The world comes back into focus. Miles and I just had sex. For a wild second, I’m convinced I blacked out, but no. I remember everything. His hands on my body. His breath at my neck. The way his weight shifted, sliding in and out of me. This was a terrible idea. The lessons were never supposed to turn into this.
“Let’s—let’s take a moment to breathe,” I say, already moving. I grip his shoulders, firmly maneuvering him off me, and slide out of the bed. “I should go. I—I have an early day tomorrow.”
“Oh.” He blinks, processing. “Okay. Yeah. Let me walk you out.” He drops his feet to the floor.
I spare a glance at him and his semi-hard cock, ready for round two. I spin away. “No. It’s okay.” I shake my head and reach for my clothes, shoving them back on with zero grace. My shirt ends up on backward, and I don’t even bother fixing it. “I know where the door is. I’ll see you for your family game night.”
I race out the door and down the stairs. He calls my name, but I don’t stop. I need air. I need space, before I do something reckless… again.
Twenty-Four
Passive Aggressive Fruit Throwing
Nora
The moment his front door clicks shut behind me, I don’t walk to my car—I flee like an Olympic sprinter. My keys slip from my fingers twice before I finally get the door open. I slide into the driver’s seat, start the engine, and hit the gas. My pulse is still hammering. My lips are still swollen.
“What am I doing?” I whisper into the empty car.
You’re having sex with Miles Kayson and pretending it wasn’t the sweetest thing in the entire world.
A few blocks away, I pull over and slam the SUV into park. My forehead drops against the steering wheel. Once. Twice. Three times. “Get it together, Nora. This isn’t real.”
I exhale a shaky breath. God—the way he felt under my hands. The sounds he made when he lost control. And the look he gave me afterward—half terrified, half reverent. I groan and press my palms to my face.
This is for him. Not for me. So he can build confidence. So he can finally date the woman he actually wants. Not the one with a chaotic life, a studio apartment that desperately needs a deep clean, and a mother she’s terrified of losing. Miles deserves someone like Maggie. Not me.
My grip tightens on the wheel until my knuckles pale. He wanted the lessons. He asked for the lessons. My stomach twists. He needs to know where to put his hands. How to kiss without second-guessing himself. How to not overthink every moment so he doesn’t blow it with her. And I’m just… helping. He’s smart. Kind. Patient. And so far out of my league it’s almost laughable.
“He wants her,” I whisper. Not me. Maggie. The woman he asked me to help him pursue. The woman he thinks he might have a chance with if he just learns the right moves. I swallow hard. “So get it together. Don’t mess this up for him.”
But as I pull away from the curb, the truth claws at the back of my throat. It wasn’t practice. In fact, it stopped being practice a long time ago, but I’m not the end game. I’m only the temporary bridge to fix his problem. And along the way, I gave him the spiciest lesson yet. And the worst part? I liked it. I liked it way too much.
The next morning, the Porter’s aroma of hops and fresh lemon wafts around me. It’s the odd in-between state before the crowds arrive. Sunlight barely reaches past the front windows, catching on the half-polished bar top. Lach stands nearby, a glass squeaking softly in his towel as he dries it. A lemon slips out of my grasp and goes flying, smacking Lach in the chest before bouncing to the floor.
He looks down, picks it up, and drops it in the trash. “If you have a problem with me, you can just say it. There’s no need to passive-aggressively throw fruit.”
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I just… had a long night.”
Rylee turns from the taps, one hand on her hip, eyebrow raised. “Okay. Spill.”
I blink. “Spill what?”
“You’re off,” Lach says. “Like off-off. Not normal Nora-off. More like your body showed up, but your soul wandered off and is hovering anxiously in a corner.”
My hand slips, and I nearly drop another lemon. “What—I—no. My soul is firmly in my body, thanks.”
They exchange a look.
Rylee leans closer. “Did something happen? Is your mom okay?”
“Yeah,” I say quickly. “She’s fine. Nothing happened.” I pause, then add too fast, “Absolutely nothing happened.”
Lach snorts. “People only say ‘absolutely nothing happened’ when something absolutely did happen. Did you and Beck finally hook up? We saw the flirting the second you two locked eyes. It wouldn’t be Porter’s without at least one bar hookup.”
“No. I didn’t hook up with Beck.”
“Okay, then was it Jake?” Rylee whispers. “He’s been… mildly less grumpy than usual. Did you bang the grump out of him?”
