Chapter 25
Miles
W ait, I have a boyfriend?
The hell?
That’s not me. I don’t do relationships. I fuck, and I’ve always enjoyed leaving it at fucking, even when it’s been a repeat.
It’s different with Dax, though. Hard to deny that with the way I made a spectacle of myself at the auction, resulting in one hell of a panic attack. Still, it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, but I know it’s because he was there. Not that Tatum wasn’t helpful, but he’s no Dax. No one is.
And of course, Tatum has given me the appropriate amount of hell. “I knew you liked someone! Dax Armstrong! That fucking must be unhinged.”
As amused as he’s been about it, the whole auction thing has sent me into a bit of a tailspin, so I do that thing you’re supposed to do when shit happens; that thing Dad was getting on my case about—I meet with Shera, the student counselor.
She’s pretty young—in her twenties, I’m guessing—and she’s wearing a periwinkle blouse and a friendly smile.
“It’s nice to meet you, Miles.”
Yeah, I’m here, seated on the sofa across from her desk, but I’m not happy about it. Desperate times and all that.
I honestly don’t know why the hell I came here, of all places.
I’ve made a few appointments here before, especially when Dad would press me.
One time I made it to the door, then backtracked and bailed.
It’s not that I haven’t talked to anyone after what happened to Mom, but I didn’t like the way therapists poked around.
Mostly because I was always afraid they’d hit on something I’d rather keep hidden.
And if Shera so much as pushes in a way I don’t like, I’m bolting.
Shera sets aside the paperwork I filled out before seeing her. “Okay, Miles, is there anything in particular you wanted to discuss today?”
Such a simple question, but it’s all I need to push to my feet and start for the door. “This was a shit idea. I’ll pay you, of course, but I’m outta here.”
“Miles, you can just sit if you want,” she says, stopping me as I’m grabbing the doorknob. “Silence wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Maybe I can sit here while you think about whatever’s on your mind. It’ll help you focus on the problem.”
She’s good. I turn back to her, glaring. “That was smart,” I admit.
“I did go to school for this.” She offers a warm smile, and I force myself back to the sofa but stop before sitting. “I think I’ll stand.”
“That’s fine too. So I’m gonna ask a question, and how about you answer it in your head? If there’s something you want to share with me, you can. If not, maybe at least it’s helped you think it through.”
She’s really fucking smart.
“Okay…” I drag out.
“So what did you come in to talk about today?”
“I don’t know,” I lie before caving too quickly, “I think I might have a boyfriend. Whatever.”
I’ve been avoiding eye contact, but when I check out her expression, I imagine she’s trying to keep a straight face, given away by the way she tilts her head slightly.
“Can I ask why you used the word might ?”
“He was weird about it. We’re weird. And that’s part of what I like about him, and fuck, I can’t believe I said I like him.”
And now I’m back on my way to the door, but then I realize I already got that much out, so I stop, turning back to her.
“I do like him, though.” I’m confused about a lot of shit, but not that. I might have been a little oblivious—okay, more than a little—before the auction, but it wasn’t confusing when I was bidding on him. I knew what I wanted. And not just because it feels good to fill up his ass.
“That sounds really nice,” she says. “Does that feel good to you?”
“Sometimes. When it’s just the two of us, and we’re laughing or talking or fucking…or cuddling, definitely when we’re fucking and cuddling. Shit, I shouldn’t say fucking. What do you say here instead of that? When we’re being intimate?”
She smirks. “I’m not censoring however you want to say that, but intimate is fine if that’s something you’re more comfortable saying.”
“I’ll stick with that. I like Dax. Then he said we’re boyfriends, but I didn’t really say that’s what I wanted, even if maybe I did more than I should have.
It was like when he said it, I wanted to be like, No, for real, we’re boyfriends now.
You’re mine and just mine. But that’s not who we are at all. ”
“Who do you think you both are?”
“He’s this cool, easygoing guy who’s deeper than he lets on, and he just fucks— is intimate —with whoever he wants. I’m the same. We don’t do serious. I don’t even know what a date would mean.” I take a breath. “I’ve never been on a date.”
I finally let myself sit back on the sofa. It’s like now that I said it, I can think straight again.
“So this would be the first time you’ll go on a date with someone?”
I laugh, but her expression doesn’t change. “Oh, that was serious. Because that’s like something a normal guy would have done already, right?”
“I don’t use the word normal .”
“I mean, you just did, but whatever.”
“Feels like you might be deflecting.”
Even in that, she’s smiling, and now I’m starting to think that if I’d landed a counselor who got me initially, it might not have been such a shitshow.
“It’s not as strange as you might think to have never been on a date. Some people take their time. Some people aren’t interested in dating at all. Some people are aromantic. It doesn’t really have much to do with anything unless that means something to you.”
Huh. “Good point. Seems obvious when you say it like that. Guess it helps having an outsider’s perspective.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” She grins in this playful, goofy way, and it’s disarming as fuck. “So where do you want to go on a date?”
“No clue. That’s why I’m here, at least partly.”
“You came here to figure out where to go on a date?”
“Well, I can’t ask my friend Tatum because he’s already giving me hell. He knew I was into someone, and now he knows who it is, and I don’t have many other friends… Really, Caleb’s my only other friend, and the whole not having many friends must be a red flag… That’s a red flag, isn’t it?”
“The only thing I’m picking up right now is a lot of judgment of yourself for things that seem pretty benign to me.”
“Because you don’t know me. If you did, you’d know I’m right.” My words come out almost like a threat. Like fuck around and find out .
“I’m sorry you feel like that.”
I shake it off. “Whatever. That’s not what I want to talk about.
It’s just, I don’t know where to take him.
I’ve been googling where people go on dates.
Like the park or dinner. I saw there’s dinner and a symphony, which sounded boring as hell.
But he might like it, and maybe I should be asking him if he wants to do that.
Do I hold his hand? Why do I want to hold his hand? Yes, I definitely want to do that.”
“Well, now that you figured that part out,” Shera says, “you just have to figure out the date part. Did you want to involve him in the process? Maybe ask him what he wants to do?”
I huff. “No, I want to come up with something perfect so he’ll be like, oh, wow, you’re so cool because you thought of just the right thing .
That’s not a very cool thing to say, is it?
Why am I so in my head about this? I don’t typically give a crap about this stuff.
What is he doing to me?” And the problem is, whatever he’s doing, I really like it.
Shera’s lips twist up, and now I’m embarrassed.
“This isn’t why most people come to talk to you. I’m wasting your time. I’m sorry.”
I’m about to get up again, and wondering if I’m just trying to make up another excuse to leave, when she says, “Maybe you could tell me what he likes. Do you know his interests?”
“He’s really smart. He’ll listen to podcasts when he stays over, mostly stuff related to medicine—he’s studying to become an RN.
He also plays these games on his phone, like number and word puzzles.
And he clearly cares about art because he volunteered to model for my class and he has an eye for it. We’ve discussed some of my paintings.”
“So art is something the two of you appreciate together? That sounds like something you could make into a date.”
I mull this over. “There is the Peachtree Springs Art Museum. I typically go there when they get new pieces, and they’re touring Van Gogh next weekend.”
“That could be fun.”
“Yeah, but it’s just something I would normally do.”
“But would you normally do it with someone else? And isn’t the point of a date getting to know each other better? He probably wants to see more of this side of you.”
Touché, Counselor.
And I want him to see more sides of me. I want to share so much more with him.
“Maybe like, get dinner and then head over and do that?” I ask. “That sounds fun, right? Like he would like that, you think? Jesus, when did I become so insecure about shit?”
“I think he would like that.”
I nod. Yeah, that’s it. It was so obvious, I should have thought of it myself. “Welp, thanks for the help.” I hop up and head for the door.
“Um…”
“Don’t worry. I gave my card to the front desk, so they’ll bill me. This date has only cost me one thousand one hundred and fifty dollars or something, right?”
“It’s through the school, so it’s only thirty,” she says, obviously not understanding what the hell I’m talking about, but thirty dollars? Damn, that’s better than I thought.
As I open the door, I spin back to her. “Cool, cool. Maybe I’ll hit you back when I need help with something else.”
She shrugs. “Sure. I’ll be here.”
I like this Shera woman.
I didn’t talk to her about any of the shit I really need to deal with, but I wonder if in some way, this wasn’t a perfect excuse to open that door, test the waters, see if there could be hope for me after all.
As I head into the courtyard, feeling confident, I pull out my phone and text Dax: So…I know where I want to take you on our date.