For the next hour, I try to focus on studying, the textbook in front of me, but I’m too distracted by the way he’s hunched over his book, his brow furrowed in concentration. There’s something endearing about the way he studies, like he’s solving a great mystery, rather than just completing homework. It makes me smile.

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