Playing, p.67
Playing, page 67
I throw my head back, so my cheek is pressed against his. His hand goes to the back of my head, and he turns me until our lips connect.
It's a perfect spark. That buzz of pleasure goes straight to my core. I slide my tongue over his. I suck on his lips until I can feel his moan in my mouth.
He releases me, shifting me back into place. No more patience. He moves faster. Harder. His hands tighten around my hips. His breath gets heavier, heavier, heavier.
I arch my hips to match his movements. It doesn't hurt today. It only feels good.
I'm almost there. It's like Miles can sense it. He slides one hand down my stomach and over my clit, stroking me to another orgasm.
It happens so quickly this time. The tension builds to a fever pitch. It's almost too much to take. And then he thrusts into me. I scream out in pleasure, my sex pulsing as I come. Pleasure spreads through me in waves. My hands slip off the tile. My legs go weak. All the energy in my body is focused on this perfect sensation.
But he hasn't come yet. This isn't done yet.
Miles pulls me upright. "Come on."
He turns off the shower and pulls the door open. His arms slide under me. He lifts me, holding me against his chest, and carries me to the bed.
He sets me down on my back. I'm still dripping wet. The cotton sheets cling to my soaked skin. I shake them off, spreading my legs in invitation.
Miles positions himself on the bed. His body sinks into mine. He's wet, warm, hard.
He grabs my ass and shifts me until we're aligned again.
Then he's inside me.
I gasp in pleasure. God, he feels good.
Miles's eyes find mine. I can't explain his expression. Lust, yes, but there's affection, too. If he didn't feel so damn good, I'd ask him to explain it. But things being what they are...
I close my eyes.
Fun.
Sex.
That's all this is.
He thrusts into me, hard and fast. His body is shaking, his breath is frantic. He's about to come. I can feel it, and my God, do I love the feeling. I wrap my legs around him. I dig my hands into his wet hair.
He groans. This perfect low groan. Pure animal. Pure need.
There. I can feel his orgasm, not just in my sex, but in the tensing muscles in his back. I open my eyes to watch the pleasure spread across his face. It's amazing. So much so that I can barely breathe.
He shifts into me one last time, groaning as he comes.
His eyes flutter open. He presses his lips against mine and collapses on the bed next to me.
"Better than caffeine?"
A blush threatens to form on my cheeks. Sex and fun I can understand. Talking afterwards is a lot more complicated. "Better."
"You still want your caffeine?" He rolls onto his elbow. His fingertips trail over my chest. "I'll buy you breakfast."
"I should really study."
"Meg, I expect better from you." He smirks like he's teasing. "You can't use me for sex then send me home without feeding me."
"Would you even let me buy you breakfast?"
"Of course not." He shifts off the bed. "It's on me."
Chapter Ten
It's twenty minutes on the death bike. Riding on the streets isn't quite as terrifying as racing over the freeway, but it's still plenty scary.
After parking on a side street in Venice Beach, Miles leads me to an out-of-the-way restaurant. It's a repurposed house, blue with white shutters and wide windows.
Miles opens the door for me. He pulls out my chair for me. Like he's a perfect gentleman. Like we're on a real date.
It's a tiny table. A little wood laminate thing with barely enough room for two plates and two glasses. I sit on the edge of my chair, my legs crossed. Miles leans back in his chair, his knees wide open.
His eyes connect with mine. "Should we do the usual first date conversation?"
"Is this a first date?"
He shakes his head. "It's not a date. We're friends."
"But it is our first time out together."
He raises his eyebrow like he's challenging me. "Okay. Let's try it. What do you do?"
"I go to UCLA, premed. I work as an ER scribe from six to ten Monday through Friday. It's a lot of grunt work but it's great experience. And you?"
"I went to Stanford. Poli-sci."
"That right?"
He smirks. "You don't believe I went to Stanford?"
Somehow, I do believe it. Miles is handsome and charismatic. I can see him just about anywhere.
"And now?" I ask.
"I work in the entertainment industry."
"Is that the line you normally use?"
He shrugs. "Most women either know who I am or they don't care."
"Are you that famous?"
"Depends on how recently we dropped a music video, how well it's doing. We have a handful of diehard fans but we're not famous enough that everybody knows our names. It's been different since In Pieces. More people stop me on the street. It was our first hit. Our only top 100 song so far."
"Have you made a lot of money?" I ask.
He laughs. "I like that you asked that. Most people would think it's impolite."
I copy his effortlessly cool shrug.
He smiles. "Good amount. We're poised to make a great amount. But we're not there yet." His eyes go to the window. "Money isn't an issue for me. I inherited a lot. I could quit the band tomorrow, never work again, and still be okay."
"That is a lot."
He nods. "It's a shitty way to become a millionaire."
I clear my throat. I don't want the conversation to get heavy. Talking about loss — that will hurt too much. Right, I feel good. Like it's possible to be happy. I haven't felt that way since before Rosie died.
"Where are you from?" he asks.
Back to a light topic. Perfect. "Orange County."
"My uncle lived in Irvine for a while. It's not a terrible. A little—"
"Sterile? Void of personality? Full of people who care about the color of their neighbor's house more than anything else?" My jaw tenses. So much for breezy conversation.
I have nothing against Orange County in theory. It's gorgeous, safe, and filled with perfectly remodeled shopping centers. But it's also filled with people like my parents who prioritize keeping up appearances over everything else.
"You adore it," he teases. "Planning on buying one of those new condos by the Irvine Spectrum?"
I shake my head.
"Your parents still live there?"
I clear my throat. Talking about my parents is sure to drag this conversation into dark and heavy territory. I don't even talk about them with Kara. I'm not about to share this with Miles.
"I don't like to talk about my family," I say.
He nods with understanding. "Where are you going to medical school?"
"I don't want to talk about it." The decision is still weighing me down. Staying near home, in southern California, doesn't feel right. Going across the country doesn't feel right, either.
Miles leans closer. His eyes pierce mine. "I was inside you an hour ago, but your med school applications are too personal to discuss?"
I can't place his expression. His voice is light, like he's joking, but that doesn't feel quite right.
"Excuse me." He stands and makes his way to the bathroom.
My back is in knots. I don't know how I'm supposed to act with him. We're friends, but we're having sex. It's confusing.
I dig my phone out of my purse. Kara hasn't responded to my texts with any more pleas for information, and I'm not sure I'm ready to hand anything out. My emails aren't particularly interesting. Mostly stuff about class. One horrible, two-week-old email from my parents attempting to arrange Thanksgiving break.
I need to find a way to make that visit less horrible.
Anything will do.
I rack my brain for ideas as I put my phone on silent and return it to my purse.
The server stops at our table. I order a coffee for me and a water for Miles. I have no idea what he likes. Hell, I know almost nothing about him. He's arrogant. He's an amazing singer. And he went through something awful that tore his heart to shreds. He must have to write In Pieces.
But it's none of my business. We're having fun, no serious feelings involved. I take a deep breath and perfect my I'm having such effortless fun expression. It's terrible.
Miles returns from the bathroom as the server drops off my coffee. He orders his own coffee and settles back into his seat. His eyes pass over me like he's picking me apart.
My cheeks are warm. Hell, they're burning up. "I shouldn't be so defensive, but I… I've never done anything like this before."
His eyes find mine. "It's simple really. We have fun."
I stir milk and sugar into my coffee. "Nothing is that simple."
"This is. We have amazing sex, we talk, we eat, we go to shows and make out backstage. When it stops being fun, we part ways."
"If you're adamantly anti-commitment, why do you want a fuck buddy?" I ask.
"Thought I'd try something new." His eyes connect with mine. "And I like you."
"It's that simple?"
He nods. "Why do you want a fuck buddy? Can't make it to twenty-one without fucking unless you're avoiding it."
"You're that hot," I tease. "So hot I lost my mind."
"Besides that."
"I need the distraction."
"You're going to wound me talking like that."
"I'm sure." I take a sip of my coffee. Sweet, sweet caffeine. It's enough to push away the mixed-up feelings brewing in my gut. I can focus on having fun. I can focus on today and not whenever it is that we part ways. "I'm applying to Harvard, Johns Hopkins, and Columbia."
"Those are all on the other side of the country."
"Exactly."
The server returns with Miles's coffee. We order our breakfasts.
He waits until we're alone. "I'm going to add another term to our arrangement. Anything we do together—I'm paying."
"I can pay for myself."
"I'm sure you can, but I insist." His expression is intense.
"Fine."
He smiles. It's different from the smug grin that is usually plastered on his face. It feels like he cares about me, like this is about more than a little fun.
I shift the focus to other areas of conversation. I explain the process of applying for medical school, starting with the MCATs and ending with pressing the "submit" button on my online application. If he finds it boring, he doesn't show it. He keeps his eyes on mine, wide, and rapt with attention.
He talks about Stanford, focusing on meeting Drew, starting Sinful Serenade, graduating just in time to start touring. The band is about three years old. They have two albums. According to Miles, the first is good but not great while the second is amazing. It was a crossover hit. Big on the alternative chart. Their last tour, which ended a few weeks ago, sold out in almost every date.
They're not Maroon Five, but they have the potential to be the next big thing. If they play their cards right.
He knows a lot about the music industry, about the pop machine and how true rock music struggles to make it up the charts. A lot of what he says goes right over my head, but I'm still drawn in by the passion in his voice.
He may act aloof or arrogant around his bandmates, but he's clearly committed to music and to Sinful Serenade.
After brunch, I expect a quick ride home on the accident waiting to happen, but Miles insists on walking over to Abbot Kinney. It's a cute neighborhood packed with boutiques, food trucks, and overpriced coffee shops.
We window-shop while sipping our iced green teas. There's this homemade Star Wars t-shirt in one of the boutiques. It must be infringing on all sorts of copyright laws.
Miles points to it. "Want me to buy you that?"
"I don't need any help looking like a nerd."
"You don't realize the effect you have on guys, do you?"
"I don't have any effect on guys."
He slides his hand around my hip. "You have this irresistible innocence. I'm surprised there aren't creeps trying to corrupt you twenty-four seven."
"I already have you."
"I can't be around twenty-four seven."
"Why not?" I step into a small shop and pretend to study the dresses. "What do you do when you're not torturing women with your sexy voice?"
He brushes my hair over one of my shoulders and runs his fingertips over my neck. "You think my voice is sexy?"
That blush spreads across my cheeks. I pick up a sweater and stare like I'm debating purchasing it. It's an ugly orange thing with red stripes. "You know it is."
He plucks the sweater from my hands and sets it back on the shelf. "I go to shows. Play video games with Drew or Pete. Try to tolerate Tom's bossiness."
"And when you're alone?"
He takes my hand and leads me back to the street. It's still warm and bright.
"I run. I think. I read," he says.
"You read?"
"You this rude to all your friends or only the ones who make you come?" He says it playfully.
"The latter." I make my way down the street. "What do you read?"
"Books."
"What books?"
"That's classified."
Okay… I let his weird non-answer go without rolling my eyes.
The conversation shifts into senseless teasing. We get ice cream from one of those artisanal food trucks. His tongue makes such beautiful motions in the frozen treat, lapping it up like it's his favorite thing in the world.
He catches me staring and shakes his head. "You don't have to picture me naked. I'm more than happy to get naked with you."
"I'm sure."
He points to an alley between two stores. "Right there works for me."
"I'm not sure I… not here."
His smile is so damn smug. He presses his hand into my lower back, turning me so that we're headed back to the motorcycle.
"I have to study," I say.
"That's a shame."
He teases me all the way back to the bike. It's a quick ride to my apartment. Then he's walking me to my door.
His hands go to my hips. He pulls my body into his and sinks his lips into mine.
He tastes so good. It feels so good, kissing him, having his body against mine.
I can feel the kiss in my bones. I can feel the affection in his clear blue eyes.
"Goodbye, Meg." He takes a step backwards.
"Goodbye." I wait until he's in the elevator to go inside.
He's gone, but his presence lingers in my mind.
I miss him. I want him in a way I don't quite understand.
Chapter Eleven
Miles and I text about nothing all week. Wednesday, I finish my shift and pull out my phone. A picture message greets me.
It's an STD test. From Miles. He's totally clean.
It's dated Monday. Two days ago. He got tested. For me. For us.
Miles: I don't want to assume you're on birth control. But I figured you'd like the option of skipping condoms.
Meg: I'm on the pill. It seemed like a good idea when I went to college.
Miles: I'll bring condoms. It's up to you.
Meg: Okay. I'll think about it.
Miles: I want to take you somewhere Friday. What time do you get off work?
Meg: Ten.
Miles: Send the address and I'm there.
* * *
After work Friday, I change in one of the handicapped bathrooms. This is the sexiest outfit I own—low cut chiffon blouse, tight black skirt, black wedges—but I don't feel like it fits. Eyeliner and red lipstick do little to help matters.
It's strange. I felt sexy when I was with him. I felt totally irresistible. But the outfit makes me feel awkward and stiff.
Oh, well. I'm not planning to spend much time in my clothes. Damn, I'd like to skip straight to me and Miles in bed together. It made sense. It felt good. I want to feel that good again.
I make my way through the ER.
A nurse winks at me. "About time you went out. You're too young to work so hard."
I nod a polite goodnight. The older nurses are always teasing me about wasting my youth. They don't understand that bars and parties aren't fun for me. They make me think about Rosie losing herself. I don't want to explain it to anyone.
But I do want to explain to Miles. I want him to understand. My heartbeat picks up. It's scary, how much I want him to understand.
The ER is quiet for a Friday night. The waiting room is sparse. The counter is empty except for a man with a bandage over his nose. He got into a fight.
He looks familiar.
He's shorter than I am. His hair is light. He's wearing one of those button-up shirts. The same that Rosie's boyfriend always wore.
No.
No, no, no.
That is Rosie's boyfriend. Jared.
What the hell is he doing here? He lives on the other side of town, closer to a dozen different hospitals.
He should be in jail by now. Or dead from an overdose. Not standing in the ER with a broken nose.
My breath picks up. My heart pounds against my chest. I turn so my back is to him. I can't risk him recognizing me. If he offers his condolences, I'll break another one of his bones.
He's hurt. Thank God. I shouldn't smirk—future doctors should never smirk over people's injuries—but it feels good to see him bruised. He deserves every bit of pain in the world. If it weren't for him, Rosie would still be alive.
"I've never seen that look before." It's Miles. He's three feet away, spread out on one of the ugly gray chairs.
"It's nothing."
"It's something." He stands and moves close enough to whisper. "You may as well tell me. You know I'll drag it out of you."
"Maybe I'm smirking because we're going to have sex."
"I know what that looks like, and it involves a lot more blushing and squeezing your knees together."
So I am that obvious. Doesn't matter. Someone broke Jared's nose. At least I know he deserved it.
Miles laughs. "Should I be jealous?"
"Of...?"
"You were staring at that guy." He motions to Jared. "Is he your ex-boyfriend or something?"
