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He lifts his head, meeting my gaze. "Everything." He swallows hard. "I meant every single word. You're…" He cuts himself off.
"I'm what?"
A gentle blush fills his cheeks. "You're amazing, Miles. No one's ever made me feel the way you make me feel. I realize we don't know each other very well, but I can't describe how good it is just being around you."
He doesn't need to describe it because I knowexactlyhow it feels. It's the same for me.
"For what it's worth, you're pretty amazing as well."
I may not be able to bring myself to tell him everything that's racing through my mind, but I can at least admit that.
There is another question plaguing me.
"I still don't quite understand, though… Why would a smart, funny, talented, hardworking, attractive young man like you be attracted to someone like me?"
"I just am." The blush invading his cheeks darkens. "I have a whole sketch pad to prove it. Sorry for my inelegant language, but Miles, you're fucking hot."
Nowmycheeks heat up, and I push my plate away. "Hardly. I'm at least twenty years older than you. I don't have a six-pack, eight-pack, or whatever number they're up to these days. And I'm…big."
He pushes his plate away, too, and rests his chin in both hands. His hair is sticking up in tufts.
He aims a serious look right at me. "Your point?"
I gust out a breath of air. "Most people don't like men my size."
"Then most people are idiots. I love how big you are. Your big hands. Big arms. Big legs. Big…everything else. I'm assuming?"
Time stands still, his eyes holding mine, and then…we both start laughing.
"What do you feel like doing today?" I ask as we're washing up.
Kyler flicks the dish towel over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow. "I have an idea."
I can tell by his playful tone it's a naughty idea.
I have to be good. I have to be good. I have to be good.
"It's not sex," he adds, bumping me with his elbow.
I turn to face him, leaning my hip against the sink. "Okay. What is it then?"
His eyes cut to me, and he replies matter-of-factly. "I'd like to draw you."
7
Kyler
I'm still pinching myself that Miles agreed to this.
I thought for sure he'd say no, suggest I get my head read, or come up with some excuse about professional boundaries. But after thinking about it for what felt like an eternity, he finally gave a small nod, a shy smile, and agreed.
The bathroom door cracks open and Miles steps out. Cautiously. Self-consciously. He lifts his head slowly, and our eyes meet.
I give him a wide smile. "You look fantastic."
He tugs on the cord of the white bathrobe he's wearing, twirling it around his index finger. "You really want to draw me in this?"
"I do." I pat the bed and wave him over. "Come on."
