4. Millie
CHAPTER FOUR
MILLIE
The moment we step inside his apartment, he tries to be a gentleman about it. He flips on a lamp. He asks if I'm thirsty, if I want water, if I want anything. He's already walking toward the kitchen when I catch his hand.
He turns. I pull him toward me. I need to do this before all my courage leaves my body.
I kiss him. He goes still for half a second, my fingers gripping the front of his shirt, and then his hands are on me, and whatever politeness he holds onto dissolves.
He kisses me slow and deep, his palms sliding to my waist, pulling me in until there's no space left between us.
The warmth of him bleeds through his shirt, the lean muscle underneath, and when I press into him, he makes a low sound against my mouth that sends heat straight through my stomach.
His fingers find the bow at my collar. He unties it carefully, like he's unwrapping a delicate gift, and that one small gesture does more to me than any rushed hand ever could.
I pull at his shirt. He helps, tugging it over his head, and I let myself look.
Slim and toned. His shoulders are even broader up close, his stomach flat and defined.
He's not bulky. He's built like someone who takes care of himself without making it a performance.
How is it fair that he gets to be handsome and funny and kind and look like this on top of all of it?
It's rude, honestly. It seems like God does have His favorites.
He catches me staring. He grins. "You okay?"
I nod and pull him closer.
His mouth moves to my jaw. My neck. He finds a spot just below my ear and stays there, his lips warm against my skin, and I feel it everywhere. My fingers slide into his hair. He makes another sound, lower this time, and his hands tighten on my waist.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. His eyes are darker now. His breathing is uneven. He lifts one hand and brushes my hair away from my face, tucking it behind my ear.
"If I'm ever too much," he says quietly, "or too rough, just tap my shoulder three times. Okay?"
I nod.
He leans in again, and this time his mouth claims mine.
There's nothing slow about it now—it's want, plain and undisguised.
His hands move down my back, warm through the thin fabric of my blouse, and I feel each fingertip like a point of heat against my skin.
I'm clutching at him, pulling him closer, greedy for it, and we're moving without deciding to, stumbling toward the hallway, his hand braced on the wall behind me as he kisses down my neck, his breath hot against my collarbone.
My blouse comes off. His mouth follows his hands, tracing along my shoulder, my collarbone, lower.
He tastes like the chocolate dessert we shared, dark and sweet, with the warmth of his skin beneath it, and his lips find every inch he uncovers.
When his fingers trail down my ribs, feather-light, I shiver, and he feels it and pulls me tighter.
We make it to his bedroom. The back of my knees hit the mattress, and he eases me down, one arm behind my back, careful even now. He hovers over me, and I can feel his weight, lean and solid, and the heat of his skin against mine. His eyes find mine in the dark.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs. His thumb traces my lower lip.
I pull him down to me and let myself go.
His hands learn me slowly, like there's no hurry, like he has all night and intends to use it.
Every touch is gentle and certain at once.
Every kiss is pressed into my skin like he's memorizing me, committing each inch to memory.
I arch into him, and his breath catches, ragged, and the sound of it undoes something in me.
When he says my name against my throat, low and rough, I feel it vibrate through my entire body—and for once, a sound meant for me lands somewhere words never could.
I don't know what this makes me. I don't care. Tonight I'm not the quiet girl. Tonight I'm just a woman in the dark with a man who touches her like she's the only thing that exists.
I let myself have this.
I let myself get lost in him.
I'm lying on clouds.
Or at least that's what it feels like. The sheets are softer than mine, cool against my skin, smooth enough that I want to sink deeper and never move again.
The pillow smells different too. Clean, like laundry detergent, and under that the faint salt-and-cedar smell of a person, of him, but my body seems to recognize it before my brain does.
Then I open my eyes, and the ceiling is wrong.
It takes me a second. The light is coming from the wrong direction—my window faces east, and this one doesn't. The walls are the wrong color, darker than mine.
There's a lamp where my bookshelf should be, a door where there shouldn't be one.
The pieces don't fit, and then, all at once, they do. This isn't my apartment.
Right.
I turn my head slowly. He's face down next to me, one arm hanging off the bed, the sheets tangled low around his waist. His face is turned away, his breathing slow and even.
The morning light is doing something genuinely unfair to him—sliding down the line of his spine, pooling in the cut of his shoulder blades, gilding skin that has no business looking like that this early.
I let myself look for exactly three seconds longer than I should.
Because his back muscles need appreciation.
Then I snap out of it.
I don't know the rules for this. I've never done this before. Do I stay? Do I make coffee? Do I sit at his kitchen counter and wait for him to wake up so we can have the awkward morning-after conversation where we both pretend this is casual?
I don't even know where his kitchen is. I don't know this man. Sure, I know what his laugh sounds like, and that his hands are warm, and that last night he made me feel like a person I haven't been in a very long time. But that's not enough to build a morning on.
I get dressed as quietly as I can. I find my shoes by the door. I think about writing something, a note. But I don't know what I'd say. Thank you feels too clinical. Last night was fun feels like a lie by omission because it's more than fun, and I don't want to think about why.
So I leave. I close his door gently behind me and walk home in yesterday's clothes with the taste of him still on my lips.
My apartment is exactly as I left it. Quiet. Still. Mine. My cat is asleep on the back of the couch, and she doesn't even lift her head when I walk in. Loyal little beast.
I shower. I change. I make coffee in the replacement mug, because my favorite one is still in pieces in a landfill somewhere. I sit on my bed with wet hair and pick up my phone.
I think about texting him. Saying thanks, saying something.
But what do you text a man you slept with and left before dawn?
There's no template for this. There's no greeting card.
Sorry I vanished, you were lovely isn't a sentence I know how to send.
The truth—that I left because staying felt like more than I could survive in daylight—is worse.
So I text Adeena instead, because she knows what to do with this information even if I don't.
Millie
gurl
Adeena
GUURL
Millie
So… remember that First Chair audition I told you about?
Adeena
Yes! When is it? Or is it done?
Millie
It's done
Adeena
And?
Millie
I didn't get it
Adeena
Oh honey, I'm sorry
Three dots appear. She's composing something encouraging, I can already feel it coming. But I can't wait.
Millie
So I went on a date.
The three dots stop. Disappear. A full minute passes before they start again.
Adeena
Oh okay, that's a whole different turn of events, but happy for you!
How was it?
Millie
I had a one-night stand.
The dots vanish. She's read it. I can picture her face right now, phone held in both hands, mouth open. Then, finally, the dots reappear.
Adeena
WTF
??!!!!!!
She asks what happened, how a date turned into that, what made me do it. She's stunned but also, underneath it, a little proud. She says it's the most spontaneous thing I've done in years, possibly ever, and she sounds almost impressed, which I'm not expecting.
Adeena
I never thought in a million years you'd have a one night stand. But I'm also happy you're trying new things.
Do you regret it?
I think about it. His laugh at the restaurant. The way he waited while I typed without rushing me. The way he looked at me like my silence was just another part of me, not the whole of me.
Millie
No. I don't regret it. I'm actually glad my first one-night stand was a good one.
Adeena
You should have stayed!! If he was that great AND that handsome you should have at least stuck around for breakfast
Millie
I panicked
Adeena
Why??
Millie
What would be the point? He's a hot doctor looking for fun. I needed a distraction. That's all it was.
And he'd never go for a mute girl seriously. Let's be real.
Adeena
Stop doing that.
Millie
Doing what?
Adeena
Making yourself small.
I try to deflect with a joke. Something about how I'm already small, five foot one on a generous day. She doesn't laugh. She sees right through it because she always does.
A few days later, I go to the music library to pick up the packet for the first program and sit through the briefing. Vivienne is there. It's the first time I've seen her since the announcement.
"Millie, hey!"
I smile. I type. Congrats getting First Chair, Viv. You deserve it.
She reads it. "Thank you." A pause. "I hope this isn't going to be awkward between us."
I shake my head. I type. No. I'm really happy for you.
She reads it. Her shoulders drop an inch, the way a held breath finally leaves. I smile, and I mean it, even if the feeling underneath is more complicated than anything I could fit on a phone screen.