The cold hits the second we step outside, sharp enough to steal my breath. Miles tugs a Saints hat from his coat pocket and drops it on my head.
“Riverwalk,” he says, like it’s nonnegotiable. “First-day-in-Chicago requirement.”
“Is that so?”
“Absolutely. That and the Bean.”
I’m honestly shocked he didn’t steer us toward the first hotel we passed. After Mia’s warning about him being a one-night-stand guy, I expected a different kind of night. But his hand finds mine as we walk, and he points out buildings, giving me a personal tour of the city.
At this rate, the sun might come up before we make it to bed.
Would that still count as a one-nightstand?
If he wasn’t rubbing slow circles into my palm or his shoulder didn’t keep bumping mine, I’d worry I’d misread the whole thing.
“You’re full of surprises.” I lean further into his side.
“Good, I hope?” He smiles.
“Guess we’ll see.” I echo his words from earlier tonight.
The riverwalk stretches out before us, city lights reflecting off the dark water. There aren’t many people out this late, just us and the sound of water lapping against concrete. Miles carefully steers me around a patch of ice, then keeps me close until we reach the railing.
I lean against the cold metal, and it seeps through my coat just enough to make me shiver.
Miles’s head tilts toward me. “So, is this a permanent move or a temporary one?”
“Temporary,” I say, and for the first time, it doesn’t bring me any comfort.
“How long are you here for?”
“If everything goes to plan? Six months.”
His chin dips, then he turns his gaze back to the river.
We haven’t talked too deeply about anything in particular. I figured that was by design. You don’t usually want to become attached to someone you’re only planning to spend one night with.
When the silence stretches between us, I fill it with, “Chicago’s different than I imagined.”
“Better or worse?”
“Better,” I admit.
He turns, his fingers grazing my temple as he adjusts my hat. Every tiny touch makes me greedy for the next one.
You know that saying:Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me?
I don’t know what the version is when you run into the same man twice in one day. But when the universe keeps pushing you together, resisting starts to feel less like willpower and more like stupidity.
And I’m not dumb enough to argue with fate.
Just dizzy enough to want more of whatever this is.
It’s the same feeling I used to chase as a kid—spinning in circles with my face to the sky until the head rush hit, and then I’d tip over laughing. That split second of pure euphoria right before you land on your ass.
I want to stay in that second, if only for a little longer.
My fingers itch for my notepad.
