Playing, p.78
Playing, page 78
We take Pacific Coast Highway south to a long, empty street that cuts through the hills. Everything is dark except for the stars and the moon.
I rest my eyes. It's late, and this day stretched on forever. Miles has my head spinning. I don't know which way is up or down. That's enough to drive me mad, but the house, my parents… it's like my sister never existed.
The car slows to a stop. We're at a red light. Miles has that same determined expression. He knows where we're going. He knows what he's doing. He knows exactly what he's getting out of this relationship.
He turns onto a steep, winding road. There's some kind of lab at the top of the hill. We stop just short of it to pull onto a large patch of dirt. It's a makeshift vista point.
Miles turns off the car. "Take a look."
We make our way to the edge of the hill. The quiet suburbs go on forever, this mass of twinkling lights. The black sky is dotted with stars I've never seen before.
"This was the closest thing we had to a make-out spot in high school," he says.
Miles lived in Irvine for a while. It’s only twenty minutes from here. Hell, UCI is barely fifteen minutes from my parents’ house.
It would make sense to go to school there. It would save me time, money, effort.
But it would hurt too.
I clear my throat. "Did you… come here a lot?"
"Yeah. But I was always alone."
My tense muscles relax. "Always?"
"Unless someone changed the definition of always so that it means sometimes."
I don't bother with a comeback. There's too much to take in. This place is beautiful, and I'm the first girl Miles has ever brought here. I try not to let it mean anything. My heart thuds against my chest.
I pull my arms over it to keep all the warmth in my body.
Miles slides his arm around my shoulders. "Cold?"
"Yeah."
"Come here." He slides into the backseat, pulling me with him.
His body is close to mine. Inches away. There's just enough light to make out the expression on his face. He looks sad. But I don't know what that means.
He's warm, and he smells good. I need that, need him comforting me.
His fingers skim my chin. He guides me into a kiss. It's soft and sweet, the kind of kiss that should mean I love you. But this one can't.
That's not possible.
I tug at his leather jacket. I need him closer. I need it to mean I love you.
When the kiss breaks, Miles stares into my eyes. "Are you okay?"
I shake my head. He shouldn't ask things like that. He shouldn't act so damn sweet.
"What is it?"
My lungs fail me. My vocal chords fail me. My mouth is sticky and confused. There's no easy way to explain this, but I want to try. "My parents… they erased my sister's existence from the house. It's not right."
"They're trying to cope."
"I know. But that doesn't make it easier."
He runs his hand through my hair. "They care about you. Let them."
I close my eyes. His touch is delicate. His voice is soft. But he's never going to love me and he's better off alone.
I pull back. "Who the hell do you think you are to tell me to let someone care about me?"
He doesn't falter. "Fair enough."
It doesn't bother him. I hate that it doesn't bother him.
His lips skim my neck. Heat surges through me. All I need to do is close my eyes and surrender to his body against mine. It doesn't matter if he'll break my heart later. It doesn't matter that my parents are erasing my sister's existence.
This moment is the only thing that matters.
I lean into his lips. He moves faster, scraping his teeth against my skin, tugging at my cardigan.
"This is all I can offer you," he says.
Every place he touches is on fire, desperate for more of him, whatever he can offer. "I know."
He pulls my sweater over my head. "You've hurt so much. I can't bring myself to add to that."
His eyes find mine. They're dead serious, and there's such a sweetness to his gaze. He does care about me, even if it's only enough not to completely discard me.
I turn away, staring at the perfect view outside. "Then stop saying things like that. If you care about me, don't act like you're going to fall in love with me."
His voice is even. "Fair enough."
"And that. Stop with that. You have all the cards in this relationship. Stop bragging about how fucking collected you are."
He runs his hands over my shoulders, pulling my bra straps down. "I'm not collected." He unclasps my bra and rubs my nipples. "It's just that all my attention is already focused somewhere else." He takes my hand and slides it over the bulge in his jeans.
My breath catches in my throat. "That's not the same thing."
He pinches my nipples, sending pangs of desire all the way to my toes. My body screams with want. It won't forgive me if I do anything besides touch him.
"I do care about you." He pulls my jeans and panties to my feet in one fell swoop. "But this is the only way I can show you."
"I know."
His fingertips skim my thighs. "Are sure you're okay with that?"
I let my eyes flutter closed. "I have to take it or leave it."
Miles runs his hand over my calf, the inside of my knee, my thigh. "You can leave it."
"I'd believe you if you weren't about to fuck me."
He grabs my knees and arranges me so I'm on top of him. "I can stop. I'd rather not, but I can."
"Don't. I want you to show me how you care about me." I squeeze my eyelids together.
If this really is all Miles can offer, then it has to be enough. I need him to show me how he cares, even if it's with his cock inside me.
He rubs my shoulders, bringing my body onto his. The backseat is too small for two tall people. One of my legs is squeezed between his knee and the seat. The other is skimming the floor.
Miles is three inches from me. He brushes a hair behind my ear. His fingers slide over the curve of my chin. It's soft and sweet, like he loves me.
"You okay?" he asks.
"Show me."
He presses his palm flat against my back. "Look at me."
I pry my eyes open. He's staring at me, staring through me. It's like he can see inside me, see how close I am to crumbling.
"You don't look okay." His voice is just as soft and sweet as his touch.
"Don't pretend it matters to you."
"It does." He wraps his arms around me and holds me close. "You look like you're about to cry."
I press myself up, so we're eye to eye. "Show me, whatever that means, or drive me home."
He holds my gaze. It feels like forever passes, but it can't be more than a minute. Then, his eyes flutter closed, and his lips find mine.
It's the same kiss as before. One that would mean I love you in a normal relationship. His hands slide to my ass, his touch soft and delicate.
We're inches apart. His cock is just under my sex.
He takes my hips and guides me onto him. It's slow and gentle, and then he's all the way inside me.
I plant my hands on his shoulders and bring my body closer. We're face to face. Staring into each other's eyes. He keeps his grip on my hips, guiding my movements to drive his cock deeper inside me.
He stares at me like he loves me.
I close my eyes and press my lips into his. Soft. Sweet. Perfect. Or, it would be, if this whole situation weren't so hopelessly fucked.
He holds me close, shifting into me with a steady rhythm. His lips stay on mine. His tongue explores my mouth. It's gentle and delicate, like he wants more of me.
I kiss him back. I swirl my tongue around his. I rub my body against his. The pleasure builds in that same soft, slow way, until it's too much to take.
Miles breaks the kiss. He stares into my eyes, runs his hand through my hair. His pupils dilate. His fingers dig into my skin.
"Meg…" It's a soft groan, but it's filled with desire.
He keeps things slow. My sex clenches. More. More. More. It feels like it's going on forever, like it's never going to stop.
I press my lips into his, kissing him harder. But, still, he stays slow. He rocks into me. He holds me close.
The pressure inside me builds. More. More. More. It's so much. It's too much. An orgasm wells up in me. I moan into his mouth. More. I still need more. I kiss him harder, hold him closer.
Pleasure rocks through me, all the way to my fingers and toes. But I'm greedy, and I still want more.
I dig my hands into his hair. I squeeze my thighs against his. I rock my hips to meet him.
Miles groans into my mouth. His fingers dig into my skin. He thrusts ever so slightly harder. Pleasure wells up in me again. It's faster this time, more intense.
He breaks the kiss. Stares into my eyes. Nervous energy passes through me. He's inside me. I'm about to come. But the way he's staring at me… I've got no clue what it means.
I stare back. I dig my nails into his shoulders.
Pleasure floods my body. I can't fight it anymore. I cry out as an orgasm spills through me, mixing up all the feelings inside me, so I'm half in ecstasy, half in hell.
He holds me tightly, thrusting into me with that same perfect rhythm. I hold his gaze, groaning as another orgasm builds.
He moans, still holding me tightly, still thrusting into me. A shudder runs through his body. Almost. His teeth sink into his lip.
Still, he moves with that same rhythm, slow and steady. He shakes, harder, harder.
His eyes stay glued to mine. I watch his face contorting. His breath gets heavier. His groans get lower, louder. He squeezes my hips. There. His eyes roll back as he comes.
He rocks into me one last time, and he fills me.
It sends me over the edge again. For a few moments, everything else fades away. I only feel the pleasure coursing through my fingers and toes. I only feel good.
My resolve fades. I collapse my body onto his, trying hard to hold onto everything that feels good.
Miles relaxes into the seat. He squeezes me tighter, holds my body against his.
His heart is pounding against his chest, against my chest. His breath is in my hair. This means something, I'm sure of it. But I've got no clue what that something is.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I wake up alone. No one is home. Dad is at work. No telling where Mom is. Probably, she's as uncomfortable in this house as I am.
There isn't a peep on my phone. No telling where Miles is either.
I eat breakfast with the TV. Even with two hundred channels, there's nothing that can tear my attention away from him. Wherever he is. Whatever he's doing.
I fix a cup of coffee. A second. A third. My mouth goes dry. My fingers shake. It's a lot of caffeine, but it's a nice enough buzz—probably the most pleasant thing I'll feel all day.
I still remember last Thanksgiving. Shit was already bad with Rosie. She was already pretending, already on drugs. But the four-day weekend was a perfect respite. It was the four of us, but really the two of us. We watched movies all night, plowing through the pumpkin pie, the pecan pie, the chocolate pie. There was a lot of pie. We spent the entire day shopping, emptying our checking accounts. And, for the first time since she started dating that awful Jared, it felt like she was my sister and not my enemy. It felt like we were being honest.
She was probably high the whole time.
I push off the couch and inspect the mantel. There are tiny dents in the plaster in all the spots that used to house Rosie's trophies. I was so jealous of those trophies. Rosie had everything—perfect grades, perfect friends, perfect boyfriend. She was athletic, smart, fun.
But with the drugs, she was nothing anymore. All those parts of her disappeared.
The back door slides open.
"Can I skip breakfast and have you instead?" Miles shuts the door. He stands in front of the sleek glass windows, shirtless and dripping with sweat. His eyes meet mine. "You okay?"
"No. I hate it here. I hate everything about this house."
"It will get better."
"How? You don't stay at your uncle's place in Malibu alone. Tell me how it gets better."
"I stay there with you." He moves closer. "You want to join me in the shower?"
I shake my head. I can't handle that right now.
"Talk to me, Meg. I'm here because I want to help you."
"Which is it—do you want to help me or do you want to be alone? Do you care about me or is this strictly sexual?"
His brow furrows. "Suit yourself."
He storms up the stairs and slams the door behind him.
I want so badly to join him. I want so badly to have my body pressed against his, nothing between us but the running water.
I want to be his plaything. But I need to be his everything.
* * *
It's Black Friday. Might as well go shopping. I text Mom, suggesting we meet for dinner at the nearest mall, Fashion Island. We nail down a restaurant and a time. The organic place, seven o'clock.
Leaves most of the day for me and Miles.
He's sitting on the couch, scribbling something in a tiny notebook. Lyrics, probably. Does he have another itch he needs to scratch?
I sit next to him. "We're meeting my parents for dinner at seven at Fashion Island."
"Mhmm."
His eyes stay on the paper. His body is turned away from mine, locking me out.
Deep breath. "You want to go now? We can walk around. Watch the koi swim."
"Sure." He closes his notebook and slides it into his pocket. His eyes turn to me, studying me, picking me apart. "You eat breakfast?"
"Yeah."
"So you won't be cranky?"
"Shut up." I grab my purse and make my way to the door. "You coming or what?"
"Such threats from someone who doesn't have the keys to the car."
"I know how to drive. I choose not to."
"Why not?" He meets me at the door.
There's this tightness in my chest. "I shared a car with Rosie. She used it more, so, when she died, I brought it back here. I can get to work and school fine on foot."
"And it makes you think about her?"
"Yeah."
"That's why your parents put her stuff away." His eyes bore into mine. "It hurt them having it around."
"I know that." I hug my arms to my chest. "But that doesn't make me feel better, admitting I'm a hypocrite."
He leads me to the car.
I settle into the passenger seat. "I want to feel good for a while." I take a deep breath. "Can we not fight or talk about my sister?"
He nods and starts the car.
* * *
The mall isn't any more crowded than normal. It's expensive enough that the usual crowd ignores bargains.
After an hour of window shopping, another round of caffeine, and lunch at the food court, I feel a little better.
Miles insists we do more window shopping. He holds my hand, guiding me through the outdoor mall. It's a beautiful day. The sky is bright blue. The sun is shining high. There are barely any clouds.
I move a little closer to Miles. We aren't saying much but we aren't fighting either.
That's something.
I stop at an independent boutique. It was one of Rosie's favorite stores.
The mannequin is wearing a hot pink dress. It looks just like a dress Rosie used to wear. It's just long enough for work or school, just tight enough for clubs or dates. The neckline is wider, the waist is lower. Otherwise, it's a dead ringer for her favorite dress.
The rack of dresses is in the back of the store. It's in another color, black, something she never wore.
Miles wraps his arms around me. He pulls me into his chest and brings his mouth to my ear. "You're thinking something?"
"Just shopping."
He sucks on my earlobe. "You're not that good at hiding your feelings."
I step forward, breaking his hold. "Nothing important. Just thinking that if my sister was here, she would've made me buy that dress." I nod to the hot pink dress.
"It would look good on you."
"No. I can't wear bright colors."
"Why not?" He moves closer, wrapping his arms around me again.
I lean into him. "I'll stand out."
Miles laughs. "You stand out now. You're gorgeous."
My cheeks flush. "That's sweet of you to say, but it's not true. I'm too tall, too skinny, too flat-chested."
Miles takes my shoulders and turns me around so we're eye to eye. His expression gets mock serious. "One more negative word about your boobs, and I'm dragging you into that dressing room and forcing you to appreciate them."
This pang shoots straight to my sex. He's so good at making me forget everything but how much I want him.
"Maybe we should go to another store," I say.
He shakes his head. "Try on the dress."
"You want me to try on clothing?"
He presses his lips against mine. "I want to think about you naked in that tiny dressing room. Go." He steps away and plants on one of the boyfriend chairs just outside the dressing room.
He's not actually my boyfriend, but I guess the chair doesn't know that.
I take the dress in a few sizes and let myself into a fitting room. While I'm changing, I take in my reflection. I can almost see myself through his eyes, physically, at least. Tall and thin doesn't have to mean gawky. It can mean modelesque. And my boobs might be tiny, but they have a nice shape. He certainly seems to like them.
The dress is flattering. When I pull my hair behind my ears, the way my sister wore hers, I can see the resemblance. It's there in my dark features, my nose, the shape of my lips. She's gone from my parents' house, but she's still there in my face. I still look like her. Whatever they do, they can't take that away.
I step out of the dressing room to show off to Miles, but he's talking to someone else. A woman, around my age. She must be a fan. She has that starstruck look in her eyes.
"I love that song No Way in Hell," she says. "Is it really true it's about falling in love?"
Miles shrugs, effortlessly casual. "My lips are sealed."
My heart pounds. She thinks it's about love, too.
