Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
Gentle On The Left Stick
Nora
The RC park is quieter than I expect, only a handful of folding chairs scattered across the grass and the soft hum of drones cutting through the air. Beyond the field, the sky deepens into purple, clinging to the last stretch of evening light.
Miles sets his gear down and flashes me a grin. “Okay. Round two. Ready to fly again?”
“As long as you don’t steer me into the trees,” I say sweetly.
His laugh is so soft and easy that it’s impossible not to laugh along with him. He hands me the controller. I take it, surprised by how my fingers instantly find their place on the sticks. “You still have insurance on this thing, right?”
“I upgraded it just for today.” He winks.
We stand shoulder to shoulder as I ease the drone upward. My hands tremble a little, but Miles stays close—close enough that his warmth radiates onto me, and every time he leans in to point out a specific type of tree or where someone crashed a plane, I forget how breathing works.
“You’re doing great,” he murmurs. “Just… gentle on the left stick.”
I glance at him. “Are we still talking about flying?”
He blinks. “Yes. Definitely.”
I laugh, and finally my nerves stop ping-ponging. It’s ridiculous how grounding his voice is. I’ve dated men who only used me to pass time or deliver lines to get in my pants, but everything with Miles is always conversation first. My hands stop shaking, and the drone glides instead of lurching.
“See? You’ve got it.”
“Don’t get too optimistic,” I tease. “I still have the controller, and there are trees about a hundred feet away.”
We spend the next thirty minutes trading turns, flying lazy loops over the field until the battery finally gives out.
By the time the sun slips behind the trees, my cheeks ache from smiling, and my heart feels lighter than it has in a long time.
We sit in the open back of his SUV, legs dangling, watching the sky fade into gold and lavender.
“This part never gets old,” Miles says quietly.
“The flying?”
“The stillness after.” I glance at him and realize he isn’t watching the sky. He’s watching me. The awareness settles all at once: how much I enjoy this. Being with Miles. I’ve spent so long chasing sparks that I forgot how good warmth feels. A breeze skims across the field, and I shiver.
“You cold?” he asks.
“Just a little.”
He shifts closer and drapes an arm around my shoulders.
We sit like that until the sun finally slips away.
A peacefulness settles over the field and between us.
If this were all we ever did—fly drones, watch sunsets while fireflies flicker through the tall grass—I’d be…
happy. The word is almost unfamiliar. It’s been missing from my vocabulary for longer than I want to admit.
I peer up at him; a faint dusting of stubble covers his jaw as if he’d been too excited about today to shave.
He looks down at me, and our eyes catch.
His gaze drifts to my lips, then back again.
For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me.
Instead, he presses his lips to my forehead.
“I’m hungry,” he whispers.
I pull back, narrowing my eyes playfully. “What kind of hungry?”
He blinks. “Food hungry.”
A laugh bubbles out of me. “Good. Because any other answer would’ve changed the tone.”
And dammit, I kind of want it to be me he’s hungry for.
He grins. “Come over for dinner? I’ll cook.”
“I get to watch you cook?”
“I’m more than just a drone pilot.”
“Prove it.”
Garlic and butter take over his kitchen within minutes. I hop up onto the counter and steal a piece of pesto-coated bowtie pasta.
“You’re supposed to wait until it’s plated.” He stirs a pan of bite-size pieces of chicken on the stove.
“I’m doing quality control.” He eyes me from over his shoulder, flashing me his lazy half smile. Butterflies erupt in my belly. It shouldn’t be this easy with Miles, but it is, and I don’t know what to do with it.
He turns off the stove, sets the spoon on a spoon rest, and turns to face me. “Would you like more wine?” I nod and hold out my glass. He fills it halfway before doing the same to his. “Did you know the word pesto comes from the Italian pestare, which means to crush or pound?”
I wouldn’t mind if he pestare into me.
I steal another piece of pasta, mostly to keep my inside thoughts from becoming outside ones. “Did you just… casually read a book on Italian food origins?”
“No. When I cook with something, I research it first.”
I shake my head, smiling. “You are genuinely one of a kind. How did you get so smart? You know things. Remember things. And pull facts out of thin air like a magician with rabbits.”
He stares at the ceiling for a second, then at me, glasses slightly askew. “When I was a kid, I didn’t have many friends. So I read. Everything. Science books. Flight manuals. Atlases. Whatever I could get my hands on.” He smiles, a little shy. “Turns out I just… remember it.”
“Like a photographic memory?”
“Kind of. I retain information easily.”
“That was never my strong suit. College for me was basically a week of caffeine and crying before every exam.”
“You passed. That counts.”
“Barely,” I admit, grinning. “You got the brain stuff. I just squeaked by.”
He shakes his head. “But you had friends. You could talk to people. People like you.”
His words catch me off guard. “Miles,” I say softly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, “people like you too. I like talking to you. You’re fun. And thoughtful. And kind.” His smile turns shy and my pulse quickens.
He huffs a quiet laugh, as if he doesn’t quite believe me, then glances down for a second before looking back up. “I met your mom,” he says gently. “But… what about your dad?”
I hesitate. I don’t talk about my dad much. It’s easier to pretend he doesn’t exist. “He left shortly after my mom’s diagnosis.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s better this way. He’s an asshole.
” Setting my wine glass down, I steal another piece of pasta and pop it into my mouth, mostly to keep myself from spiraling into a full rant about my father.
For a moment, my attention lingers on him, searching for anything that might shift the conversation somewhere safer. “I was wrong about you.”
His brow lifts. “Oh?”
“You didn’t propose to anyone while using OneDate. Which, unfortunately, cost me several handbags from Rylee, Eve, and Dessa.” I shrug. “But it’s fine. I’ll survive.”
He chuckles. “So you were placing bets on me?”
“Kinda.” I steal another piece of pasta. “But you proved me wrong.”
Miles steps closer, squinting slightly. “You’ve got sauce—right there.”
Before I can wipe it away, his thumb brushes the corner of my mouth.
The touch is simple. Casual. But my heart clearly missed the memo.
I take his hand and lift his thumb to my mouth, closing my lips around the tip as I slowly lick away the sauce.
My gaze never leaves his. His irises darken as lust swirls in them.
When I let go, his hand falls to the counter, but his eyes stay fixed on mine.
Memories of yesterday—his bed, my mouth on him, his on me—flash through my mind.
Heat rushes through me, and my nipples tighten instantly. I wonder if he’s thinking about it too?
Neither of us move away. Instead, he steps in closer, settling between my knees with his hands braced on the counter beside my hips. The air between us is charged, one spark away from ignition.
“You always look at me like you’re about to say something,” I murmur.
“I usually am. I just… overthink it.”
“Try not thinking.”
He leans in slowly, giving me plenty of time to stop him.
I don’t. His lips meet mine, warm and soft.
His fingers grip my chin, his thumb drawing the smallest circle near my jaw, and everything gets hotter.
My heart thumps once. Then again. I shouldn’t be falling for this.
For him. For the way he takes his time. But here I am.
He steps closer, and I inch nearer to the edge of the counter, my knees framing his hips, my hands resting on his shoulders before I realize I put them there.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine.
“This is dangerous territory,” I whisper.
He smiles softly. “I kind of like dangerous with you. I want you. Not just… like this. I mean—really want you. More than yesterday. If you do too.”
My heartbeat trips over itself, not with nerves, but with how right it feels to hear him say it out loud. “I do,” I admit. “Any chance your parents are going to walk in? I don’t need a repeat of the other night.”
“No. They’re at a resort up the shore for a week.”
“Good.” I take my own advice and stop thinking.
I fist the front of his shirt and yank him to me, crashing my lips to his.
I tilt my head, deepening our kiss, and his breath stutters.
With my ankles hooked around him, I draw him closer, rolling my hips to feel his hard cock pressing against me.
A deep groan sounds from the back of his throat, and I do it again.
My hands slide into his hair. His reaction is instant.
He doesn’t try to hide it, doesn’t try to control it, he just rocks into me.
I kiss him harder, letting my body move the way it wants to, letting friction do what words don’t need to explain.
I break away from the kiss. “Miles.”
His lust-filled eyes meet mine. “Yeah?”
I take his hand, lace my fingers through his, and hop down from the counter. “Come with me.” My teeth sink into my lower lip, and he grins.
“Wait.” He gives my hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. “I just—give me one second.”
Before I can ask, he turns to the sink, runs the water, and washes his hands. This means one thing, and I’m about to reap the rewards. Before he can finish drying his hands, I reach for him and tug him upstairs, my pulse loud in my ears. Once we’re in his bedroom, I spin around.
His voice is quiet. “Teach me what you like.”