“Except they do when they’re Miles Callahan,” I said with a wry laugh. “You’ve met him. That’s just who he is.”
“Looking at you like you’re his whole world is just who he is?”
Her words tightened around the stupid hope in my chest like a knot of barbed wire, puncturing my lungs, yet it was no lie when I said, “Yeah, it is. He doesn’t do anything by halves and that includes paying attention to the people he’s spending time with.”
“Mat—”
“Look,” I said, getting to my feet, hands raised like a shield. “He’s a careful, methodical planner of everything, right? If he wanted this to be more than it is, he would already have done something about it instead of disappearing as soon as things gothard. So, now I have to deal with it being my fault it ended, and that hurts, so . . .” Forcing a shrug, I headed for my door. “I’m going to bed because I really don’t want to keep talking about it.”
She let me go with a sad little goodnight, and it wasn’t until I was climbing into bed that I realised I’d left my phone on the couch. For the best, really. I needed to stop torturing myself, needed to sleep and start focussing on tennis or Marco Bicchieri would wipe the fucking court with me come Monday and my tournament would be over.
I JERKED AWAKE to the sound of something hitting my bedroom door. Another muffled thump followed, then the handle rattled and it swung open with a faint creak.
“Mat?”
“What the fuck?” I sat up, blinking at the single point of bright light shining in the dark – the flashlight of a phone, silhouetting one side of a tall figure. “Miles?”
There was a clatter and a thud as he tripped over something, catching himself against the tiny wardrobe with a slurred curse. Thinking of all the hazards on the floor, I lunged up off the bed. “Careful! You’re gonna hurt yourself.”
“Oh god, I’m sorry.” Miles reached out, all but diving into me, and I fell back onto the bed barely keeping him from crushing my legs. “I’m so fucking sorry, Mat, I was such a dick,” he said, hardly seeming to notice he’d become a pile of tangled limbs on top of me. He was slurring his words, he stank of alcohol and other people’sperfume, and it was no satisfaction to discover his shirt felt as soft as it had looked, but I was stupidly glad to see him.
“How much did you drink?” I asked, reaching for the bedside lamp.
As its light flared, Miles flinched, squinting up like a nocturnal animal insulted by the sudden appearance of sunlight. “Dunno. Were you sleeping? Looks like you were.” He pressed a finger unsteadily to the tip of my nose like I was a cat in need of booping. “Cute.”
“Yes, it’s the middle of the night, so of course I was sleeping. You should be too. Sleeping this off.”
He paid no heed to this, instead sliding down the bed, arse in the air as he gripped my boxers and yanked them down.
“Hey!”
Miles dropped his face into my crotch with a little sigh, his hair tickling my stomach. “Mmm, I missed you.”
“Are you talking to my dick?”
“Maybe.”
“Oh my god. That’s it, come on.” I wrestled my boxers back up and slipped off the bed. “You need water and sleep.”
“No.” He grabbed my wrist to pull me back, and as I dropped onto the mattress, he climbed into my lap all tousled hair and half unbuttoned silk shirt. “I need you to fuck me,” he said, grinding against me. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about all night.”
He was already hard against my stomach and, for a moment, I let myself imagine fucking him like this – a wanton creature soaked in unfamiliar scents. But only for a moment.
“Well, you’re going to have to wait,” I said, and rocked forward to press to my feet, lifting him with me. He was too heavy to hold for long, but it got him upright and off the bed where he stood swaying slightly and staring at me.
“You can lift me? That was hot, Princess.”
“I think that makes you the princess.” I slid my arm around his waist and kicked one of my bags out of the way. “Come on, Cinderella. Let’s get you some water.”
Miles let me lead him to the kitchen, where I propped him against the bench and flicked on the rangehood light. Leaning there, he watched me pour a cup of water, only to ignore it and hook an arm around my waist. “I need you,” he said, pulling me close and lowering his lips to suck on the side of my neck.
“Hey!” I pushed his head away. “No marks that will be visible on the tennis court.”
“But I want everyone to know you’re mine.”
My heart skipped a beat and responses tangled on my tongue – everything from ‘do you want me to be yours?’ to ‘how can you just show up out of the blue and say that like it’s nothing?’.
Too drunk to notice he’d thrown me into a fresh crisis, he leaned back against the bench and gave me a sultry look through his lashes. “Please fuck me,” he said, fumbling to undo the rest of his shirt buttons. “I’m desperate, Matteo, I need you. And I know you like it when I beg.”
