Chapter 26
BOOKER
I could’ve gotten used to Miles dropping in on me like a hurricane, pushing me into my office and locking the door behind us.
Getting a word in edgeways seemed like the least important thing in the world when he’d already shoved me onto the couch back here and dropped himself into my lap, one hand in my hair and the other one fumbling with my belt buckle.
Whatever this was about, I wasn’t complaining. Not when I could settle my hands on his hips and pull him closer and lick my way into his mouth like he was the only thing in the entire world.
Miles moaned around my tongue as I shoved his sweater vest out of the way, tugging his shirt free from his pants and splaying my hands over his warm skin, feeling the muscles he claimed not to have working under it as he rocked against me, grinding down.
I took the hint and got his pants open, laughing into his mouth as I reached inside and found him half-hard already, drinking down the cut-off gasp as I palmed him through his underwear.
“More,” he demanded. “Dammit, Book.”
“I got you,” I promised. “Everything you need. You wanna take this upstairs?”
Miles shook his head, drawing a stuttering breath and closing his eyes as I gave him a slow stroke. “Too far,” he said. “Just… I need you.”
“You’ve got me,” I promised, filing the desperation away for later examination. “You’ve got me.”
He kissed me again, all teeth and tongue, and pulled me out of my underwear like he owned me.
Which wasn’t so far from the truth, anyway.
We shared a gasp as Miles gripped us together. He paused, spat in his hand, and then went back to it, clearly not interested in taking his time.
That was fine. The bar was closed for lunch today on account of the cleanup after last night, so we had hours before anyone would be in.
If Miles wanted to take all of them up, I was all for it.
I’d missed him this morning when he’d vanished with a shouted goodbye and seeing him again was the best birthday gift I could’ve asked for.
I loved the way he felt in my lap, warm and eager.
When he ran out of breath kissing, he pressed his forehead against mine, the tips of our noses touching.
Both of us breathed shared air as I held him close with one hand and explored with the other.
His breath hitched as I brushed my thumb over a nipple and he bucked against me when I pinched it, still discovering so much about his body and all the fun things it could do.
I wanted to teach him. I wanted to show him everything, turn his confidence up to eleven and then bask in the rewards of knowing he knew exactly what he wanted and how to ask for it.
When I knew he was close I replaced his hand with my own, catching his mouth for another kiss, nipping at his lower lip as he rolled his hips. Every needy sound that escaped him made me fall a little more in love with him.
“Come for me,” I murmured, curling my free hand around the back of his neck, squeezing gently. “Lemme see you come.”
If I was a more poetic man I could’ve written sonnets about the way his nose wrinkled, the perfect O of his mouth, the snap of his hips and then the breathless sigh as he finished, pushing himself against me as though he couldn’t possibly be close enough.
I groaned at the feel of him coming in my hand, smearing the mess over my stomach where my t-shirt had hitched up as he panted his way through it, hips rolling slow and even.
When he looked at me, red-mouthed and heavy-lidded, I couldn’t hold back any longer, either. I flopped back against the couch as I followed him over, adding to the mess and grinning at the thought of it.
We were a disaster, but I wouldn’t have wanted us any other way.
When my ears stopped ringing and reality faded back into my consciousness, Miles was leaning against me—making a mess of his shirt, no doubt—still catching his breath. The perfect weight in my lap. He could live here, if he wanted. In exactly this spot, forever.
“Miss me?” I asked once I could speak again.
Miles huffed, snuggling closer. “Obviously,” he said. “Sorry I had to disappear a little early this morning.”
“You’re allowed,” I said. “Any particular reason?”
Miles sat back then, and looked me in the eyes. He reached out, ran a hand through my hair, stroked the shell of my ear, and then sighed.
“I’d like to take you to dinner. Before umm. I tell you. Oh!” he added, opening his jacket, pausing, wiping his hand on my t-shirt—which made me laugh—and then extracting something from his inner pocket.
“Maddie gave this to me to give to you,” he said, unfolding it. “Look.”
He held it up for me to look at, and I couldn’t help smiling as I realized what I was seeing. Me and Miles, sketched out lovingly if not especially accurately in crayon, holding hands with a big red heart drawn between us.
“She said you’re supposed to give people something they like for their birthdays,” Miles explained. “So she gave you me.”
“She was right,” I said. “I do like you.”
That earned me another kiss, which I wasn’t about to object to at all.
“Hey,” I said. “You know whatever it is, you can tell me?”
“I know,” Miles said. “I will. It’s… I need to think about it a little more. It might be nothing.” He smiled, and I got the sense it was meant to look more sincere than it did.
“Anyway,” he continued. “You’re picking me up from the cabin at six.”
“I am?” I asked.
“You are.” Miles grinned at me. “In your truck.”
I pulled up to Miles’s cabin at six as instructed, grabbed the flowers I’d managed to convince Dawn to part with after closing—I’d owe her one later—and headed for the door with a gut full of butterflies.
Apparently you were never too old for those. Or at least, I wasn’t too old for them, yet.
When Miles answered the door, it was like I’d forgotten what he looked like in the handful of hours since I’d last seen him. That was the thing about Miles. He happened to me all over again every time he walked into a room. It was like I was seeing him for the first time every time I saw him.
The way his whole face changed when he saw me made me think maybe he felt a little the same way. I doubted I inspired the kind of awe he did, but it was still nice to have someone light up the moment they saw you.
I hadn’t really had that before.
“Are those for me?” he asked quietly, gaze falling to the flowers.
“Uh,” I said, blinking at him. He was dressed up again, in a navy suit with a maroon waistcoat, the top two buttons of his off-white shirt undone to show off the tempting hollow of his throat. I’d apparently forgotten he cleaned up nice, too, since yesterday. “Yes.”
Miles’s face split into a grin. “Come inside while I put them in some water?”
I followed him in, still wondering what the hell was going on.
“Make yourself at home,” Miles called out, already hunting through his cupboards. “But don’t get too comfy. I’ve got reservations.”
“Reservations?” I asked. Miles had said he wanted to take me to dinner, but I’d figured we’d go somewhere in town and I wasn’t sure anywhere in town actually took reservations. Not for a table for two, anyway.
Maybe this was what Miles had been upset about earlier? But then why wouldn’t he just tell me? If he was dragging me somewhere for my help, he knew he could just ask. I’d never said no to him yet, and I wasn’t planning to start now.
Either way, he was too busy searching his cupboards to answer.
“Ah ha!” Miles cried out in triumph, producing a heavy crystal vase that looked like the kind of thing people gave each other as wedding gifts in the mid-80s. The kind that could take a burglar out with one blow. “This was here when I arrived. It’s not one of Seth’s family heirlooms, is it?”
I snorted, despite my ongoing confusion. “Doubtful. He comes from a long line of people with better taste.”
“I believe that,” Miles responded, filling the vase from the faucet. He took a moment to arrange the flowers in it on the counter in pride of place.
“These are beautiful,” he said between final touches. “Thank you. Must’ve been hard to get at this time of night on a Tuesday.”
“Perks of being universally beloved in town. I’ll owe Dawn babysitting or something. Not that she ever runs out of offers. I’m not gonna get to do anything for that kid until it’s fifteen.”
“And you’ll still be here?” Miles asks. “When it is?”
I shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be? Where else would I go? Nowhere else ever felt like home.”
Miles nodded, prodding one last flower into position and stepping back to admire his work.
“Perfect,” he said, drawing a long breath. “Okay. Take me to your chariot?”
“The truck, you mean?” I asked.
Miles smiled at me. It was a real smile, but there was something… off, about it. Nerves, maybe? I still wanted to know what the hell was wrong, but I didn’t want to push. He’d tell me in his own time.
Wouldn’t he?
You can tell me anything, you know hovered on the tip of my tongue, but I stopped myself. That was too pointed, and giving him time and space had worked so far. No sense trying to fix what wasn’t broken.
No sense rushing Miles for the sake of my anxiety about what was going on. I was a big boy. I could handle a little uncertainty.
“The truck,” he agreed. “You haven’t figured this out yet, have you?”
I shook my head. No. No I had not.
Miles sighed, approached me, and then reached out and took both of my hands. “I thought we’d have that first date,” he said. “Like you imagined it. Dinner, dessert, dancing, drinks…”
“Dick,” I finished for him with a grin, remembering now how I’d told him that was what I would’ve done if I’d known I had any chance with him at all. He’d remembered.
Was that all? Was that what he was nervous about?
Miles laughed, squeezing my hands. “If you’re good. I think it started with the bench seat in your truck? Where we’re not allowed to snuggle up together on the way there, for some reason.”
“Weeeell…” I looked him up and down, a smile tugging at my lips. I couldn’t look at him without smiling. “I don’t know if I can resist a little snuggling. And you’re the one who made the reservations, so you’ve gotta be close enough to give me directions.”
Miles beamed up at me. There was still something lurking in his eyes, worry written in the lines around them, but the smile was genuine. It wasn’t anything I’d done, I figured, which was a relief.
Anything else, we could figure out.
“Then what are we waiting for?” he asked.
“Nothing at all,” I said, dropping his hands reluctantly to stride over to the door and hold it open for him. “Your chariot awaits.”