“Unlocked?” I glanced at the phone he was holding. It wasn’t his. “Fuck.” I met his scowl with one of my own. “Hope you had fun with that.”
“God, Mat, I didn’t go through it.” He thrust it into my hand with a disgusted snort. “I just messaged your friend Katie to ask if I should be worried. Seems she knows you pretty well.”
My conversation with Katie sat open on the screen.
Katie Zhang
hey katie, this is miles callahan. sorry to be weird and message you like this, but mat left his phone unlocked on the bench in your apartment and disappeared
is this a mat thing or a worry about him thing?
Oh, hi Miles. Lovely to meet you
I think the answer is both? It’s very much a Mat thing, but also a worry about him thing
He only leaves his phone behind when he doesn’t want to look at it
right. any idea where i might find him?
Depends. If he’s angry, he’ll be at the gym
If it’s panic or something else, he’ll be at the court up the road
thanks
No worries
My cheeks heated and I thrust the phone back at him, before recalling it was my own damn phone and dropping it beside the basket. “I’m fine,” I said. “I just came to train and forgot my phone.”
Overhead, the court lights flickered on, preparing to do battle with the incoming night. It was still light enough not to need them, but the new shadows darkened Miles’s frown. “So it wasn’t something I said?” he asked.
“Of course not.” Thankfully, the words came out casual. “Why would you think so?”
“Because you left your phone open to our conversation. You know, the one you disappeared in the middle of.”
“Really, I’m fine.” I bounced the ball, preparing to serve. “How did you even get into my apartment anyway?”
“You’ve never learned how to open locks with a credit card? Surely, it’s a necessary skill for staying in shitty apartments, though I could have opened yours with a fucking tissue. They really should fix that door.”
I tossed up the ball and served, smashing it into the corner of the service box so hard it slammed into the back fence with a metallic ring. Eight balls remained in my basket, and determined to both finish what I’d started and avoid Miles as long as possible, I went on serving.
Knowing he was watching ought to have made me tense, but since nothing could be more embarrassing than making Miles Callahan worry enough to break into my apartment, I just loosened myshoulders and let the serves rip, one after another until the last ball banged into the fence.
When I turned, I found he hadn’t moved, though his scowl had faded into something more contemplative. “What?” I said. “Got some criticisms to offer?”
“Only that you should have had more balls ready to go.”
“I did the rest before you arrived.”
“Pity. That was hot.”
I snorted and strode past him to shove my racquet into my bag. “Right, sure.”
“You know what?” Miles said, folding his arms, his scowl even darker than before. “Usually when I go after someone, giving them a brain-meltingly good blowjob and following it up with suggestive flirting tends to get me what I want. Why do you make no sense? How high are your standards that you would leave me on read after that?”
Each individual word he’d said made sense, yet put all together their meaning became unfathomable. “Going after me?”
Miles stared. I stared back. The distant sound of evening traffic filtered in across the park.
