𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝟹𝚛𝚍, 𝚂𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚊𝚢
Parkers POV

After I drag Miles out of the beach house, literally drag, and get him buckled up in my car, I hop in and buckle myself.

"Do you remember your address?" I ask and look over at him as I push the start button on the vehicle. There was that one day when I followed him home after meeting at AutoZone, but I don't remember the exact location.

Miles hums thoughtfully and runs a hand over the leather seat. "Nope. Not really."

This is exactly what I need to be doing at 11pm: driving around town on a wild goose chase.

Slowly, I inhale and stay patient with him. I'm secretly glad for the excuse to ditch that party, anyway.

"Okay, that's fine. What are the landmarks around it again? Is it near any stores?"

"Uhhh... Yeah, you know the Corner-Mart? The mart that sits on the corner by the tree?"

"Yep, I do. That's all I need. Hang on tight." I smile when he grabs the door of the car with white knuckles. It's hard to fully appreciate the irony of him holding on for dear life this time around as I begin to drive that direction.

That little market is tucked away on the other side of town, right in the center of the... unprivileged folks. I don't want to assume that anyone's poor in that area by any means, yet I won't deny that that neighborhood is a far crying difference from mine.

Miles leans forward to look out of the side mirror, watching the party behind us get smaller and further away. Once it's out of sight, he sighs and leans back in his seat.

I risk taking my eyes off the road to look at him. "What's up? Are you still feeling okay? Are you going to be sick again?"

He wrinkles his nose. "Whoa, 21 questions! Relax, I'm hanging out. I have nothing left to puke up anyway, except my spleen. Don't ever mix your alcohol, man."

My stomach hurts thinking about consuming as much alcohol as he did. Plus, after watching him get sick like that? Yeah, I'm good.

"Weren't you the one who promised me that you don't mix your alcohol?"

"Did I? Huh, doesn't sound like me. Must've been your imagination." Miles turns his head to grin at me, his eyes gleaming from the passing streetlights behind the drunken haze he's in.

"Whatever. You can't talk back against the sober guy. I have all sorts of things that I can hold against you now." I laugh as his words from earlier come back to me. Unfortunately so do his actions.

The feeling of his silky curls are imprinted into my hands. I can almost feel the weight of his head in my lap as I drive, how his chest rasped against my legs with each breath.

For the second time tonight, I get an unintentional boner from thinking about it. Great. There's no hiding this one this time--all I can do is hope that the darkness will conceal me as we leave the town, and the bright streetlights, behind us.

"You talk pretty big for a short guy," Miles replies, holding up his index finger and thumb in case I missed his point.

"Buzz off, I'm not short! I'm almost six feet tall, dude. You're the fucking Green Bean Giant guy that's on the bags of frozen vegetables!" I joke and rest my elbow up on the windowsill of my car to feign relaxation.

"I prefer being called a male model. Have you ever seen my legs?" With that being said, Miles somehow warps his leg around to plop his foot up on my dashboard.

"Hey hey hey! Get your shit off of my dash! You're going to scuff it!" Laughing, I lean over and shove his leg. The momentum makes me swerve my car, and I curse, thankful there's no oncoming traffic.

"You better keep your eyes on the road, baby! I don't wanna die tonight or puke on your seats. If you keep crankin' this bitch around, then I'm gonna vomit," Miles says sarcastically. Under the surface, he's pretty serious.

Besides, my blood runs hot at that nickname. Baby. God, how can one word make me ready to swing this car to the side of the road, turn off the headlights, and pull my pants down? It's absolutely ridiculous.

I have to beat the thought down into a pulp before my hard-on can get worse. Shit shit shit shit shit.

"I know what I'm doing. You better save the puking until we get to your house. And get your foot off of my car. Please."

"Make me." Miles looks over at me. His eyebrows lift as he checks me out.

It takes a lot not to do just that. Instead, I nibble my lip and shake my head. "I'll threaten you instead: I'm dropping you off at an AA therapy class if you don't do what I say."

"Mmm, that's not what I was thinking. I take threats more seriously with my hands tied to the bed."

"Fuck off," I say bluntly and can't hold down my chuckling again. There's another image he has ingrained in my head and another reason to make my dick throb.

"My bad, I can't help but test the waters." Miles shrugs passively, obviously a little hurt that his hints didn't work on me. Which means he doesn't know that they definitely did work.

I'm fast to change the subject so that we don't have to sit in silence and think about him being tied down to a bed. And so that I don't have to tell him that his water test will come back 100% gay. Or maybe 50%.

Even Hannah, with all the times I've talked to her these past few weeks, never got me to feel like this. Miles doesn't even have to wear a swimsuit.

"Anyway, do I keep taking this road or turn left at the stoplight?" I ask and motion at the road. We didn't take this route the last time I followed him home.

He takes his foot off my dash and has the decency to buff out the dust left from his shoe with his wrist. "What is this, the road by the McDicks? Yeah, turn left--hold up, can we swing through the drive-through and pick up some burgers?!"

"You seriously want McDonalds after puking your guts out? That would be like adding gasoline to the fire! No, we're getting your ass home," I scold him and turn left as the light turns green.

Miles groans in complaint, a far crying difference then that moan he let out earlier. The same moan that I made him make.

Focus on the road, focus on the road, focus on the road, I chant to myself when I imagine grabbing Miles hand and putting it over my crotch to see what he would do, to see if I could replicate that same noise.

"C'monnnnn bro, I was counting on you! You sound like my mom," he gripes and runs a hand over his curls.

"Let's do that tomorrow, okay? I'll take us somewhere nicer than a damn McDonalds."

"Oooh, a date?" Miles perks up, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Shove a sock in it." I scoff and reach my arm over to whack him. "More like an IHOP or something. Whatever you want."

"Okay, sugar daddy. I see you. I probably won't wake up until noon, if I even do wake up--"

"Don't joke about that."

"--so, let's plan on lunch or something, maybe dinner. Linner? Dunch? Dunch at Hotbird?"

"Sure, whatever sounds good to you. Are you sure you want greasy food after tonight?" I ask hesitantly. Sounds like a stomach bomb to me.

"Hell yeah! There's no better combo than grease and a hangover. You promise on this?" Miles slurs a little as he asks, holding up his pinky.

A smile pulls at my lips. "Promise. I give you my word." I switch hands on the wheel to latch pinkies with him. Miles grins and raises our hands before I can stop him to kiss the side of his fist to seal the deal.

It's such a basic move, yet it releases one hundred butterflies into my stomach. I can't resist those deep brown eyes, so I return the favor by bringing our hands to my face and kissing my fist. I can smell a hint of coconut lotion on his hands. For the tenth time tonight, I'm glad to have the road as a distraction. I don't have to look at him as I do so.

Satisfied, Miles untangles his hand from mine and points at a street coming up. "I think... Yeah, turn here. Take this road for a little bit."

"Yes, sir." I put on my blinker, turning onto the street.

Miles continues to direct me as best as he can, though I can guide myself to the Corner-Mart. As I drive further into this town, I notice the houses getting smaller, the cars getting older, and the streets getting rougher. I grit my teeth as I have no choice but to hit a pothole, my Audi clunking in retaliation.

Somehow I can decipher Miles warbling and slurring as I drive, navigating us into a vaguely familiar neighborhood. The houses reminded me of something from HBO's Euphoria, like Rue's neighborhood the last time I visited his home. AKA old, sad, and punching bags for countless families that come and go.

Or maybe I'm being dramatic because I've seen a hell of a lot worse.

Miles doesn't seem phased. On the contrary, he brightens up as we come around the bend. "Hell yeah, moms workin' a double, that means the house is mine tonight! Right there." He points at the street.

I remember the house now, and I recognize his vintage Mustang parked out front, reflecting the moon on its hood. He must keep that damn thing washed and waxed every day because I have to squint against the reflection as I pull into his driveway.

"Cool, well, here we are," I proclaim and put my car in park, tapping my fingers on the wheel. "I'm glad you're feeling better. Hopefully you won't be sick tomorrow."

"Sick? Yeah, right. Holts don't get sick." Miles scoffs and unbuckles. I open my mouth to tell him otherwise, right as he turns and points a finger at me. "Not a damn word, Park. I can read your mind."

My grin comes naturally, and I shrug. "You're saving my breath for me. Have a good night."

Miles opens the car door and pauses. "Wait, you're not coming in?"

Now I'm the one who freezes. When did we talk about this? Did he assume I would come inside earlier when we were joking about sex?

"Oh, umm, I thought I wasn't...?" I slowly ramble and feel my blood drain. There isn't enough time to prepare myself for this.

"I don't give a damn if you don't. I figured you'd want food or something after that crazy party. Come on, let's go! It's the least I can do since you drove me home!"

There's no arguing against him. Miles shuts my car door and wobbles towards the front door, waving his hand at me.

Well... I can't say no anymore.

I sigh and turn my car off, grabbing the fob before jumping out. My heart rate slows when I realize he's not looking for a hookup. A small part of me also feels disappointed.

It would've taken me by surprise, but would I have said no?

There's no time to ponder. Miles stumbles, and I leap forward to grab his arm, steadying him.

"Shoot, who made this sidewalk?" Miles grumbles, aiming a very poor kick at the sidewalk cracks only to throw himself further off balance.

"Probably some dummy, I dunno. Focus, let's get inside," I say softly and lead him up the steps. He mumbles something in Spanish that I don't quite catch, and I don't bother asking.

As we shuffle closer to the front door, I look at the front of this house. I hate to compare, although it's the exact opposite of my house. Nothing about this side of town is manicured or glossy, and I hate myself for even thinking about that with Miles on my arm.

I need to get his ass inside—enough about comparing lifestyles.

When we reach the front door, I rattle the handle, and it swings open. Unlocked with no one home. Fantastic.

Again, Miles is not phased as he waltzes out of my grip to go right into the house. His hand hits the wall a few times before finding the switch, turning a light on. I blink against the brightness and follow him, shutting the front door softly behind me.

It's been a few weeks since Miles and his mom moved in, and the house still smells vacant. I glance around and immediately notice the lack of furnishing; there's only a couch, an armchair, and a small entertainment center that holds a small TV in the living room.

Not that I expected much from two people that have to run around the country per court orders. Still, it makes me feel sad and guilty for some reason. What would he think if he came over to my house? How can I even go home and enjoy it, knowing that people live like this across town?

Miles whistles an off-beat tune as he swings into the tiny kitchen right off of the living room. "Hungry?"

"Nah, I'm good. Thanks, though. Are you positive that you'll be able to eat right now?" I ask wearily and follow him the three yards into his kitchen.

"Well, I'm about to find out!" He opens a cabinet and grabs a loaf of bread, smacking it down on the counter. "I read somewhere once that bread soaks up alcohol, soooo..."

"I think that might be a rumor." I watch as he grabs a slice and takes a bite, eating it as-is.

"It's a dang good one. I always feel better after packing on the carbs. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Nope. I'm still good. Thanks for asking again." Always the gentleman, this kid. Even when he's drunk.

"Yeah yeah, no problem, just let me know, m'kay?" Miles says and grabs another slice, holding it between his teeth as he twists the bag up and tosses it back in the cabinet.

"Definitely, I will." I chew on my cheek and glance down the only hallway of this house. "Where's your room at?"

"You know, down in the 2,000-square-foot basement. Just kidding, it's this way," Miles says around his mouthful of bread and leads the way down the hall.

I smirk a little at his attitude and follow him again, my eyes catching on the bare walls.

We reach the end of the hallway, and Miles bumps open the door with his foot before smacking the light switch on. "Here we are! My humble abode." He flourishes his hand as he walks in.

I'm not sure what I expected. Whatever it was, this isn't it. Maybe I figured that a gay kid would have Play Boy posters plastered on his walls, pride flags, or some other similar shit. Instead, this is the most home-like room in the house.

Some laundry is strewn around the floor, and taped boxes sit in a corner. Otherwise, he has NBA posters on one wall, a few medals, some stolen road signs, and a shelf adorning video game cases.

"Nice set-up," I admit and walk over to the far wall, eyeing the basketball medals. MVP. MVP. A third MVP. Rookie of the Year. All-Star.

"Thanks. It's some shit I've collected over the years," Miles says as he closes the makeshift sheet curtain over the window and then walks somewhere behind me. I'm too busy pawing through his medals to notice.

I let out a low whistle as I admire his collection of awards. "How did I not know you played basketball? You've got some serious awards here! Did you quit or something?"

As I turn to look back at him, I curse and fling a hand up over my eyes. "Fuck! Hey, you could've warned me!"

Miles laughs and finishes pulling up his basketball shorts, the sight of his bare chest and the V-line on his hips branded into my brain.

"Sorry! I thought we were both guys here, my bad. You can open your eyes, Sister Parker."

I drop my hand solely to flick him off at that low blow. My heart is racing. He's right, I'm kind of a prude. At least when it comes to my crush fucking changing right behind my back.

He giggles at my non-verbal response and collapses down on the unmade bed. "Basketball never came up in our conversations. I've never had a reason to talk about it since I quit."

"Quit? What the hell is wrong with you? Do all those MVPs and All Star awards throw you off or something?"

Miles shrugs. "I dunno. It's hard to play when I've bounced around to so many schools. I've never really had a team to call my own, so... Whatever."

I hum thoughtfully and look up at the Kobe Bryant poster. May he rest in peace.

"You have us here," I say quietly.

Silence stretches between us for a moment.

"I don't know for how long. That's the issue. It could be ten weeks or ten years. Who knows." Miles shrugs again.

I look over at him quickly, my heart plummeting. "What, seriously? You guys don't know when the court will move you around?"

"Nah. My mom and I play this fun game where we bet on it whenever we move somewhere new. Enough of this bullshit talk. It's giving me a migraine worse than the one I already have. Come, sit down." Miles pats the empty space next to him.

I hesitate, and my eyes widen. "What?"

"Huh, are you too good not to join me?" Miles grins and shuffles over to the edge, making more room.

My head goes light even though it's a simple request. It's not like I'm sucking his dick, yet this still feels... Personal.

"No... I feel weird laying down on your bed." It's a lame excuse, and I know it.

I feel weird laying next to you, though I think about it every night. I should've gone home and left this scenario to my imagination.

Those thoughts remain unspoken.

"One, you have nothing to feel weird about. It's weirder having you stand there over watching me. Two, it's not like we're gonna have hard-core sex and get jizz on the sheets. Come here."

My lips twitch at Miles blunt proclamation. He gets his point across, even if the thought of us having hard-core sex turns me on. This fucker has me under his finger and he doesn't even know it.

Miles watches me cross the room and walk around the other side of the bed. My hand trails the comforter for a moment as I contemplate. It's a simple little thing, yet so much weight is on this choice.

After a moment, I make up my mind and slowly sit down. I have to remind myself to breathe as I lower myself onto his mattress. Damn, this bed is comfortable though. The smell of his cologne wraps around me, putting my mind at ease.

Miles smiles like he can read my mind, although I hope he can't completely read it. He jumps up and stumbles over to the light switch to turn the light off.

"Hold up, what are you doing?" I question and watch his silhouette shuffle back over. He grunts and lays back down, the moonlight igniting his curls in a golden halo.

"Making both of us more comfortable. Unless you sleep with the lights on?"

Sleep?! How do I get myself in these situations with him?

This shouldn't be a big deal. I've had to sleep with guys before at away games, except those were always sweaty idiots I couldn't stand being around. I would pile one hundred pillows between us in a solid wall and wouldn't think anything else of it all night. It was never an issue.

And I never would imagine closing the space between us, ripping the clothes right off my bedmate. Until now. My fingertips twitch. I should've gone home when I had the desire to.

Instead, I turn onto my side to see him better. "No, it's fine, I only... Yeah. I don't know."

Miles mirrors my movement by flopping onto his side, tucking a hand under his face as he faces me. Warm, thick light from the street lamps outside seeps through the blinds, cascading an amber glow across the room as my eyes adjust. His curls go from black to a warm brown, and his dark skin is radiant.

I check him out as we lay together, hoping it's dark enough that he can't see where my eyes stray. It's hard not to stare when he looks this good. I rarely get these chances to be vulnerable with him, especially at school or events where people are always watching.

My eyes flick back up to his face, and a small shock runs down my spine when I notice he's already staring at me, too. I smile softly to play it off.

"What?" I ask quietly.

"What do you mean, what?"

"... You're looking at me." I shift as I speak, adjusting my leg. Again, my gaze drifts over his body before focusing on his face again.

Miles shrugs. "Just admiring what I can never have."

I raise my eyebrows. My heart sticks in my throat. If I had a nickel for every fucking time I thought those same exact words about him, I could buy the entire west coast with coins.

There's no way I can respond without throwing my closeted sexuality out of the window. He probably won't remember this night tomorrow, so it's not even worth admitting my attraction to him.

Still, I can't believe that he wants me.

I've always fed myself lies to make myself believe that his actions around me were coincidences. Now that I've heard him say the words, there's no need for the lies. This isn't a one-way street anymore. I want him, too. So bad.

A look of shame flashes across Miles face when I don't respond to him. He might be drunk, but he's not dumb. What's that they say about drunken words being sober thoughts?

It's not worth wasting my breath on words that he won't remember in 30 minutes, except I can do something to put him at ease until we can have a real conversation. Even thinking about verbally admitting my attraction to him makes my heart pound, so I shove that thought out. This moment can't be wrecked.

I shift closer to him instead. So close that I can see the torment in his eyes.

Admiring what I can never have. It's amazing that he hasn't cracked my secret out of all people.

It's difficult to ease my breathing. I try to stay relaxed, cool, and confident. I cannot wreck this. This is my chance to see if my feelings towards him are real or a fluke.

Slowly, I bring my hand up to his face and cup his jaw, rubbing my thumb over his smooth complexion. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't the fireworks that I suddenly feel in my stomach. Fuck butterflies, those bitches blew up. There is no faking the emotions stirring up in my body.

Miles squeezes his eyes shut like he's trying to ignore my touch. He's battling a war inside his head like me, but for a different reason. While I've been trying to hold down a lid on revealing my identity, he's been holding a lid over his feelings.

"Miles," I whisper, my words barely brushing the air. It's enough to get his attention. He opens his eyes to look at me, and I try to make him understand through all of those layers of alcohol. Like, really understand.

Carefully, gently, I run my thumb down further to his lips. I've admired this mouth since the first day he walked into class, and I still admire it the same tonight as I drag my thumb over them. These are the lips that people write song ballads around, that sculptors create out of marble in Greece. They're perfect.

Too perfect. He knows this job well, slowly parting his mouth, probably out of habit. A jealous fire flares inside of my gut for all of the boys that have been able to feel his mouth, and I suddenly want to be the last boy that ever feels them as I rub his bottom lip. It's too easy to slip my thumb in between his lips.

Shit. My dick throbs against my pants as he widens his mouth a bit further, my finger brushing against his tongue. I keep my eyes trained on his mouth as I slowly pull my thumb back out and feel his lip again before sliding it back in.

It's still too easy. I thought that actually trying this gay shit first-hand would wake me up and shake me out of it. The only thing that's waking up is a strong sex drive. There's no controlling the slight whine in the back of my throat, and I roll my hips closer to his body.

After a long second, Miles retracts his head, making that small fire burn brighter in my gut. I respect his choice and run my hand up into his curls to distract myself from the sexual thought of grinding my boner out on him.

"You..." he starts to whisper before fading out, blinking tiredly. He's too drunk and exhausted to process this right now.

"Shh, leave it for tomorrow," I murmur and shift closer, our knees touching. I don't know if I said that more for him or myself. Tomorrow I will have to deal with my life. Right now, I can pretend that this is my life.

Miles nods softly and shimmies closer, tangling one of his legs with mine.

I force down a smile when he shifts his head down to my level, resting his forehead against mine.

"Is this okay?" He slurs, sounding more like, Ses-kay?

I'm afraid to nod and scare him away or wake myself from this dream. Instead, I mumble, "Yeah, it's perfect."

Miles hums happily and shuts his eyes, sharing the same breath as me.

I run my fingers through Miles curls and listen to his breathing change. My eyes flutter shut when he falls asleep pressed against me, my fingertips running in circles behind his ear.