Chapter 8 Miles #2
Jamie smirks, proud of himself. “Nobody did. That’s why it was all over the papers.
The scandal was huge. A lot of folk are pissed.
” He shrugs, like it is nothing. “Anyway, that’s why she’s here.
Her little princess castle crumbled, and now she’s just another broke kid trying to get through college. ”
I lean my head back, stare at the sky through the smoke. My chest loosens, just a fraction. This is what I needed—answers. Something real instead of my own paranoia chewing me alive. “So that’s it. She’s not here for me. She’s not a problem.”
“Nope.” Jamie takes the blunt back, sucks in, his lips curling around it before he exhales, smoke drifting between us. “She’s been offered sessions with the school therapist, by the way. Declined them. Apparently she’s just here for school. Wants to keep her head down.”
I exhale hard, smoke leaving my mouth in a slow stream. Relief settles into me, heavy, like a weight dropping. “Good.”
“Yeah,” Jamie agrees, a smile tugging his mouth as he hits again. “So you’re all clear, brother. No ghosts coming back to haunt you. Although…” His grin slides wider, wicked. “I think I’ll keep an eye on her anyway.”
I laugh. “You mean you’ll keep an eye on her tits.”
Jamie smirks, not even pretending otherwise. “Can you fault me? They deserve admiration. Some things in life just do.”
I shake my head, amusement pulling at my lips despite myself.
I take the blunt, dragging deep, feeling the haze spread heavier in my limbs. The world slows just enough that I can breathe again.
“I’ve been called for another meeting with my uncle. Six sharp.”
Jamie exhales, nodding. “It’s only four now. And I don’t have to leave for the bar until five-thirty. So why don’t you take a nap in the back seat? I’ll wake you up before you gotta go.”
“I can’t sleep.” The words are automatic, my jaw tightening. Sleep has not been kind to me in years.
Jamie rolls his eyes. “Then pop a pill or something, dude. You look like death warmed over. I’ll work on our assignments while you knock out for an hour.”
I hesitate, then reach into my jacket pocket, pulling out the orange prescription bottle. The white label glares in the light. Diazepam 10mg.
Jamie whistles when he sees it. “Going strong tonight, huh?”
I twist the cap off, shake one into my palm, and swallow it dry. “You said nap. I’m trying.”
“Good man.” He grins, settling back against the hood with his phone in one hand, blunt in the other. “Go on. I’ll keep watch.”
I nod, too tired to argue. The backseat of his car is warm, the upholstery smelling faintly of leather and smoke. I stretch out, my body sinking into the worn cushions, the haze of weed mixing with the slow slide of the pill in my bloodstream.
The hum of Jamie’s voice outside drifts faint, his laughter carrying over the music he’s put on low. My eyelids grow heavy, the tension in my chest loosening by degrees I hadn’t thought possible. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, I let myself go.
And sleep takes me.
I’m standing in the middle of the rink, but it’s not the rink at all.
It’s my room, my bed, the sheets pulled back.
Chloe is bent over, her tiny skirt barely covering anything, the pleats flaring as if even the fabric knows how much I want to see underneath.
A cheer uniform, red and white, with her ponytail bouncing as she shifts.
I’ve got my hand pressed between her shoulders, my palm firm, the other hand raised.
She looks back at me over her shoulder, lips parted, daring me. Begging without saying a word.
I bring my hand down. The sharp crack echoes. Her skirt flips up, the bounce of her ass so perfect it makes my chest seize. She gasps, but she’s smiling. Another strike. She moans.
I’m about to tell her to count when the scene dissolves like melting ice under a sudden sun.
“Miles. Hey. Wake up, man.”
My eyelids rip open. The dream collapses, leaving heat in my chest and a stiffness that has me yanking the blanket higher. Jamie’s face comes into focus, leaning over me, his hoodie hood half-drawn. His voice is soft, but urgent.
“It’s five-thirty. Looks like it’s about to rain,” he says.
I grunt, rubbing my eyes, groggy, wishing I could dive back into the dream, even though it’s the last thing I should be having. “Already?”
“Yeah. Here.” He holds out a can. The neon green logo burns against the dull gray of morning. Energy drink. My favorite one.
I sit up, bones creaking like I’m twice my age, and take it from him. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
The first swallow of the drink burns sweet and chemical down my throat, but I can already feel the kick start. “How’d the assignment go?”
Jamie shrugs, scratches the back of his neck. “I only did a bit. Honestly, it’s brutal. You’re gonna have to do it. I don’t get half of it.”
I lean my head back against the seat. “I’ll check it out tonight.”
He yawns. “You coming by The Crest later?”
“I’ll try,” I say, voice half a groan.
We say our goodbyes before he drives off.
I watch him leave, grateful for him, always. Then I drag myself together, shove my bag over my shoulder, and head to the car.
The leather seat greets me with warmth when I switch on the seat warmer.
Best money I ever spent. I let the engine idle while I sip at the drink, watching the parking lot shimmer under the first drops of rain.
It thickens fast, tapping harder, turning into a pour that blurs the world into streaks of gray.
I wait ten minutes, let the caffeine run through me, then finally shift into gear. The tires crunch wet gravel as I roll off school property, wipers squeaking across the windshield.
The road curves. My headlights sweep across the drenched pavement, and that’s when I see a Honda Civic, parked awkwardly on the shoulder. At first, I think nothing—people break down all the time. I’m already steering past when something catches. Sneakers.
Then bare legs, pale under a denim miniskirt.
My foot presses the brake harder than I intend. The car jerks slightly. My hands tighten on the wheel.
No way.
Is that… Chloe?
I sit there for a second, engine humming, rain pounding the roof. I should just keep going. This is exactly what I was warning Jamie about—getting tangled in stuff that’ll only drag you under.
But my eyes won’t look away.
The hoodie she had on earlier is gone. She’s standing in the storm, tank top plastered to her skin, clinging to the curve of her body. Red bra underneath, clear as daylight. Her hair’s a dark rope down her back, water dripping from the ends.
I curse under my breath. My jeans tighten instantly.
Fuck.
Before I know it, I’ve turned the wheel, looping back. The car stops a few feet from her. I shove the gear into park, yank the handle, and step out. The rain soaks me instantly, a chill biting into my skin, but my blood is hot enough that it doesn’t matter.
“Hey,” I call.
She looks up, lashes heavy with water. “Hey.”
Her gaze flicks back to the hood of the Civic, rain running down the metal.
“Car trouble?” I ask.
She nods, lips pressed together, hair sticking to her cheek.
“Let me take a look.” I step forward, pop the hood without waiting for permission. Steam hisses faintly, but the issue is obvious in seconds.
I explain, pointing, telling her what’s wrong.
She just blinks at me. Confusion, then frustration.
I explain again, slower. She bites her lip, looking like she’s trying to keep up but failing.
“Did you call roadside assistance?” I ask.
She holds up her hand, empty. “Phone’s dead.”
“Shit.” I pull mine from my pocket, thrust it toward her.
“Thanks.” She takes it carefully.
She dials, waits, shakes her head. “Can’t reach anyone.”
“I know a garage,” I say. “They’ll help. But they’d have to get the car later tonight.”
“Shit,” she mutters, lips forming the word in a way that makes me want to watch her talk again and again.
I shouldn’t like this. I shouldn’t like her. But I do.
She sighs, hugging herself. “Do you know where the nearest bus station is?”
I glance at her Civic, then at the sheets of rain hammering the ground. “Grab your things. We’ll talk in the car.”
I jog back to mine, wiping at my hair, heart racing for reasons that have nothing to do with the weather. First thing I do is shove any contraband—empty cans, crumpled papers, the random lighter—into the glovebox.
Then the passenger door opens. She stops, dripping on the threshold. “I’m wet.”
I can get you wetter…and a dozen other filthy replies crash into my head at once. I swallow them down.
“Get in the car. Now.”
She blinks, then slides in, water squelching from her skirt onto the seat.
I flip her seat warmer on, trying not to think about how her thighs are bare and right there. “Where do you live?”
She turns her head, hair dripping onto her shoulder, eyes locking on mine. She doesn’t answer right away.
“What?” I ask, nerves spiking.
“Your eyes,” she says.
My pulse slams. Fuck. Panic builds in my chest.
“They’re pretty,” she adds.
Relief crashes so hard I almost laugh. “Thanks.” I grip the wheel tighter.
“I’m Chloe, by the way.”
“I’m Miles,” I say.
“Yeah, I’ve seen you on the ice.”
“Oh.” I clear my throat. “Seat belt.”
She clicks it into place, still watching me like she’s dissecting me piece by piece. Then she parrots her location. Damn, I still cannot believe that she lives in East Pointe.
I pull onto the road. Her scent fills the car within minutes, sweet and heavy, like cherries smashed too ripe. It clings, crawls into my lungs. Mortification burns as I adjust in my seat, trying to hide the hard line straining against my zipper.
Traffic snarls near the bridge, rain slowing everything to a crawl. The car grows quiet, too quiet, except for the soft hitch of her breath and the thud of rain on the roof. My mind won’t stop replaying the vision of her bra through the wet tank, the way her lip catches between her teeth.
When we stop at the light, I grab my phone again, call the garage, arrange for the Civic to be towed. She thanks me softly, words brushing over me like fingertips.
“Of course,” I say, voice hoarse.
But the silence comes back, heavier. And all I can think about is how close she is, how warm the air feels now despite the storm, and how badly I’m losing control.