Perhaps so he had something to look at that wasn’t me, Miles picked up the reader again and started swiping absently through the book I had open. “You know, it’s all right to just like something because you like it. You don’t have to have a whole origin story for it.”
“It’s not an origin story,” I said, cheeks heating. “It’s just . . . never mind. Forget it.”
“No, Mat—” He closed his eyes a moment to gather himself, then heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry, that was a dick thing to say. Easier to be flippant than admit what I was really thinking. Which was . . . thanks for telling me, I guess. I didn’t know. I mean, I knew about the accident, just not what it was like beyond . . .”
“Beyond being the most fear and pain I’ve felt in my life?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
I shrugged like a turtle retreating into its shell. “There’s a reason I don’t talk about it much.”
In the hollow silence that fell, Miles went on swiping through the pages as one might flip through a book without really looking. Until he slowed to read, something capturing his interest.
A horrible sense of inevitability crawled panicky pinpricks over my skin.
“Mat,” he said, turning another page, that wicked smile dawning again. “Mat, this is dirty shit. They’re—”
“No, don’t tell me! I haven’t read that bit yet.”
Miles looked up, the laughter back in his eyes. “You need your porn to be a surprise?”
“Fuck you, that’s literature.”
“‘He forgot what he’d been going to say, letting out a groan as Daniel lowered his head, taking his cock wholly inside his mouth, lips—’”
I snatched the reader from his hands for the second time. “Excuse you, but a book having blowjobs isnota drawback.”
“Surely, real-life ones are better.”
With a snort, I set the reader back beside the TV. “I don’t have time for those.”
“You and Katie never . . .?”
“What? No! First openly gay tennis player, remember?”
“Yeah, but . . .” He shrugged. “Seems you spend a lot of time together. Besides, you might have a bit of bi in you for all I know.”
I settled back on the couch with a sigh. “Not a single iota I’m afraid. Though in juniors, I once talked myself into believing I liked Ana Murchison, since no one would shut up about how hot she was. Impressive work on my part considering at that age, I could barely leave a locker room without a raging hard-on.”
“So, you’ve never been with a woman?”
“No. Never.” I looked up and found him steadily regarding me. Heat flooded my cheeks. “Oh god, why am I telling you this shit? What was in those terrible beers?”
“Just terrible beer, I’m afraid,” he laughed. “Here, let’s have dessert to make up for it.”
The secret dessert turned out to be the most decadent choco-late mousse cake I had ever seen. Miles groaned as the box lid yawned open. “Oh god, they sent a whole fucking cake,” he said. “Usually, they just serve a slice. This is going to kill me. I won’t be able to play on Monday because I’ll be in a chocolate coma.”
“Well, you had better not eat any then.” I pulled the box toward myself. “I’ll protect you.”
“Oh no, you won’t.”
We scuffled amicably over the box before cutting two slices and settling back on the couch, where I threw Miles the TV remote. “Here, you’re the guest, you can choose.”
“There’s probably nothing decent on without streaming,” he said, but turned it on anyway to find the movieWimbledonabout halfway through.
I groaned. “I really wish they wouldn’t run this every year, it’s so awful.”
Miles turned a look of shocked innocence my way, belied only by the hint of that wicked gleam in his eyes. “But Matteo, it’s tennis! You like watching tennis. It’s also a romance and you love romances.”
