Page 36 of Miles Apart
Hateisn’t right. Dislike.
Idislikehow obnoxious Miles is. How he seeps underneath my skin and settles like he has a right to exist there. Right now, I dislike his gentleness—the way he reads my thoughts and understands that my pushing him away is what I always do: handle shit on my own.
I break us apart, surrounded by the scent of his musk, and touch my swollen lips. I hazard a glance and find Miles searchingmy face with a determined expression. “Excuse me.” I grab my black clutch off the table and head toward the entrance.
I need to leave. Leave this fundraiser. Leave Colorado.
I’ve loathed these events since my parents started collecting frequent flier miles to chase after flashing lights and people ready to kiss their ass because of their proximity to DC power. The private planes came once they amassed a certain status and realized they’d earn more political points standing next to a daughter they ignored most of her life. Not because they didn’t love me; I just wasn’t a top priority. I stopped caring a long time ago, which doesn’t explain why I still showed up tonight. Or why he did.
Tonight, Miles made me his priority. He grounded me, supported me. Made me laugh. I haven’t smiled at one of my father’s fundraisers since I was too little to realize my own autonomy. Miles is pulling emotions out of me like he was meant to be part of my life.
Coat check comes into view at the other end of a marble hallway framed in crown molding and stuffy paintings of flowers. I’ll go back to California, to the curated life waiting for me I formed without instructions on how to live it.
A hand circles around my waist and spins me. Miles’s eyes narrow. “Dinner was shit, but why are you running out on dessert?”
My laugh catches us off guard. Only he can make the air lighter after my knees shook from that kiss in front of my family. Here I am freaking out, and he’s asking about a piece of cake.
“I’m good.”
“You sure about that?” The question rests in the space between us encased in silence.
Confused. It’s the only word to describe my reaction to this back-and-forth we turned into a traveling act. Casual flirting.Sex without strings. That was our trajectory, and I royally fucked up by claiming him in a role no one will ever play.
“I’m fine, really. Thank you for checking on me, but you can stop now. Come to California if you want, but tonight is as far as this”—I motion between us—“goes.”
“You done yet?”
“Excuse me?”
He leans his forearm on the counter while I hand my ticket stub to the attendant. “Being so damn difficult. Your family is on one, but I ain’t about to pay for their mistakes.” He passes his ticket but keeps his gaze on me. “Apologize.”
“Are you serious?”
“Do you see a smile? I didn’t have to come—and don’t front like you weren’t losing your shit when you thought I stood you up. You can go back to your mama with that lie.”
Miles waits, and I roll my lips. No man talks to me this way. He’s not trying to be rude; he wants respect.
“You’re right,” I admit to his smirk. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you or got you into this mess.”
“Stop saying that. We’re…” He scratches the back of his perfect fade. “Shit, we’re not friends like that, but we are friends adjacent. I show up for mine, and your affiliation with T and Jay covers you.”
I snort. “Geez, thanks.”
His shoulder lifts. “It’s nothing.”
“Do you kiss all your non-friends like that?” The memory of his lips on mine threatens to hold my breath ransom, but I keep it together.
Miles peers down at me with heavy eyelids. “Not all of them.” A silken thread laces his voice.
“Good. For us.” I brush a hair out of place and look away. “We’ll see more of each other soon, and we shouldn’t blur any lines.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Yes,” I lie.
We stumble through the coat check door, lips locked and deep in moans. How we maneuvered back here after getting our coats remains a mystery.
“Hey, you can’t be back here!”
