Page 63 of Miles Apart
“She’s a brilliant stylist,” Kojo all but whines. He pinches the bridge of his nose and lifts a hand to recenter himself. If there’s one thing Kojo won’t do, it’s invite early wrinkles. “I will figure out how to make that situation work, but I need more context first. In the meantime, you need to keep that”—he points to my phone—“going. There’s good dick, and then there’s love. You have stars in your eyes, Em.”
“I do not,” I say with an eye roll. “We—”
“Are cute together, sending texts like teenagers. You don’t do giddy, ever. You’re smiling and laughing. It looks good on you.”
Sex with Miles is incredible, but spending time with him isn’t bad, either. Underneath his antics is substance. The real him. “You’re reading too much into it,” I protest, to prove friendliness does not equal love. “We text on occasion, but that’s all it is.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
Kojo clicks his tongue and lifts his hand as a way to say,I guess. He doesn’t believe me, but that’s okay. Miles and I are nothing more than friends of friends getting to know each other while sharing bodies. Our jokes and texts come with the territory.
We head to the table, where Blair is pouting about feeling left out. She suffocates us with a monologue on why she’s the perfectface for future campaigns until Kojo dives into the nearest server for a check.
I put Blair, her to-go bag, and her delusions into a car and go back to work alone.
My phone buzzes with a text from Carter about tomorrow’s event. I roll my eyes and don’t respond. I’ve successfully dodged his attempts to see me all week, either with meetings I lied about or working too late for dinner or a nightcap. He knows better than to swing by my house. It’s not like I’d get up from my sectional to answer the door at ten o’clock at night anyway.
A crisp breeze flows through the open glass pocket doors of my beachfront balcony. It’s completely dark outside of the glow from my neighbors’ homes. There are no curtains on any of the windows on the main level, though most face out to the water. The only way anyone would see me curled up under a throw blanket with a messy bun and a bowl of ice cream right now is if they walked along the private beach below.
I grab my glass, finish the last of the vintage merlot, and reach for my phone to text Miles. He hasn’t messaged since our earlier exchange. Not that I expect him to.
“No. Keep some distance.” I force myself to focus on the rerun ofA Different Worldand not the man who’s still out wherever he is. I only care because the tip of his dick has magic powers.
I refocus my Thursday night around the students of Hillman. Whitley is my favorite character, which is on brand, I know. She comes from wealth and appreciates the arts but handles her business. I’m not whiny, but I do love nice things, Denzel, and a good pantsuit. I always pictured Whitley with someone like Julian—aka Papa Pope fromScandal—but Dwayne worked. He was a nerd with a calculator who grew into his own.
Smart.
Former flirt.
You just described Miles.
A scoop of cookie dough ice cream goes down the wrong pipe, stirring up a coughing fit. Miles is from Newark and has more edge in his baritone voice than Dwayne ever could. He has to be good with a computer to do data security. As for being a flirt, there’s nothing former about it.
Unlike his best friend, who took one look at Justice and vowed forever, Miles has more flavors of the week than Baskin-Robbins. If it has a pulse, a pussy, and consents, he’s on it.
That’s one thing we share in common: not circling back to the same partner. We keep sexual encounters about sex. Anything extra—going on dates and sharing about our past—guarantees getting caught up.
Who the hell has time for that?
Apparently you two, since you did all three last night.
“Kinda friends with benefits!” I shout into my empty home. I pull another mouthful of ice cream and sigh. “I’m turning into Justice.”
Miles is probably out enjoying the LA nightlife, and good for him. If I weren’t so comfortable in the creases of my couch, I’d be on the prowl too. Thinking about who he’s with and what he’s doing reaches beyond the boundaries of our agreement.
Does he know not to bring anyone to your house?
That’s it.
I shake Miles from my mind and turn off the TV. If I’m thinking about him to the point of comparing us to Whitley and Dwyane, it’s time to take my ass to bed.
Chapter 29
Miles
My fingers hover over the button to text Emma and ask if she’s okay. I grabbed a drink at Bella’s, a wine bar Zo opened on the east side, a short walk from his house. He’s had the spot for years now, but I never made it over to Los Angeles to check it out. We got caught up talking about meetings he’s lining up next week when he’s back in DC. He’s trying to get this bill right so it has a chance of becoming law. I didn’t glance at my watch until after ten, when we both dipped to call it a night, tired from long hours.
