Chapter 22
22
I must have done something sensational in a past life—something that altered the course of history. Like, being The First in the bloodline that spawned Beyoncé. Whatever it was, it’s paid me back in spades. Because I’ve just woken up to the view of a sleeping Miles Westbrook, laying gloriously naked on his back, with only a scrap of a white sheet strewn across his torso.
Begrudgingly, I tear my eyes away to glance at the nightstand clock where I learn it is now nine in the morning. There was never a question we’d both sleep in after all the energy we poured into each other last night. When Miles said he’d give me everything , he wasn’t overpromising. The man put in work —didn’t leave one angle, one position, or one inch of me unexplored.
But even after all that open discovery, I can’t shake knowing that there are still so many unknowns lingering between us—and the one currently pressing through to the front of my mind is… What changed for him? Between politely swerving me on the phone to showing up at my hotel for a surprise session of mind- and back-blowing sex, what changed? And if last night was truly just about Miles helping me learn how to “let go” behind closed doors—his words not mine—now that his job is done, am I good with the simplicity of that? Or the potential finality of it?
It’s a shame I was too emotionally and physically spent last night to think of drawing the curtains before Miles and I finally dozed off to sleep. Because the bright light of day has a way of making hasty decisions made under siege of heightened emotions feel like big mistakes. More than a year has passed since Elliot and I last slept together, and even longer still since he’s felt like someone I could be completely vulnerable with.
After missing that closeness and connection for so long, last night was like a megadose. But any moment now Miles is going to wake up. And when he does, if he gets dressed and skips out the door, maybe never to be heard from again—I could be in for a serious case of withdrawal.
He stirs next to me now, grumbling in a groggy, almost-but-not-quite-roused-out-of-sleep way that is so utterly satisfying I want to commit the sound to my memory bank. On instinct, I move closer and he curls himself into me, laying his head across my chest and wrapping two strong arms around my waist. Then our legs lace together in a perfect knot, and I can’t stop myself from lazily stroking his smooth, deep brown skin.
“Mmmm, what a way to wake up,” he hums, in the kind of low rumble that would be soothing if I wasn’t already preoccupied with running troubling scenarios through my mind. Like finding out he never actually got divorced and has a secret baby on the way, or maybe he has nine secret babies. I circle back to just how little I know about Miles Westbrook, apart from all the carnal things I learned last night.
Several seconds pass in silence as I brood, when Miles pops his head up to look at me. His brow is furrowed and his eyes search mine, as if checking to see if I’m still here. “Good morning,” he says, and it’s adorable the way his sleepy eyes are barely open.
I reach up with my thumbs to smooth away the tension in his forehead. But I’m afraid that if I open my mouth, something absurd will come out like Have you ever thought about being a dad or What did last night mean for you? So I simply wave at him—with my actual hand, then cover my face with that same hand because I have the awful feeling that I might start to stress cry for a second time this week.
“Uh-oh,” he says, eyeing me warily and pushing up on his forearms until he’s hovering above me. Our legs disentangle, and he notches himself between my open thighs. “What’s going on inside that pretty head, baby girl?” he asks, gently pulling my hand away from my face.
I turn over to my stomach beneath him, and bury my face in the pillow. However, I should have thought that through. Because now I’m having vivid flashbacks of the last time we were in this exact position. Only we were sweat slicked and he was inside me, and now waves of residual pleasure begin to shoot to my core. I flip back over, closing my eyes to avoid being sidetracked by his face and chest and arms in the morning light.
With a grimace, I confess, “I’m thinking maybe we should talk about last night?” Then, one by one, I peel each eye open to gauge his reaction.
Miles simply flops back down on his side, propping his head up on his hand. The bulge of his bicep makes me want to bite it, but I swat away the intrusive thought. “We could do that. Or…” he says, reaching for my waist and pulling me into him, “we could talk about other things.”
This makes me instantly tense. “Things like what?” I ask.
“Things like…how do you like your coffee?” While he talks, he’s lazily tracing shapes on the surface of my back. And the farther down he goes, the more my muscles relax. “And other things like…what are we going to get for breakfast? And what are you doing for the rest of today? Or the rest of the week?” When he’s done speaking, he squeezes my ass and gives it a little smack.
“Huh,” I say, mostly to myself because I am utterly charmed but also still deeply confused.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asks, taking his own turn at smoothing the worry lines out of my forehead. But when I don’t quickly respond, he drops his hand. “Sorry, did you need me to head out?”
At this I straighten and grasp his hand again. “No! No. I don’t want you to leave. I just…” An exhale. “A week ago, when you got my number and reached out, I thought you were asking me on a date, but you mentioned the bad press I’ve been getting and—”
I trail off, noticing the exact moment it dawns on him, the reason why I’m so out of sorts at his sudden changeup. I wait for a beat to gauge his response. His head tips back, and he pinches the bridge of his nose.
When he looks at me again, his eyes are clear and sincere. “Would you believe me if I told you I did get a little spooked by the headlines about you and Elliot? As you know, I’ve been dragged over the coals in the media this past year, and it’s affected my team, my game,” he admits. “So, when you asked me that question, I guess I sort of panicked and fumbled you in the worst possible way?”
I’m flooded with a sense of relief at his bare honesty. It’s something I never had with Elliot, even when I was naive enough to believe that I did. In the early days, before I knew the magnitude of all his little evasions, I could somehow always sense his absence of truth, even when I had no proof of the lies. It was intuition. But hearing the truth from someone I’m only starting to know feels really good after so much time spent living with those lies.
“Of course I understand all of that,” I tell Miles. “I mean, you said as much on the phone. And I get it, especially after what happened with your ex.” And now I take a deep breath, because the big question is next. “I don’t blame you at all for being anxious about my drama. But if that’s the case, then what was last night?”
He sighs and nods his head. “Last night was me going about this all the way backward,” he admits, pulling me closer. “And if it’s not already obvious, I’m really into you. I don’t know what that means or what it even looks like with the season starting and with everything you’re going through. But if I can, I do want to get to know you more. I just hope you’re not regretting what we did though? Even if we rushed it a little. Because I’m not.”
I shake my head. “No, not at all.”
“Good,” he says. “Because I was thinking maybe we could…do it again?”
We stumble out of the shower and take turns tying each other into the Mandarin’s branded bathrobes. When I cinch Miles’s belt, he looks back at himself in the mirror and clears his throat. “Think this one’s a little short on me,” he says. “Gonna have my goodies on full display.”
Laughing, I reach around and give him a squeeze. “That was kind of my plan.” He grabs me and starts nipping at my neck, when a knock at the door to my suite interrupts us.
“Probably room service,” I say, before heading to check. Leaving Miles in the bathroom, I toe on my slippers and pad toward the door, stretching my arms as I go. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a purely lazy morning with nothing on my schedule. With a twenty-one-city tour kicking off in late summer, my last under contract with Onyx Records, I’ll be starting rehearsals in a few weeks. So I need to savor every idle moment I have left while I possibly can.
The pancakes we ordered arrive in a glorious stack, topped with berries and dusted with powdered sugar. I’m just about to pour the full contents of one of the little mason jars of maple syrup over the top of them when my phone begins to buzz across the room.
Immediately recognizing the haptic pattern, I deflate. “It’s work,” I tell Miles with a pout.
He quickly rises from his seat. “Do you need me to—”
I smile and gesture for him to sit by raising a hand. Then, rounding our table, I stop and bend down to kiss him on the lips. He cups the back of my knee with his warm palm, and it’s these kinds of casual, intimate touches a girl could become addicted to. I’m tempted to ignore the constant buzzing, but reluctantly I pull myself away and head over to my nightstand. When I answer the phone, it’s Angelo.
“Hey, Lo, everything all right?” I ask.
“How soon can you get to Steps?” As usual, he sounds like he’s briskly making his way to a very important engagement.
I glance over at Miles, who’s got his back to me now, having just answered a call of his own. “Uh…in theory I could be there in half an hour. But I’m actually a bit tied up this morning.”
“Well, is there any way you can un tie up yourself? It’s kind of pressing,” he adds. “Listen. I just got word that the label’s moving the tour up by adding fifteen new dates starting in June.”
“That’s almost two months ahead of schedule!” I nearly shout. Then, looking over at Miles, I see I’ve drawn his attention—and by the creases in his forehead, his concern too. He’s still on his call, so I give him a thumbs-up to signal all is well. Speaking lower, I tell Angelo, “I guess it wouldn’t be Onyx Records if I wasn’t getting blindsided left and right.”
“Well, naturally, there’s more,” he says. “Fatima’s holding dance auditions today, and she’s very firmly requesting your presence. Something about needing to get a vibe check from you.”
At this, I grimace. Fatima’s worked with me since my very first tour. And as one of the industry’s most dynamic and sought-after choreographers, she is not to be played with. So as much as I’d like to blow off this “request” and veg out in my robe with Miles all day, or to concoct ways of disguising ourselves so we can traipse around the city for real this time, I’m an artist first, before anything else.
I end the call with Angelo around the same time Miles wraps up his.
“Let me guess, you also need to go?” he asks, looking about as dejected as I feel.
I nod, before catching the nuance of what he’s just said. I stop short. “Same for you?”
“Too good to be true, huh?” He shrugs as he walks over to wrap strong hands around my waist and press his forehead against mine.