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Miles slides the knob until the music is low enough for a conversation. Thankfully, he doesn't attempt one. His attention stays on the road.
He drives just as fast as he does on his bike. The city zips by. Then we're on Pacific Coast Highway and we're surrounded by ocean and sky.
I open the moonroof and watch the stars shine. There are patches of clouds in the dark sky, but we're far enough away from the city lights that the stars are bright.
There's something about being next to Miles. I feel so exposed and safe at once. It's like nothing outside this car, not even my memories of Rosie, can hurt me.
Him seeing me, knowing how close I am to breaking—that can hurt me.
"You know, when I mentioned conversation, I was assuming you'd also make an effort." His voice is light.
Okay. I can tease too. "Conversation isn't my strong suit."
"I can tell."
"Or yours."
He laughs. "We both know my strong suit. What's yours?"
I'm good at studying. At this point, it's probably my greatest skill. Not very useful outside of school, but I have another four years of that ahead of me.
Still, we're almost flirting. And flirting might convince Miles I want him as more than a distraction.
I do. I want him as more than a fuck buddy.
That can't happen. This is sex. Just sex.
"Spades," I say.
"How the hell do you come up with spades?"
I try to cobble together a joke, but the pieces don't fit "Well, it's obviously not hearts."
"And not comedy."
I flip him off playfully. My lips curl into a smile.
He laughs. "You're good at driving me out of my mind."
"In what way?"
"You mean besides how fucking crazy I go thinking about touching you again?"
I take a deep breath. "Don't tease me if you're going to stick to that ridiculous no sex tonight declaration."
"Not that you care?"
"Go to hell."
He stops at a light. The first light in ages. It changes to green, and we turn off the main road into an empty beach parking lot. There's a sign with posted hours: six a.m. to ten p.m. It's past eleven, but that isn't about to stop Miles. He was ready to burn a guy's house down an hour ago.
"It's flattering," he says. "That it upsets you so much."
He parks the car and gets a blanket out of the trunk. Maybe that was his original plan for the night—sex on the beach under the stars.
Damn, that sounds romantic. It's better that we aren't feeding each other strawberries on the beach. I can't handle that.
I slip out of my shoes and dig my feet into the rough sand. The water is only a hundred feet away. The roar of crashing waves fills the salty air.
