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Part of me wants to get up and say screw this and have a good time so I can forget about all this, even for a second. But I can't move. I’m frozen to the spot with the fear that if I leave, Miles will show back up, expecting me to be here.
I’m about to give up all hope of seeing him again when I notice a certain star soccer player with his arm twisted around that of an attractive girl’s waist. I jump up in surprise, but then freeze, watching as Miles leans in and kisses the girl he’s picked up. A rush of emotion flows through me, and I can’t help wondering for a second if it’s rage or jealousy.
Then I shake myself back to my senses and march over to him. “Hey, Miles,” I say in my very sweetest voice, touching him playfully on the shoulder. “Who's your new friend?”
The girl flushes tomato-red and Miles’s mouth drops open. Clearly he thought I’d stopped keeping watch over him. Drunk and embarrassed, he blurts out, “What the hell, dude?”
“I thought you were going to tell me when you left,” I say, still beaming sweetly. The girl unhooks herself from him and his shock turns into a frustrated frown.
“Yes, of course,” he sighs tersely. “Sorry, love,” he whispers to the girl. “Another time.” She giggles awkwardly, obviously thinking that I must be his watchful and jealous girlfriend. Exactly as I wanted her to.
Of course, I'm no such thing, but at this moment, I might as well be from the way I have to hold him up so he doesn’t fall over. The girl grimaces once more then backs away into the crowd, and I drop the niceness act. “Miles, what the hell is wrong with you?” I hiss loudly over the music. “You told me you were going to behave. I thought you'd gone home! You've ditched me all night, and now I catch you trying to sneak off?”
“You won’t let me have any fun. It’s like you want me to have a bad time.” He’s started slurring his words and I wonder just how much he’s had to drink.
Taking pity on him, I grab his wrist and guide him towards the door. “Let’s get you home,” I say. “You can sleep whatever this is off.” He grunts in agreement and follows with surprisingly little resistance.
Not that I'm complaining about that.
I bundle him out to the car and he grins dopily up at me as I sit him down.
“You know, I always love going home with a pretty girl.”
“Miles,” I admonish him, “keep control of yourself.”
He pouts as we crawl out of the parking lot. “But it’s hard. It’s hard when I'm surrounded by such pretty ladies. It’s not my fault they assign me a beautiful woman to keep watch over me. You know, I was expecting to get laid tonight. And you took her away from me. But now my bed will be wide open.”
“Don’t even think about it,” I say, nipping that thought very quickly in the bud. His pout deepens and I ignore him. For a moment I wonder. If he's going to reach out and put his hand on my knee. I think I’d be totally justified in punching him if he did.
But he doesn't.
I feel kind of bad for being so suspicious of him — because, even though he might be drunk, he seems like a good guy. He might be annoying and frustrating and constantly pushing the limits of acceptability, but I don't think he'd ever, really want to hurt anyone. I don’t think he’s willingly trying to hurt me.
He falls asleep on the drive, leaving me in the peace of the nighttime traffic and lights to let my thoughts drift. No matter how hard I try to keep him from them, I can’t. He looks cute like this, vulnerable and defenseless. I wonder what makes him try so hard to be the kind of cool guy people think he is. I feel sure there’s someone more human underneath.
When we get back to his place, I shake him awake enough to get up, only for him to keep calling me pretty as I drag him up to the apartment. He winks at me before closing the door. I imagine he's going to fall on his sofa and immediately pass out. If he made all the way to the bed, I’d be impressed.
Still, as I walk back towards the elevator, I can't quite shake the image of him in his bed, or stop his words calling me pretty echoing through my mind.
CHAPTER 6
MILES
“Come on, man. Why did you miss that?” Raphael throws both hands into the air, swearing at me in fury. “That was an easy pass, man.”
“Yeah, what’s wrong with you?” yells someone else.
I shake my head. “Sorry.”
Raphael glares at me. “Yeah, you better be. Dude, I thought you were here because you could play.”
“I can play!” I snap back, clenching my fists to stop myself from running and tackling him to the ground.
“Act like it, then.”
“Dickhead,” I mutter under my breath as he turns to run back onto the field.
Unfortunately, he’s right. I am distracted. I glance back into the stands and the ball hits me squarely on the head.
