19. Jenna
JENNA
M iles’s cheek is red and angry, with blood drying in small clots. A bruise has already started to blossom from his orbital bone to his cheekbone. I insist on taking him to the hospital or at least an urgent care, but Miles shrugs me off, putting the longboard on his roof rack.
“Miles, come on. You could need stitches,” I push, leaning against the driver’s side door with my arms crossed.
“No. I’ve wiped out before. Let’s just go back to my place and I promise to ice it,” Miles says, trying to pacify me. I think if not for that kiss that still has my lips tingling, Miles would be a lot grumpier.
“Fine,” I grumble. “But I’m driving. You could have a concussion.”
“From hitting my face? No. But it hurts like hell, so I’ll let you win.” He rolls his eyes and tosses me the keys.
Driving Miles’s car is easy, and I am surprised by how well I’m learning my way around Cape May.
I make it there without GPS and without any help since Miles is resting his eyes.
We’re back at his condo in ten minutes. I pull into his spot and unbuckle, reaching across Miles for my bag at his feet.
He grabs my elbow. “Hey,” he says with a slow smile, opening his eyes.
“Hi.” I bite my lip, smiling back.
“Thanks. I’m sorry I worried you,” he croaks.
“You’re welcome.” We hold each other’s gaze for a moment before Miles leans in, cupping my cheek, and planting a soft kiss on my lips.
When he pulls away, I immediately wish he’d come back.
I sigh and lean my head on the headrest. Neither of us are in a hurry to leave the car.
“We should probably go inside and clean that up,” I whisper, gesturing to Miles’s face.
“Yeah,” he rasps, his voice low. “It hurts.”
We climb the stairs to his condo, and I unlock the door. Pete hears us instantly and comes running. Miles fights him off. “Down boy,” he says.
I wonder if Miles has to tell himself that too. Seeing him wounded and vulnerable has my whole body feeling warm and awake. I ache to be close to him, but I know I need to reel these emotions in.
“Come on, let’s have a look.” I take Miles’s hand and lead him down the small hallway to the bathroom. I close the toilet seat and gently push him down onto it. “Do you have a first aid kit?” I tip his chin to the side, examining the cut.
Miles huffs out a laugh. “Do you know many guys in their forties who keep a first aid kit lying around?”
I shoot him a playful glare. “Band aids? Neosporin?”
Miles shrugs. “Check in those drawers or the medicine cabinet. There might be something.”
I step in front of him. Practically straddling him to reach the cabinet above.
He holds my hips steady and the skin beneath my wet suit tingles.
I grab a washcloth and lower myself back down, but Miles doesn’t remove his hands.
We stare into each other's eyes, and it takes everything I’ve got not to climb onto his lap and press myself against him.
I want Miles. Maybe more than I’ve ever wanted anyone.
I clear my throat, breaking the hold he has on me.
“Let me wet this,” I murmur, stepping out of his grasp. When I glance back at him, I can see that he’s hard. I’m glad it’s not just me that’s turned on. I turn on the water and soak the cloth. “Warm or cold water?”
“Cold. Please.” Miles clears his throat.
I turn off the water and then I’m back in front of him. “Put your head back,” I order.
“Yes, ma’am.” Miles smirks but does as he’s told.
I gently wipe the dried blood from his face.
He winces and lets out a sharp hiss. “Sorry,” I whisper.
Once I have wiped away the blood, I’m able to see that it’s just a surface wound.
“Let me see what you have in these drawers.” I move away and start rummaging, finding some expired Neosporin and a few butterfly strips.
I hold my treasures up to Miles. “It’s expired, but I think it’ll do.
” I move back in front of him and his hands immediately find my hips again.
He digs his fingers into them as if he wants me as close as possible.
The feeling is mutual. I go to work, leaning in close and carefully dabbing along the two-inch gash.
Miles’s breath warms my neck, and all my senses are heightened.
There is no denying this anymore. What this is, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s a fling, maybe it’s more, but suddenly I desperately want to see it through. The feelings Miles evokes in me are like nothing I’ve felt before. I feel safe and cared for and wildly aroused all at the same time.
Miles interrupts my thoughts. “When I was fifteen, I had a pretty scary surfing accident. It was much like today, except I wasn’t as strong as I am now.
I was with Leo, and we saw the waves. We knew it was risky, there was no one else even trying to surf.
But I was cocky and thought I’d be fine.
I got caught in a rip current and I had to be rescued.
It was the scariest day of my life. I thought for sure I was going to die,” he murmurs.
“Today really stirred up those memories.” His brow creases and he pushes his lips together.
My heart constricts. So that’s what Leo was talking about last night. “Oh, Miles.” I pull back, resting my hands on his shoulders. “Why did you keep surfing after that?”
“Because if I give up, the ocean wins. I can’t let it.” Miles's eyes are sharp and assessing, as if he’s searching my face for something. Approval? Agreement? I’m not sure.
Now isn’t the time to tell him my opinion, so I pull his face into my chest and nuzzle him, running my hands through his saltwater curls. “You really scared me,” I purr into his hair.
“I really scared myself,” he admits. “But I know I’ll be back out there chasing the stars again tomorrow. The ocean knocks me down, but it’s also what keeps pulling me back up.”
I sigh and pull back, cupping Miles’s face in my hands, touching my nose to his. “Miles,” I sigh. I’m not sure I can accurately portray my worry for him in words, and I’m not sure it would even matter to him. Miles seems like he’ll do what he’s always done no matter who likes it.
Instead of saying anything, Miles leans forward and kisses me softly and briefly again, leaving me wanting more. I want to escalate things, but he doesn’t seem to want to now. Maybe he’s drained. I know I would be.
He pulls away. “I’m going to get changed. Then, maybe we can watch a movie?”
“Well…I thought we’d be going back to my house, but we’re here and…I have no clothes. So…” I let my words hang in the air.
“I’ll find you something to wear. Come on.
” He brushes past me out of the bathroom, unzipping his wet suit as he goes.
I give myself a quick once-over in the mirror before following behind.
By the time I reach his doorway, he is already shirtless.
His wet suit is unzipped and rolled down to his waist. I gasp at the sight.
His back is all sharp angles and lean muscle.
His waistline tapers at the hip. Miles must hear me—he turns and grins, flashing a perfect six-pack.
Butterflies swarm my belly, and warmth invades my lower region.
This is the first time I’ve seen him bare-chested, and I am not disappointed.
Miles walks to his dresser and grabs a T-shirt I expect him to put on, but instead, he tosses it to me.
It lands on my face, and I get a whiff of laundry detergent and Miles.
He chuckles when I pull the shirt off my face and inhale.
“Here. Let me get you some pants.” He walks to his closet and grabs a pair of jogger sweatpants that will likely fall off me.
This time he walks them over to me and places them in my hands.
Miles’s hands find my waist and he pulls me close.
The folded sweatpants separate me from the warmth of his body, and my insides are screaming for more.
I melt into his arms, and we stand like that for several minutes.
What is happening to me? The raw emotions between us are supercharged and palpable.
“These should work,” Miles murmurs in my ear, sending a shiver up my spine.
“These will not fit me.” I bite back a grin.
Neither of us pull away. It’s as if we know that when we do, the moment will have passed us by.
“Roll the waistband.” Miles’s low voice hums in my ear, he tugs my hips closer to his. He’s hard, and when I feel it, I let out a gasp.
“I don’t have any underwear,” I whisper.
“I like knowing that,” he replies, his breath lingering on my neck.
My body reacts immediately, and I pull back to look at him. “Miles,” I whimper. “I need you.”
“I know,” he agrees, pressing his forehead into mine. “But…I don’t want to ruin this. I want to take my time with you—make sure it’s right. It’s not time yet.”
I moan in frustration, and Miles cups my face, planting a kiss on my forehead.
“It will be worth the wait,” he promises.
It fucking better be.