Page 57 of Miles Apart
I huff and roll my eyes. “Let me send out a few emails.” I swat his ass perched on my clear glass desk on the way back to my chair and scoop up my YSL pumps. They’re a standout against this red pant set. “Pick a place, but I’m not staying out late.”
His face twists into a frown, tipping his dreads in a ponytail with his head tilt. “Why not? I’m only here until the end of the week.”
What is my excuse?
Going out with Kojo is better than staying in the house with a tight lip and dramatic coochie if Miles is in another mood.
“You’re right. Let’s go.”
“That’s the third time you’ve ignored his call.”
“Fourth.” I hit decline again.
“Oop!”
My only response to Carter’s calls and texts was a thumbs-up to confirm my father coming on Thursday, a tidbit the senator was too busy to share himself.
“Remind me why you two haven’t fucked? The man is fine.” Kojo tips his glass and takes a sip of Sazerac.
They never met, but a photo of me and Carter with my father was enough for him to question why I won’t let theGrey’s Anatomylookalike play doctor.
I sigh and twist the stem of my martini glass in my hand. “Carter and I have what you call a volatile relationship.”
At nineteen, Carter had his swagger down. The custom suits weren’t in rotation then, but the cocky smile was, along with the red flags spelling out “trouble” in Broadway lights. He was my first crush, and he’s still an anomaly.
Charming yet exhaustive.
Addictive yet enraging.
Like Miles.
I used to think my immediate attraction to Carter and our par-for-the-course back-and-forth were signs we’d fall into place. The senator’s daughter with his chief of staff would be a match made in Washington if it didn’t make my skin crawl. I have a connection to Carter by default, but something is off.
“Were you ever attracted to someone but knew if you got together, you’d lose more than you’d gain?”
Kojo nods.
“That’s Carter.”
I always follow my gut, and it says not to trust myself with him.
Carter or Miles?
A dry martini coats my throat on a long sip. There are parallels to both men. Miles is exhaustive and enraging, but he’s also nice—caring, even. He never tries to hurt me but possesses Carter’s same ability to get under my skin.
“Sounds like a damn mess. So no Jesse Williams then. Whoisin your rotation?”
“I, um. There’s no rotation right now.”
Kojo pulls another sip and tips his head from side to side. “Dry spells happen. I was in one myself until this morning.” He crosses himself.
“It’s not a dry spell. It’s kinda been the same person for a minute.”
“Define a minute.”
“I don’t know. A month, give or take a week or two.” I scan the bar menu but freeze at the heat of his gaze on the side of my neck.
Kojo is a damn fool, staring at me with wide eyes, an open mouth, and the spring roll the bartender dropped off seconds ago now inches from his lips. “What?” I laugh.
