“I don’t know. I just do,” I lie.
I do know. It’s because he’s one of the first people to treat me like an equal. To seem genuinely interested in getting to know me. To see me as a normal person and not just someone who can skate on ice. Someone who trains all day every day. He sees me as me even when I don't like who that is.
“What’s your favourite quality about me, Wrenny?” he drawls.
“Definitelynotthat nickname,” I mutter. He nudges my knee under the table. I nudge him back. “I like how quick you are. I would not have admitted this the first time we met but you keep me on my toes. You’re funny in a way that can be seen as annoying, but I don’t meet many people like you so to me it’s just — sort of endearing. I think?”
His smile doubles as he beams at me. “And to think you didn’t even like me a few weeks ago,” he says bashfully, shaking his head.
“You’re growing on me.”
*
We fire out more questions on the drive home, each question getting more ridiculous.The stupider the better,he said. His house and my apartment are actually a lot closer together than I thought. Realistically, I could jog from my house to his and back in fifteen minutes. I just don’t know how I didn’t pay more attention it before.
It's like he's been hiding in plain sight.
He insists on walking me to my door after parking. I’ve found myself warming up to him a lot more after tonight. It finally feels like we’re actual friends. Not just fake dates. Especially after he helped me. Most guys would have run the other way if they saw their girl having a full-blown meltdown in a party bathroom. But he didn’t. Yes, it’s the bare minimum but he stayed.
“I hope this is your last question,” he groans when we get out of the elevator to my apartment door. I lean my back against my door, and he towers over me, his dark eyes boring into mine.
“It is, I promise.” I pause. “What is your love language?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Okay,” I whistle at his expected answer. “So, physical touch? Got it.”
He nods. “Anyone who says anything else is either a virgin or a liar. Or both,” he drawls, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “What’s yours?”
“The same. And words of affirmation,” I say, my voice suddenly quiet, remembering the way his hand felt on my stomach at the party. His breath on my neck. He raises his eyebrows while brushing away one of my stands of hair from my face. He shakes his head a little. “What? Are you surprised?”
He brings his head close to my ear.
Too close.
His hot breath tickles my throat. His thumb traces small ovals from the sensitive part of my collarbone to the side of my neck where I’m sure he can hear my pulse hammering. I take in a shaky breath, my legs suddenly ready to give out beneath me.
“No, I’m not surprised, baby. I heard the noise you made when I touched you earlier,” he murmurs, each syllable reverberating through my body. I close my eyes quickly before placing my hands on his chest, gently pushing some space between us.
“You just called me ‘baby.’ Unironically, might I add,” I say defensively, blinking up at him, trying to ignore the rest of the sentence.
Miles grins. “Sure did, baby.”
I shudder and pretend to gag. “I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.” He laughs as if it’s the funniest thing he’s heard all day and I can't help but join in.
"If you call me 'baby,' I'm going to call you Milesy."
"Call me whatever you want, baby. 'Daddy' is also acceptable," he replies, smirking. I laugh at him and shove him in the arm, and he laughs too.
When we calm down, I say, “I had a good time today. Shitty food and all.”
“Me too, but I don’t think the food wasthatbad.”
“This is why we changed your diet,” I laugh as I open the door from behind me. “Good night, Milesy.”
“Good night, baby,” he whispers before turning on his heels.
When I slip into bed later that night, I feel lighter.
