I‘m standing outside in the cold, practically shivering as I wait for
Miles to come back from doing whatever he was doing. I’ve tried calling him, but he hasn’t picked up. I could walk home from here, it’s only ten minutes away but I don’t want to leave him. He drove us the short distance here and if somethings happened, I don’t want to leave him alone. So, the least I can do is be here when he comes out. I sit down on the curb outside the sports centre, and I wait for him.
“Wren,” I hear a quiet voice from behind me. I stand up quickly and I see him. Miles walks towards me gingerly, as if his legs don’t work properly. “You waited.”
“Of course, I did.” He comes closer to me, and the bright streetlight shines on his face. That’s when I see the bruises. His right eye is shut while marks and bruises cover his face and neck. I reach out to touch his face, but he pulls his head back. “Jesus, Miles, what happened?”
“Can you drive? My eye hurts,” he murmurs, holding out his keys to me. I nod and get into the driver’s seat of his truck. I’ve never been in this kind of situation before. I’ve never had to take care of someone like this.
Me and the girls take care of ourselves pretty fine but when we do need each other it’s not because we’ve been punched in the face. Miles and I drive in silence.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” I ask quietly. He shrugs and looks out of his window, not meeting my eyes as if he’s embarrassed.
When we get to his house, no one is there. It’s eerily silent as we trudge up the stairs. We go into his bedroom, and he sits down on his bed, resting his head against the headboard, his legs stretched out straight. He’s barely said a word since we left campus. Which is worrying since he talks a LOT.
I run down into the kitchen, feeling helpless as I put some ice into a Ziplock. When I get into his room again, he’s still sitting there, his eyes closed. I put my knees on both sides of his legs, straddling him but not sitting down as I press the ice to his face gently. He winces at the sensation but relaxes after a few seconds.
“What happened, Milesy?” I whisper as I put the ice down, touching and examining his face carefully.
“It doesn’t hurt that bad. You should see the other guy. I’m fine,” he says, trying to be cheerful as his lip twitches. I tut and shake my head.
“Oh, you’re fine?” I ask sarcastically as I gently prod my finger on his cheek, and he hisses. “This looks really bad. We should get it checked out.”
“I’m fine, really,” he retorts more convincingly this time. My chest pinches as I look at him, opening and closing my mouth, trying to tell my brain to say something. Miles beats me to it. “Can you stay tonight? I need you.”
The whine in his voice undoes me. After what happened at the hotel, I told myself to be more cautious around him but then things like this happen. Where he says that he needs me in that whiny voice of his. Or he says ‘please’ and bashes his eyelashes at me. Or when he convinces me to do things that I said I wouldn’t. Like wearing his jersey and straddling him as I tend to his face.
“Fine,” I breathe out and he smiles wide. “But no funny business.” “Whatever do you mean?” he drawls, innocently, blinking up at me. “You know what I mean.”
I inspect his eye, trying to do my best to see what could help. It’s gone down a little since we’ve been here but it’s still fierce. I put the packet down again to give his eye a rest from the cold. It’s not swollen, just badly bruised underneath. He’ll probably have a black eye in the morning, though.
I start to climb off him, to put some much needed space between us when his strong hands come onto my hips. He runs his rough hands from my above my knees to the top of my thighs.
“I want you so badly, Wren. Me and you for real,” he says, throwing his head back with a groan. This is exactly what I meant by funny business.
“You’re delirious,” I laugh, trying again to move but he keeps me there, hovering over him. His hands rest on my thighs as his thumb strokes the inside and I almost buckle beneath him.
“No, I’m not.” “You are.”
“Ask me again in the morning,” he challenges, “and see what I’ll say.” “Fine. I will.”
I try and move again but his hands on my ass dig into me, and I suck in a breath. “I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight if I don’t even try.”
“You did try, and you failed,” I tease. His face doesn’t move.
“Just kiss me. Just one time. If you hate it, we can stop and we can pretend it never happened. I’m hard as a fucking rock right now,” Miles groans as if being in a bit of pain has made him more bold than usual.
Before I can argue, he pushes me down onto him and I gasp. He wasn’t lying. I can feel him through the thin material of my leggings. The throbbing that I have myself isn’t making this any easier. My voice sounds scratchy when I speak.
“Miles, if we do this once we’ll just think of another excuse to do it again.”
“I can control myself, baby. Can you?”
He looks up at me with passion and intensity and I shake my head.
From this position, the pet name doesn’t sound so bad.
“This is a really fucking bad idea,” I pant. Every rational thought I had is thrown out the window as I crash my mouth into his.
It’s more frantic and exhilarating than the first time we kissed at the gala. Hell, it’s a lot more chaotic than the peck he gave me earlier. My hands instinctively dive into the curls at the back of his neck, pulling and gripping, as his hands explore my ass before venturing up my shirt. I can do this, can’t I? A stupid kiss with my stupid fake boyfriend. Easy.
Only, this kiss is anything but stupid. There is something so insane about the way his mouth tastes like sweetness and fall. Addicting.
I press featherlight kisses onto his bruises before sliding down him slightly to get better access to the column of his throat. I kiss and suck frantically like he did to me at the party and he groans. Like I’ve been starving for him. I didn’t know this could feel so good. A low noise comes from the back of his throat when I nip at his collarbone.
He moves his hands out from under my shirt to my ass, grabbing and slapping before pulling me back up into a sitting position. I make the mistake of rolling against him, feeling the friction between us and I whimper. He brings his hot mouth to my neck, kissing the space under my ear, making my shiver.
“Can I take this off?” he breathes hoarsely, tugging at his jersey.
“Are you sure? I thought it was boosting your ego,” I say into his skin, and he laughs. “Yes, you can take it off but we’re not going anywhere past second base.”
“Why not?” he whines. He pulls his jersey over my head and when it’s free, he dives back into me, kissing my exposed chest.
“Because…” I pant. “If we do, I won’t want stop.”
He replies by slipping his hand up the material of my sports bra, his fingers splaying out across my breasts. Jesus H. Christ. My head lolls back when he brings his fingers to my nipples, teasing gently.
“You feel so soft,” he whispers, “so good.”
I don’t know how I’m going to get this to end. I don’t know if I ever want it to. The roughness of his hands isn’t like Augustus’. They’re purposeful and masculine like they know what they want.
I roll over him again and he groans, taking his hand out and squeezing my ass. He moves me over him. Fast.
“Fuck, Miles,” I cry out. We’re basically dry humping but I still feel like I could finish just like this. He kisses across my neck again as he murmurs into my skin, ‘You feel so fucking good.’ I moan loudly as the words leave his mouth while he bites me softly and he laughs, helping me ride over him. He fucking laughs.
“We need to stop,” I say between pants. He continues kissing across my chest. “Miles.”
“Mm,” he murmurs into my skin.
“Miles, we need to stop. Like, now,” I say again as the intensity builds in my abdomen and between my legs. I push myself away from him, holding onto his shoulders at arms length. His lips red and parted and his eyes wide. I don’t need a mirror to see that mine are too. I could easily dive back into a messy kiss right now – because holy shit, he looks so good – but I force myself not to.
“Yeah…Yeah. You’re right,” he replies, dragging his hands down his face. He waits a beat before continuing as I watch him. “There are some shorts in my drawer for you to change into if you want and a clean shirt.”
I get out of the bed on wobbly legs and grab a clean shirt from his drawer and some shorts. I go into the bathroom to change. I pull off my sports bra which has gotten sweaty and slip on his black shirt and shorts.
I hear Miles say something through the door and I freeze. “What?” I ask.
“We both wanted that, right?” he asks and my stomach drops.
“Yeah,” I reply after a pause. “But that shouldn’t happen again. Not when we’re alone.”
I hear Miles move through the door and he sighs. “Yeah. Rule number three and all that.”
“Exactly,” I say, remembering the reason we made the list in the first place. “Rule number three.” He doesn’t say anything else for a while so I add, “It was a moment of weakness.”
He clears his throat. “Of course.”
When I look in the mirror, my face is red, and my pupils look huge. Thank God, I had some sort of self-control. I knew we would get carried away, but I can’t. I can’t afford to mess this up now. Not so close to the showcase.
We don’t say anything when I slide into the bed next to him, turning away from him so I don’t do anything I regret. His breathing slows and for a second, I think he’s gone to sleep.
“I’m not a violent person, Wren,” he whispers into the silence. I don’t have to think about my response.
“I know.”
“One of the guys were saying some really fucked up stuff about you and Carter and I just lost it. I’m sorry,” he murmurs.
My heart sinks through my ribs as I turn over to face him. Knowing guys at NU, I know better than to ask what they said about me. Especially since they’re hockey players. His eyelids are heavy as he avoids my eyes.
“Why are you sorry? You didn’t do anything wrong,” I reassure him. The way his mood has shifted so intensely shocks me. I’ve never seen him
so torn up. So upset at himself.
“If Coach finds out, I won’t be able to play but with what they were saying, I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I’ll ruin everything,” he explains, his voice cracking. I brush my hand over his cheek, and he melts into it, closing his eyes.
“That’s not going to happen, Miles,” I whisper. “It might.”
I brush his hair out of his face gently until he falls asleep. Even after his breathing has settled and he’s deep in sleep, I keep my hand there. Deep into the night and I stay there, watching him.
I can’t ruin this for him by acting on impulses because that’s all they are. They are just parts of this that we have to ignore. He needs to play again more than I need to skate. He deserves it. He needs this.
