Chapter 27
Emma
W hy did I agree to a date with Miles?
The request caught me off guard on Monday, and it still does now that Wednesday has arrived. I held back my curiosity tinged with excitement, because dates shouldn’t excite me. They’re not supposed to. They’re a means to an end for a purpose that starts and ends with penis.
Any physical arrangement I’ve had is temporary and without any fillers to incite confusion. I don’t need fine dining with candles or flowers to have sex. That’s a good way to have a man following you home and crying all night on your doorstep. It happened before, with Mark, a transplant from Silicon Valley who was all too eager to tour the inside of my bedroom like he had a right to. I may not have a flamethrower, but I keep a Taser in my pocketbook, and Mark met it after following me home. It was the one time my father flew out to see me. I filed a restraining order as a precaution.
Miles isn’t the type to lose his shit like that, but the fact we’re living together and he still wants my time gives me pause. I haven’t stopped thinking about last night when he held me in his arms after sex. We never spoke about it and carried on like kinda friends with benefits—more like friends adjacent—who are still figuring out what the hell they’re doing. Miles left for work this morning before I made it downstairs. I was grateful for the distance, not that it helped clear my mind.
He’s changing my rules like they were meant for him to break.
Miles texts at four to meet him at the Santa Monica Pier in an hour. Strolling around carnival games outside in February wouldn’t be my first choice for a date. He’s lucky it’s not raining.
I shake my head and gather my things, still in disbelief that these heels will touch a boardwalk. On a date .
The drive takes less than ten minutes. I find parking and head to the ticket kiosk, where Miles stands. His back is to me, giving me time to take in the full muscular frame that sends a jolt to my clit. Miles is fine—there’s no debate—but the way he wears a suit should be illegal. His hands in his pocket stretch the fitted fabric hugging every hard-earned muscle. And that ass. I love to dig my nails into his smooth flesh every time he rolls his hips into—
“There you are.”
Miles turns with a smirk, like he caught me reliving last night on the kitchen counter. I was, but I won’t admit it. His eyes glide up my figure, and he bites his lip. “You good in those?” He nods to my platform heels.
“They’re comfortable.”
“Alright, but if they start to hurt, I’m buying you sandals. Can’t have you fucking up those pretty feet.” He extends his hand. “Come on.”
The wind chooses that moment to pick up the scent of his musk cologne. Against my better judgment, I smile and put my hand in his for our adventure.
“Wait ’til I get your ass! Shit!” Miles’s bumper car spins in a circle. It resets, and I push my handle forward to ram him again.
“Aye!” is all he yells before his car spins out again.
If I laugh any harder, I’ll pee on myself.
Miles wanted to try out these inner-tube bumper cars and went easy on me, assuming I’d be too bougie to let loose. He quickly learned the hard way not to underestimate me the first time I pushed the pedal to the floor and rammed his car. The man never stood a chance to retaliate, which has me laughing through tears at his frustration.
At the end of our time, our cars stop. I unbuckle myself in a fit of giggles and take off as fast as my designer heels will go. I barely make it ten feet before Miles lifts me off the ground.
“I see you got jokes behind the wheel, Driving Miss Daisy!” He curls me over his shoulder with a smack to the ass.
“Put me down!” I squeal.
“For you to ram me again? Nah.”
Only a few people are here to witness Miles carry me across the pier. At five eight, I’m not small, but he dwarfs me in size.
We reach a burger spot with outdoor seating. Light winds from the water deliver a chill, but it’s nothing an LA hot dog won’t fix.
“Are you sure you’re not cold?” Miles shrugs out of his suit jacket.
“I’m good,” I say through a bite of a crinkle fry. “Thanks again for the hoodie.”
The pink tourist sweatshirt clashes with my outfit but keeps me warm. Miles bought it from a shop right before he won me the cutest stuffed red panda. Football was his sport of choice at Bodie, but his talent also translates to basketball.
Tonight was a pleasant surprise. We spent the last hour and a half hopping on rides and playing games. I didn’t know what to expect coming here, but I don’t mind the change in scenery.
It feels nice to laugh again.
“Thank you for tonight.”
My hair has to be a mess, but Miles looks at me like I just walked off the runway. The corner of his mouth lifts. “You’re welcome.”
“Did you go to lots of carnivals growing up?”
He finishes a bite of his burger and shakes his head. “They didn’t come through my neighborhood, but T and I tried to hit them up with his younger sister if we could.”
From what little I know about Miles’s childhood, he had a rough start and spent a lot of time with Terrence. Their mothers worked multiple shifts as nurses and single moms providing for their families. Terrence’s Dominican grandmother watched him and his sisters—and Miles, from what Justice told me. He doesn’t talk about his past much, and I never had a reason for him to disclose it to me.
“I never went, either,” I say with a shrug. “They were always around Alexandria, but it wasn’t an activity worth an appearance from my parents.”
“They traveled because of your pops?”
“Yes, but they were also particular about what deserved their attention. Spending hours on amusement rides and eating junk wasn’t their idea of a good time.” I wiggle the hot dog in my hand. “These were a staple in Jay’s house. We had them at least once a week.”
What I don’t mention are the excuses I made whenever Justice and her parents would invite me on their family outings, carnivals included. It didn’t feel right to tag along when they’d already opened their home and heart to their daughter’s best friend.
Miles considers me. “You stayed with her a lot?”
I nod and wipe my hands with a napkin. “At least twice a week, whenever my parents were away or stayed out too late. I was safe at home—”
“But you didn’t want to be alone.”
“Something like that.” I force a smile, one he sees right through. “I had a key to her house by the time we hit our sophomore year of high school.” I laugh at the thought. “Pretty wild given my background. I didn’t stay all the time. Didn’t want to impose.”
“I get it. The staying away to not be a burden.” The look on Miles’s face is one I’ve seen in the mirror, and it’s taken years of practice to cover. Wanting to belong.
Something flickers in his brown eyes, but he blinks it away. Miles and I might be from opposites ends of the socioeconomic spectrum, but we’re two kids who clung to their chosen families for different reasons. His mother had no choice but to work multiple jobs that cost her time away from her son. My parents had all the privileges in the world at their fingertips, yet couldn’t afford to stay at home.
We turn away, searching the lights illuminating the pier, far from any plausible explanation for the pull to each other and why the shared truths flow effortlessly.
“So, Friday.”
“Yes,” I say with too much eagerness. “My family and Carter will be there. I don’t plan on staying beyond a quick appearance.”
Miles nods. “We have a team meeting that might run late. I’ll meet you there. Anything else to know?”
“You’ve seen them in action. My father is always in campaign mode, too busy to notice anything else. My mother will purse her lips at anything deemed unworthy of her time. Blair is”—I laugh—“Blair, and you met Carter.” That sums it up: one wealthy, dysfunctional family.
“Why do you put up with it?”
I shrug. “Sometimes we want what we can’t have. I love my family but wish things were different. What about you?” I flavor my tone with more enthusiasm. “Are you close with your mother?”
He nods. “We talk a few times a week when I’m not in Jersey or in a location with decent service.”
“That’s very sweet,” I say against a sourness forming in the pit of my stomach. I’m happy for Miles—and Justice and Terrence. Growing up without a loving parent didn’t hinder me from my dreams. I had access and privilege because of my father. What I miss are the moments, the lost opportunities to create memories without strings or stipulations.
I still feel the void at thirty-four. With all my success and confidence, I can’t shake wishing I had family who called just because and told me how proud they are. So I tell myself as I continue pouring into my found family while holding onto remnants of hope with loose hands that, one day, my own will come around.
Miles takes our trays once we finish and guides us to the end of the pier. We stand in silence, taking in the breeze and the ocean’s rising waves. The sun sets, trading its sherbet glow for moonlight over endless water. I love the white noise of the ocean. It’s one of the reasons I chose Malibu as my home.
Thick arms wrap around me as a chill creeps into the air. Miles nuzzles his nose into my neck before replacing it with his lips. His mouth moves to mine for a lingering kiss, coaxing me into his warmth. The lines are blurring between us, and I can’t find it in me at the moment to care. Maybe I will tomorrow, but tonight, I allow myself to feel.
Miles follows me back to the house and spends the rest of the night tending to my body. I wake up the next morning with a hum between my legs and a stuffed red panda on the pillow.