Page 128 of Loving You

I bite my lips to control the smile that wants to take over.

“You’re cute,” I say.

He chuckles. “Thank you.”

The walk is quick and once we get home, Miles pulls me inside and pushes me against the wall, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that says he’s missed me way more than he should.

The image of this being our every Tuesday night plays in my head., and I clutch his shirt as if I need to hold on tight just to keep the thought.

“God, I love kissing you,” he says when he steps back. He rests his forehead on mine as his hands grip my hips.

“Just kissing me?” I ask, pressing my body into the kiss and giving him what he loves so much.

“Okay, and other things.”

I let out a small laugh and look away.

Nights like this mean more to me than I want to admit.

Why hasn’t he asked me to stay?

“Hey,” he says, bringing a finger to the bottom of my chin and forcing me to look at him. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

I know this is my moment. The one where I should tell him that the idea of staying has crossed my mind. But I don't have all the details worked out yet.

Do I still travel as much but make this my home base to return to between trips?

Do I cut back on travel?

Would I hate that?

Would Miles want a girlfriend who isn’t here full-time?

Would he want a girlfriend, period?

I mean, that’s what I’d call myself now, but as of this moment, it’s all temporary.

The smartest thing to do is discuss my options with my agent before I just go making rash decisions. See if she can find out how I could cut back the travel. If there are any consequences forbreaking a contract early. If amendments are allowed in any form.

So I don’t want to start a discussion I don’t have the answers to, not yet. If I can’t make it work, I don’t want to get his hopes up.

“Nothing. Maybe all those mimosas are finally catching up to me.”

He leans forward to kiss my forehead.

“Let’s get you to bed then,” he says, and he squeezes my hand twice.

He leads me toward the stairs, but my curiosity gets the best of me.

“You just squeezed my hand twice. You’ve done that before. What does it mean?”

He pauses and tilts his head.

“Do I keep doing that?”

I nod.

A sweet smile touches his lips. “My mom used to do it to me when my mind was … overthinking. Two squeezes. Two words: don’t worry.” He lets out a small laugh. “I’d almost forgotten about it until I started doing it with you.”

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