Then he's inside me.
I gasp in pleasure. God, he feels so damn good.
Miles's eyes find mine. I can't explain his expression. Lust, yes, but there's some kind of 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, 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, emptying himself completely. 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.”
***
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 not easy.
We park somewhere in Venice Beach and walk to a small restaurant. It's blue with sun-faded white shutters.
A bell rings as he pushes the door open. Miles claims a table. He pulls the chair out for me like 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 with 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. "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, and I'm an ER scribe. And you?"
"I went to Stanford. Poly-sci."
"That right?"
He smirks. "You don't believe I went to Stanford?"
Somehow, I do believe it. Miles is so handsome and so 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, effortlessly cool. "Where are you from?"
"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. 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 care so much about keeping up appearances that they pretend as if their daughter died in a car crash and not from a drug overdose.
“I take it you don’t make a point of visiting home,” he says. “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 it with Miles.
"I don't like to talk about my family," I say.
He nods like he understands. "Where are you going to medical school?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
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 can't keep this up. I can't keep acting cool and unflappable. It's too damn hard.
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.
This phone is nothing but trouble. I put it on silent and return it to my purse.
The server stops at our table. I order a coffee and a water for Miles. I have no idea what he likes. 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. 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."
“You can sleep with any woman you want. Why do you want a fuck buddy?” I ask.
“Thought I’d try something new.” His eyes connect with mine. “And I like you. You don’t try to impress me.”
“I don’t want to impress you.”
“Exactly,” he says. “Why do you want a fuck buddy? Can’t make it to twenty-one without fucking unless you’re avoiding it.”
“Thought I’d try something new,” I say. “And 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 feeling 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's almost 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, and skipping over the part where he mowed through college girls.
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.
I don't object when Miles buys me an iced green tea. He's effortl
essly casual with money, too.
We window shop while sipping our drinks. 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 step into a small shop and pretend to study the dresses. "And 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 rack. "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."
"Let me guess. You like all genres and you could never pick one?"
"No. I have one. But it's classified."
I struggle not to roll my eyes. It's a book, not a secret mission. But he's only doing this to rattle me. His eyes are lit up like he finds it amusing. No matter what I do, he's smooth, and I'm flustered.
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 in between two stores. "Right there works for me."
My cheeks flush. "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, a quick goodbye kiss, then I'm locked in my apartment and Miles is gone.
***
I try to study, but I can't focus. My head is dying to replay the last twenty-four hours—the show, the drive home, the way it felt when he touched me, the way it felt when he kissed me goodbye.
He said casual, fun, easy. He insisted. But he also looked at me like he was looking through me, like he was desperate to see inside of me, to pry me apart and put me back together.
There's nothing casual or easy about that.
CHAPTER NINE
Miles and I text about nothing all week. On Wednesday, things finally get interesting.
Miles: Say I pick you up Friday and cash in some of those benefits?
Miles: You can wear that dress again.
Meg: I work until ten.
Miles: Ten it is.
***
Friday is the longest day of my life. Every class drags. Even work, which is usually so fast I can barely keep up, drags.
I change into my nicest outfit in the bathroom—a short skirt and a low-cut, chiffon blouse—and make my way to the south entrance. It's down a few hallways and through the ER.
A nurse winks at me. "About time you went out. You're too young to work so hard."
I shrug like this is normal behavior for me. The older nurses are always teasing me about wasting my youth never having any fun. I don't bother to explain that bars and parties fill me with more dread than anything else.
I make my way across the ER. It’s quiet tonight. There are four people filling out heaps of paperwork. Must have been a minor car accident.
There’s a guy with a bandage over his nose. Not a car accident. More like someone decked him in the face.
And he looks so familiar.
No.
No, no, no.
That’s Jared.
My sister’s asshole ex-boyfriend is standing at the registration desk with a black eye. What 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. God knows what he’ll say. If he offers his condolences, I’ll have to 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 so 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're staring at that guy." He motions to Jared. "Is he your ex-boyfriend or something?"
"Or something."
"What—he broke your heart, and you paid one of your friends to break his nose?"
"You really think it's broken?"
Miles nods. "Likely." His fingers brush against my wrist. "Did he cheat on you or something?"
"Or something."
He leans closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Want me to kick his ass?"
"Would you really?"
"For you, yeah."
"That's okay. Someone already did." I smile. It's the widest smile I've ever smiled. I should feel horrible about wishing this pain on Jared, but I don't.
Miles laughs and slides his hand around my waist. "Meg Smart. I never thought I'd see the day."
I clear my throat and adopt my most mature stance. "There is no day. Now, where are we going?"
"You're glad someone kicked that guy's ass."
"Well, he deserves it."
Miles turns to me. His eyes connect with mine, and joy spreads over his face. Like he couldn't be happier to be with me at this exact moment. "Do you trust me?"
"That depends on what we're talking about."
"This guy hurt you. Right?"
"You could say that."
Miles pulls me towards the wall so we're out of the way. "So, I'm going to do something to hurt him back."
I should feel sick at the suggestion, but I don't. This asshole stole my sister's life from her.
I nod. "Okay."
Jared is still filling out paperwork. I haven’t seen him since before Rosie died. He didn’t come to the funeral. At the time, it pissed me off, but now I’m glad. I would have killed him if I saw him that day.
I want to kill him now.
The two-faced asshole was so fucking polite to me. He acted like a gentleman, like he was a prince and he’d treat her like a princess. I guess his idea of royalty involves massive opiate indulgence.
He needs to pay for what he did.
He needs to hurt.
Miles grabs my arm hard. “Go wait outside. Now.”
But I need to tell Jared
what an asshole he is. I need to grab him and push him to the ground and kick him in the balls.
“You’re not getting in trouble on my watch,” Miles says.
“I won’t get in trouble,” I say.
“The look on your face begs to differ.” Miles lowers his voice. “You wouldn’t be able to hurt him if you tried. You’re not that kind of person.”
My face screws in irritation. What the hell does Miles know about what kind of person I am?
“Trust me.” He leans closer. “Hitting him isn’t going to make you feel better.”
"I want to watch."
"Wait outside or it's not happening."
I grit my teeth. "Fine." I wait on one of the concrete benches in front of the building. Every passing second feels like an hour. My excitement twists to panic. What if Miles is really going to hurt the guy? What if he's doing something illegal? What if he's going to get into real trouble?
I try to calm down, but deep breaths aren't working. It's not like Miles is my best friend, but I'd hate myself if something bad happened to him because of me.
There are footsteps behind me. Miles. He sits on the bench next to me and drops something on my lap.
A wallet. Jared's wallet.
"What am I supposed to do with this?" I ask.
"Return it to the lost and found."
"But...what? Why?"
Miles smirks. That same smug smirk. "I have his address and credit card number now."
"And?"
"And he's going to send himself a few dozen custom t-shirts about what an awful asshole he is."
My stiff muscles relax. It's a prank. An illegal prank, but only a prank. It's not like Miles is going to wait outside the guy's house with a baseball bat.
Miles slides his hand over my thigh. "Unless you want to do something that will really hurt him."
My breath collects in my throat. "Like what?"
"The possibilities are endless. All sorts of accidents no one could ever trace back to us." Miles plays with the hem of my skirt. "It depends how much he hurt you."
"More than anyone else ever has."
The smile drops off his face. "What happened?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"As you wish." He slides the wallet into his pocket. "You must have loved him a lot to hate him so much."
Anger rises up inside of me. "No."
Sing Your Heart Out Page 7
