“You. I’m positive that’s what you said. It came out something like,Dax, you’re the hottest, sexiest man I’ve ever seen. Will you do me the honor of being my boyfriend?And I was like,eh, I guess.”
He bites back a grin. “Why don’t I remember that?”
“Sounds like ayouproblem.” I shrug. “Anyway, like I was saying, since we’re boyfriends and you paid to date me, don’t you think you should at least ask me on a proper date? You kinda have to now.”
He smiles, and again, I love being the one who can make him do that, for being a place where Miles can feel comfortable and just be himself…and be happy.
“Go on a date with me.”
“That didn’t sound like a question,” I tease.
He leans in, presses his mouth to the corner of mine, his hand tightening on my throat. He lingers, doesn’t speak, doesn’t ask. This isn’t easy for him, so I wait, maybe even hold my breath and hope it happens. “Go on a date with me.” He grimaces for a moment like the rest is even harder to get out. “Please.” Another kiss.
“Yes,” I say, and when he kisses me again, I feel the smile on Miles’s lips, taste it, revel in it.
Miles Tanner wants to date me. And we’re maybe boyfriends? I don’t know if he took all that as seriously as I meant it. I have no idea what the fuck is going on here, but I want it, want it all, and I hope like hell he does too.
25
Miles
Wait, I havea boyfriend?
The hell?
That’s not me. I don’t do relationships. I fuck, and I’ve always enjoyed leaving it at fucking, even when it’s been a repeat.
It’s different with Dax, though. Hard to deny that with the way I made a spectacle of myself at the auction, resulting in one hell of a panic attack. Still, it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, but I know it’s because he was there. Not that Tatum wasn’t helpful, but he’s no Dax. No one is.
And of course, Tatum has given me the appropriate amount of hell.“I knew you liked someone! Dax Armstrong! That fucking must be unhinged.”
As amused as he’s been about it, the whole auction thing has sent me into a bit of a tailspin, so I do that thing you’re supposed to do when shit happens; that thing Dad was getting on my case about—I meet with Shera, the student counselor. She’s pretty young—in her twenties, I’m guessing—and she’s wearing a periwinkle blouse and a friendly smile.
“It’s nice to meet you, Miles.”
Yeah, I’m here, seated on the sofa across from her desk, but I’m not happy about it. Desperate times and all that.
I honestly don’t know why the hell I came here, of all places. I’ve made a few appointments here before, especially when Dad would press me. One time I made it to the door, thenbacktracked and bailed. It’s not that I haven’t talked to anyone after what happened to Mom, but I didn’t like the way therapists poked around. Mostly because I was always afraid they’d hit on something I’d rather keep hidden. And if Shera so much as pushes in a way I don’t like, I’m bolting.
Shera sets aside the paperwork I filled out before seeing her. “Okay, Miles, is there anything in particular you wanted to discuss today?”
Such a simple question, but it’s all I need to push to my feet and start for the door. “This was a shit idea. I’ll pay you, of course, but I’m outta here.”
“Miles, you can just sit if you want,” she says, stopping me as I’m grabbing the doorknob. “Silence wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Maybe I can sit here while you think about whatever’s on your mind. It’ll help you focus on the problem.”
She’s good. I turn back to her, glaring. “That was smart,” I admit.
“I did go to school for this.” She offers a warm smile, and I force myself back to the sofa but stop before sitting. “I think I’ll stand.”
“That’s fine too. So I’m gonna ask a question, and how about you answer it in your head? If there’s something you want to share with me, you can. If not, maybe at least it’s helped you think it through.”
She’s really fucking smart.
“Okay…” I drag out.
“So what did you come in to talk about today?”
“I don’t know,” I lie before caving too quickly, “I think I might have a boyfriend. Whatever.”
