Page 58 of Miles Apart
He discards the roll and scans the room. “We need a table for this.”
The spot Kojo picked is a cocktail bar in the Art District. The dark wood bar with matching molding and floors now has a crowd gathering for drinks as throwbacks from the ’90s and 2000s play.
A booth opens for us in the corner, where I spend twenty minutes catching Kojo up on Miles and our volatile relationship, the singles’ retreat, New York, and Milan. It’s a relief to get everything off my chest. I haven’t told Justice yet, because she’ll make a big deal out of nothing. Weddings and soulmates will come up, and I don’t need that drama in my life. Sex is the arrangement.
You keep telling yourself that.
By the time I finish, Kojo snaps his mouth shut and flops back into the leather cushion. My snort morphs into laughter. “Say something.”
He wiggles his jaw before picking up a slice of the salmon flatbread between us. “I’m trying to figure out why you’re here with me and not at home with more of that good dick.”
We crack up.
“It’s better to have space, you know? We’re not trying to develop feelings.”
Kojo’sTuh!draws the eyes of three tables. “You have a man in your house for the first time ever, and you want to play make-believe about not catching feelings.”
“Did you forget who I am? I catch many things, but feelings aren’t one of them. This is a temporary situation with the benefit of in-house penis.”
Part of my allowing Miles to stay with me is to prove to myself that he doesn’t have a hold over me. We’ll have sex and see other people. When he leaves California, we’re done. “I can handle it,” I declare to Kojo, who’s ready to tell me I’m full of shit.
Why is it so hard to believe I can get close without feelings?
Can you?
The intro to Keri Hilson’s “Pretty Girl Rock” pumps through the speakers. Kojo grabs my hand to pull me to the makeshift dance floor, which is now full of people.
“Koko, I do not dance!” I lean back into the booth but get pulled out anyway.
“You don’t do relationships either, but you’re about to have a whole man!” He spins and sways me into a two-step. “Send me your measurements when the time comes. I call dibs on your wedding dress!”
It’s past ten by the time I make it home. I reset the alarm, remove my heels, and head upstairs to my bedroom. Light peeks from under Miles’s door. Did he hear me come up? There’s no television in either bedroom that might mask the creaks in the wooden staircase.
“Whatever,” I mumble to myself. So much for in-house dick.
I strip off my clothes, toss them into the laundry basket, and head to my bathroom, where I spend more time soaking underthe rain shower and thinking about Miles than I should. Maybe this was a bad idea. I don’t need a roommate, least of all him.
Another ten minutes of serums and lotions, and I’m back downstairs for a snack. Stress-eating is a habit I need to break, but I’m in peen withdrawal, and the source of my problem is feet away. I pop three more grapes into my mouth and close the refrigerator door.
The “Jesus!” I yell is a jumble around the fruit in my mouth at Miles standing behind the stainless-steel door. I chew on overtime and clutch my heart, which is doing sprints under my silk robe. “Announce yourself next time.”
Miles pulls his black headphones off and frowns. “My bad. Got caught up in a simulation.” He waves the phone in his hand as evidence. He scans me from my toes up to my thighs before his eyes land on my lips. “When did you get in?”
“Close to an hour ago. Guess you didn’t hear me come in with those things.” I point to the headphones curled around his neck.
“We still on for tomorrow?” I step back so Miles can open the refrigerator. He pulls out a refillable water bottle, unsnaps the top, and takes a generous sip.
“Yes,” I say, too breathless at his stare. I swallow hard as I watch him drink. The suction from his mouth works the muscles in his neck, which is adorned with a single gold chain. His chest is bare, with pecs the size of my head on full display, glimmering in the moonlight.
Miles is blemish-free and every desire in gray sweatpants.
The intensity of his appraisal under thick lashes and hooded eyes has us reaching for each other at the same time. Miles anchors me to him with his tongue and picks me up. Our kiss is slow, a whirl of emotions through deep strokes. His thumbs rub circles into my back, and I sink into his embrace.
Cold marble sends a shiver up my spine as he lays me on the counter, licking and savoring my neck. His soft lips move to mycollarbone, and he slips a hand through my satin robe to knead my breast. I hiss at the pinch to my nipple that he laps at with his mouth.
My fingers breach the band of his sweatpants and stroke his length. Miles bucks in my grasp and palms my pussy with his hand. I rock against the friction and moan into his mouth at the fingers he pumps in and out of me.
“Squeeze my shit,” he says, curling to reach my G-spot. My heels dig into the counter to ride out the orgasm charging up my body.
