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"Do you drink?" I ask.
"No," he says. "You don't either."
"Why not?"
"I don't like the person it makes me." He moves into the kitchen. His eyes find mine. "I want to help you, Meg. I know what it's like to lose someone."
"I don't want to talk." I hold strong. This time, I'm the one who wants sex and he's the one who wants conversation. But it's not like he's offering to tear his heart out for me. It's still him withholding what I want. "I want to fuck you."
"I'm not your shiny distraction."
"You won't be my distraction. You won't share your secrets. What will you do?"
"Listen to you."
"Listen to me pour my heart out while you stay closed off?"
He says nothing. There's all this vulnerability in his eyes, but still, he says nothing.
I down my juice in one long gulp and place my cup in the sink. "I'm going to shower first."
"What makes you sure there will be a second?"
"If you're going to leave, lock the door behind you. Okay?"
I keep my eyes on his as I slip out of my shirt and pants. Miles watches with rapt attention. But he stays put. Even as I slide my bra off my shoulders and push my panties to my knees.
He grunts with approval but he doesn’t move.
It's been a long week. The warm water soothes my tense muscles. But the heat isn't enough release. I need his body against mine. I need him in here with me.
I take my time with soap, shampoo, and conditioner. The shower is safe and warm. I'm alone. No one can see me crumble.
Cold air surrounds me as I step out of my safety bubble. I walk into the main room. Miles is still standing there, but now he has a towel in his hands. He keeps his eyes on mine as he wraps the towel around me and cinches it tightly.
Why did he have to withhold that secret? I want to keep things fun. I want to feel the way I did when I got to the show—like I was in for a hell of a night.
Like the world was beautiful.
This is supposed to be a pleasant distraction.
But it's not. He sees through me. He sees everything I hide from everyone else.
His voice is low. "You've turned my cock against me."
"Have I?"
He nods. "It's agony doing anything besides tearing that towel off your body."
I drop the towel. His tongue slides over his lips. His fingers dig into his jeans.
Still, he stays put.
"You're killing me here," he groans.
I take a seat on my bed. "You're killing yourself."
"I'm not doing this. Not with you so miserable."
