He's standing there, his eyes wide with affection. It's like he's desperate to do anything to make this hurt less.
His voice is a whisper. "Come here."
I stay put. This isn't what we're doing. I've already said too much. He's already seen too much, too deep inside me.
"Can we go?" I ask.
He shakes his head and wraps his arms around me. It's a tight hug. I want to push him off, to bang on his chest until he releases me.
But I can't. His body feels too good. I need the comfort too badly.
I take another ragged breath. I dig my fingers into the slick fabric of his leather jacket.
I can't cry in front of Miles. Not even if this is some other version of Miles, the o
ne who hurts deep inside, who writes songs about the unspeakable agony of losing everything that matters.
"It's okay." His cheek brushes against mine. "I know how much it hurts."
I want to ask him how. I want to ask who he lost. I want to comfort him too. But I can't speak. I can't move.
I can't do anything but soak in the feeling of his arms against me.
This isn't what we're doing. We're casual. Not confidants.
After a few more breaths, I'm calm enough to release him. I pull back, slowly shaking him off. Cold hits me. It's brutal and sudden, like I'm shedding my favorite coat to step into a snowstorm.
His eyes stay glued to mine. "You look miserable."
I shake my head. "I'm fine."
His eyes turn to the street. "Don't make me call you on our 'no lies' clause."
"Can we please get out of here?"
He says nothing.
I need to turn the mood, to change him back to the other Miles. At least I know what that Miles wants. I make my voice light. "I'll go crazy if I have to make conversation with you for one more minute."
He smirks but he doesn't laugh. He's not quite back to snappy, sarcastic Miles. Not yet.
And I'm not back to acerbic Meg either. My defenses are down.
It's terrifying.
Miles wraps his hand around my wrist and leads me to his car. Or the car he borrowed from one of his band mates.
I settle into the passenger seat. My skirt rides up my thighs, but it does nothing to entice Miles to touch me.
He slides the key into the ignition. "You're not as good at pretending you're okay as you think you are."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"I'm not going to fuck you out of your misery." His lips curl into a smile. "I know. In my dreams, right?"
I nod.
"All this dreaming. I must be pretty fucking desperate." He brushes my knee. "Listen, Meg—"