1
Miles
Thesmokecurlsfrommy lips, a lazy trail that mixes with the faint vanilla scent inside my car. My head falls back against the leather seat, and I watch the thin tendrils drift toward the ceiling. The joint burns slow between my fingers, glowing bright each time I drag.
Heat slides down my spine as her mouth works over my cock, wet and eager. I don’t even remember her name. Honestly, I don’t even care. Just a warm mouth and a pretty face I’ll forget the moment this is over. She moans like she’s actually enjoying herself, and I let her. I’m good at taking what people give me.
The car rumbles faintly beneath us, engine still running, radio low. A girl’s laugh filters in from across the parking lot, the sound bouncing between the rows of cars. I don’t care. This is my world, my space.
Until something hard taps against the glass.
I stiffen, grip the joint tighter, and turn my head. A hockey stick rests against my tinted window, the blunt end just under my line of sight. I groan, drag my palm down my face, and lower the window halfway.
Blue eyes stare in, sharp and amused. Jamie. His blond hair is pushed back under a cap, that infuriating grin carved across his face. “You’ve got a death wish,” he says, voice carrying that drawl that’s equal parts judgment and humor. “Do you want to be suspended?”
“Or maybe I just like living,” I mutter, tucking myself back into my jeans as I roll the window down fully. “And they wouldn’t fucking dare.”
Jamie leans against the car stick braced against his shoulder, grin only growing wider. “This is the school parking lot, Miles. You do realize that, right?”
I exhale a plume of smoke out the window, eyeing him. “If your dumbass scratched my car with that stick, I’ll kill you.”
My car gleams under the overhead lights, black paint slick as oil, chrome rims catching every glint. A 1969 Chevrolet Impala that I have gutted and rebuilt until it was wholly unrecognizable and mine.
Jamie smirks and taps the door once more, just to test me.Asshole.
The girl lifts her head, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, lipstick smeared at the corner of her lips. She blinks between us, eyes glazed from the smoke. “You didn’t finish,” she says softly, pout forming.
I cup her cheek, thumb brushing along her jaw. “Maybe after,” I tell her, voice low.
Her lashes flutter. “Okay.”
I know what she’s expecting now.
Reaching into the backseat, I grab my backpack, unzip the worn fabric, and pull out three fat rolls of weed. She sees them and her whole face changes. Her lips curve slowly.
I pass them to her, careful, and she takes them like treasure. “Thanks, baby.” She leans over, presses her mouth to my cheek, lipstick hot against my skin.
She slides out of the passenger seat, already checking the wraps, already smiling to herself as she disappears between the cars.
I get out, the cold air biting against my heated skin. The world tilts for a moment, hazy from the high, then settles as I drag my gear bag from the trunk. The familiar weight steadies me. Jamie watches, amused as hell, his laugh low.
“Seriously? Bella?” He shakes his head, eyes flashing. “You know she’s slept with half the team, right?”
So that’s her name. I’m not sure why I forgot.
“Fuck off,” I say flatly, slinging the strap over my shoulder.
He snorts, the sound ugly in the quiet. “What, do I have to suck you off too to get mine?”
I flip him off as I pull a small amber bottle from my bag, the cap already loose. White pills rattle inside, and I palm a few into my hand. My escape when the world won’t shut up, when sleep won’t come. I pass him the bottle.
Jamie arches a brow, reading the label. “Susanna Wright,” he says slowly, lips curling. “Who the fuck is that?”
“Do you want the pills or not?” I snap, heat in my voice.
He grins and pockets them without another word. That’s Jamie. Never asks too much, never digs unless it matters. He knows where I get them. He knows better than to bring it up here.
He pushes off the car, adjusting the strap of his own gear bag. “We better move before coach has our asses hanging from the rafters.”
