I shrivel at his tone, focusing back on Stevie. When I hold her up to my face, she licks my nose, which makes me smile. Myles takes some more pictures, then he lowers the camera, watching me nuzzle my nose against Stevie. I let my gaze flick to him and he quickly glances away.
“Maybe… another outfit.”
I set Stevie down with a sigh. “I’m sorry if this isn’t what you thought it would be, Myles. I’m doing the best I can. I’m nottryingto fuck this up.”
He turns back to me. “You’re not fucking it up. I got a few good pictures. It’s just, that dress…” He shakes his head, muttering, “Let’s try something else.”
“Oh.” I drag my gaze away from his, trying to ignore the plunge of disappointment I feel at his tone. “Right.”
I change into another dress—one that’s totally different—and step back in front of the wall. He tells me to pick up Stevie again, and I cuddle and play with her, pretending I’m not prancing about like an idiot in front of the guy I had in my bed last night—and want so badly to have there again.
I mean—dammit.Stop thinking that.
“Maybe I should put some music on?” Myles suggests, pulling his Bluetooth speaker out of his bag. “I have a great eighties playlist.”
I nod, feeling a smile form on my lips. “I love stuff from the eighties.” The opening notes ofThrillerecho through the basement and I can’t help but laugh, immediately loosening up.
“Right, arms up,” he says and I giggle again.
And strangely, I do feel better. While he stands there with the camera, I find myself singing along and dancing a little—because really, who can listen toThrillerand not dance? He’s happier too—grinning as he bops his head to the beat. And when our gazes meet and we share a smile, that sensation blooms in my chest again—the one where I feel like he knows how to make me relax, how to make me laugh—like he justgetsme.
We fall into a routine where I change into a dress then dance and play with Stevie while he snaps pictures, the soundtrack switching between Bowie, Whitney, Prince and a whole bunch of others I just adore. By the time I’m reaching for the last dress, I’m actually in a fantastic mood.
I pull on the polka-dot mini dress, smiling to myself. Even though Myles and I had super intense sex last night, we’re still able to hang out and laugh and be okay, and that’s great. Things aren’t weird and I’m so pleased.
Well, I’m mostly pleased.
It’s just… I don’t know. Last night he looked at me like he could hardly breathe, and today I could be his sister with the way he’s acting. It’s my fault, I know that. I’ve sent him so many mixed signals. But while I like that things don’t feel awkward, I’m surprised to find that—more than anything—I want things to feel like they did between us last night.
I open the curtain and step out, running my hands over the dress, admiring the fit. It’s the one Myles pulled off the rack yesterday, commenting on how sexy it is—and he’s right. It hugs my figure snugly, cutting across mid-thigh, scooping low at the neck. I wait for him to notice I’m wearing it, but he’s concentrating on adjusting the camera lens. I feel desperate, all of a sudden—I just want him to see me, to give me some sign that he wants what I want.
I step in front of him and he nearly drops the camera. “Oh—shit,” he mutters, his mouth falling open as he drinks me in. “Cat—” His breath hitches on my name. “That dress… I can’t photograph you in that dress.”
Satisfaction surges through me. “Why not?” I ask, playing innocent. When he looks at me like that, I lose all sense of reason. I can’t keep being hot and cold—not when I’m burning up with how badly I want him.
He groans, turning away. When he glances back at me his eyes are almost black. “You know why.”
“I do,” I murmur, taking a step closer to him. “Look, I’m sorry about this morning. I shouldn’t have kicked you out. Because last night was… amazing.”
He swallows visibly. “It was.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Maybe…” I shift my weight, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable, asking for this. “Do you want to come to my place again tonight?”
He lets out a growl. “Of course I do. You know I do. But—” His brow creases. “That’s not enough for me, Cat. Casual sex… that’s not enough. Not with you.”
I can’t say I’m entirely surprised by this, but I don’t know how to respond. And the longer we stare at each other, the thicker the tension gathers between us again, until it feels like I’m suffocating.
“Well,” I joke, in an attempt to lighten the mood, “you could be my stand-in boyfriend—”
He growls again, this time in irritation. “Can we stop saying that, please?”
I flinch, surprised at his change in tone. “Okay… Why?”
“Because Ihateit. I don’t want to be your fucking stand-in boyfriend.”
“Why not?”
