Chapter 16 Miles
Miles
I thought the worst part after that fight with Jamie would be game day, watching him and Chloe flirt like they hadn’t a care in the world.
The way she laughed when he said something at the sidelines.
The way she looked at him when he scored.
Hell, the way she looked at him when he missed.
She wore that damn cheer uniform—navy and gold, little skirt swaying when she jumped—and I swear, I almost screamed that she belonged to me first.
But I didn’t.
I stood there, jaw tight, pretending the sting in my ribs was from practice, not pride.
We lost anyway. 3–2. A humiliating finish.
Jamie missed a penalty shot that could’ve tied us, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a tiny spark of satisfaction when the puck slipped past the goal.
That feeling vanished quick, though. Losing means more drills, more meetings, more time with him pretending he doesn’t see me.
And now, a week later, this? This might actually be worse.
The car coughs like it’s dying—a final, pathetic sound before the engine gives up. I thump the steering wheel hard enough to sting my palm. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, coasting to a stop by the curb.
I pop the hood, not that I know a damn thing about engines. Smoke curls up, like it’s mocking me.
The tow guy takes his sweet time, but when he finally drops the car off at the garage, I already know it won’t be good news.
“Alternator’s shot,” the mechanic says, wiping his hands on a rag. “Timing belt’s frayed to hell. You’re lucky it didn’t snap on the road.” He walks around, squints at the undercarriage. “Oh, and you’re leaking oil. Bad.”
“So what… a day?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
He snorts. “A week, minimum. Maybe ten days if I can’t get the parts.”
“Ten days?” I echo.
He shrugs. “You can take it up with the manufacturer if you want, but I doubt they’ll answer your calls faster than I will.”
I laugh, but it’s sharp and hollow. “Yeah. No, you’re fine.”
He gives me that look—the kind that says this kid’s trouble but he pays in cash, and walks off.
This screws everything up. Rico and I were supposed to do a drop tonight. Timing’s tight, margins tighter. I need a car, and I need it fast.
By the time I walk out of the garage, dusk is rolling in. I stand there for a minute, listening to the hum of traffic. Then I see a silver Lexus parked half a block away, still idling. Driver’s probably in the convenience store nearby.
I don’t think twice.
Old habits die hard.
I slip in, hot-wire the thing in under thirty seconds.
Feels good—the hum of the engine, the flash of adrenaline.
For a second, I feel like myself again. Not the version Jamie punched or the one who keeps screwing up everything with Chloe.
Just me—the bastard who knows how to make things work, even when they shouldn’t.
I check the time. Six. Rico won’t need me till ten. Four hours to kill.
I could get a drink, but the thought of The Crest makes my stomach twist. Last time I was there, Jamie was behind the counter, pretending not to see me. Pretending he was the better man.
No. Not tonight.
Instead, I scroll through my contacts until I hit Bella. She’s always a distraction—shallow, beautiful, and loud in all the right ways.
“Hey,” I say when she picks up, voice sugar-sweet and half out of breath.
“Miles! Where’ve you been hiding?” she giggles. “I haven’t seen you in school for days.”
“Looking for me?”
“Always. Do you want to hang out?”
So fucking easy.
“Something like that,” I mutter. “You busy?”
“I’m at the sorority house. You should come over.”
There’s a smile in her voice. The kind that promises trouble.
“I’ll be there in twenty.”
The sorority house smells like perfume and popcorn—sweet, cloying, too pink for my taste. But Bella meets me at the door wearing an oversized shirt that might belong to me and nothing else.
“Miles,” she purrs, leaning on the frame. “You look tense.”
“Rough week,” I say, stepping inside.
“Let me make it better.”
She presses against me, and for a few minutes, she does. Lips on mine, soft at first, then demanding. My hands find her hips, and her giggle breaks against my mouth. It’s easy to forget everything when it’s like this—no loyalty, no guilt, just heat.
We stumble back into her room, half-laughing, half-breathless. Her desk lamp’s still on, papers scattered everywhere.
When she leans in again, I see a printed list taped to the wall above her mirror. I catch my breath mid-kiss.
New Dorm Assignments – Fall Update.
Names blur past until one stands out. Chloe Ashford – Room 203.
I freeze. For half a second, my heart does that awful drop.
Bella doesn’t notice. She’s already tugging my shirt off, nails dragging down my chest.
I tell myself not to look again. I tell myself to mind my own business, but it’s no use. Chloe’s everywhere. She’s in my head, under my skin, haunting every damn room I walk into.
Bella kisses my neck, and I force myself to focus.
“Hey,” she murmurs, “you with me?”
“Yeah.” My voice sounds rougher than I mean it to. “Yeah, I’m here.”
I grab her hips, lift her onto the desk, send a few pens rolling to the floor. Her laugh fills the room, soft and sharp, and for a second, it almost works. Almost.
Then she says, “I’m meeting with the other captain later. We’re working on a new routine.”
My pulse jumps at the thought of seeing Chloe again.
“Are you meeting the whole team?” I ask, too fast.
“No, just Brielle,” she says easily, tracing my jaw.
“Brielle?”
“You know, the one with the really good turns? She’s supposed to swing by soon, actually.”
So much for fun…
I step back before she can see it in my face. “Right. Yeah. You should, uh… do that.”
Bella frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I force a smile. “Just remembered I’ve got somewhere to be.”
She tilts her head, skeptical. “You just got here.”
“Rain check?” I say, brushing her cheek.
She narrows her eyes, but then sighs. “Fine.”
She disappears into the bathroom.
I look at the sheet again. I should leave, walk out that door, get in the stolen car, and drive until this entire damn campus is behind me.
But I don’t.
Instead, I glance back at that list again. Room 203.
I don’t even remember walking upstairs. Just that the hallway is too bright, that my hand shakes when I twist the doorknob.
The room smells like strawberries and something faintly floral. There’s a drink on the desk. A journal open on the bed, a textbook next to it, and a laptop.
I glance around, telling myself I just want to see the space she lives in. The life she’s building. Maybe pocket something stupid. A shirt. A photo. Maybe another pair of her panties. I hate that my cock stirs at that. I just need a piece of proof that she’s still real.
But then I hear water shut off.
And Chloe walks out.
Steam follows her, curling around her bare legs. She’s got a towel wrapped low, another twisted in her hair. Her skin glows, damp and flushed.
When her eyes land on me, her whole body jerks. “What the fuck?”
I swear under my breath. “I—Jesus, I didn’t—”
“Miles?” she blurts. “What the hell are you doing in my room?”
“I didn’t know—” I start, but the lie is obvious.
“You didn’t know what?” she snaps, clutching the towel tighter.
I raise both hands, palms out. “I swear, I thought this was—”
“Bella’s room?” she cuts in. “That’s your excuse? Or Leslie? I can barely keep track of who is warming your bed nowadays.”
Her voice shakes, but her eyes don’t.
“Warming my bed? What are we in? Medieval times? You can say fucking Chloe, or is that word to crude for a princess like you?”
“Fuck you, Miles.”
I stare at the drops of water sliding down her shoulder, the fury painting her cheeks, the disbelief twisting her mouth, and it hits me, how royally I’ve screwed this up. Again. What did I think? She’d flirt with me?
“Chloe—”
“Don’t.” She takes a step back, then another. “Don’t you dare say my name like that.”
Neither of us moves. Just breathing. Just staring. The air feels electric like it’s too hot, too close, too full of all the things we never said.
The silence stretches, thick and heavy, like the steam still clinging to her skin.
Chloe’s eyes are locked on mine, wide and stormy, that towel barely holding on as her chest rises and falls.
Water droplets trace paths down her collarbone, disappearing into the valley between her breasts.
Fuck, she’s beautiful—always has been, even when she’s pissed. Especially then.
I take a step forward, can’t help it. The air crackles, pulling me in. “Chloe.”
“I said don’t,” she hisses, but her voice wavers, and she doesn’t back up further. Her back hits the edge of the bed, the towel slipping just a fraction, revealing the curve of her hip.
“You look good,” I say, my gaze dropping to those legs, long and toned. Pink from the hot water, flushed like she’s already burning up. “All steamy and pissed off. Turns me on.”
Her cheeks flame deeper. “Get out, Miles. Now.”
But I don’t. I close the distance, towering over her, close enough to smell the cherries—shampoo or body wash, something sweet that hits me like a drug. My hand shoots out, grabbing her wrist before she can shove me. Not hard, just enough to hold her there. “Why? Afraid you’ll like it if I stay?”
She yanks against my grip, but it’s half-hearted. Her eyes flick to my mouth, then away. “You’re delusional.”
I smirk, leaning in until my breath fans her ear. “Am I? Then why’s your pulse racing under my fingers?” I slide my thumb over her wrist, feeling it thrum. Her skin’s so soft, still warm from the shower. I let my other hand trail up her arm, light as a feather, watching goosebumps rise in its wake.
“Stop,” she whispers, but it’s breathy, not commanding. Her free hand presses against my chest—my heart’s pounding too—but she doesn’t push.