𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝟹𝚛𝚍, 𝚂𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚢
Parkers POV

Clunk... clunk... vggttwhrrrmmm...

My body jolts awake, not allowing my brain to process the sound of the lawnmower running outside. I groan and stretch my legs, then stop when my feet connect with something solid.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

My eyes fly open. I'm suddenly wide awake. The sun is barely over the horizon, yet some idiot is mowing their lawn? That's not my only problem right now. This isn't my room, this isn't my bed, and this isn't a dream.

Last night wasn't a dream.

Miles is still here, totally blacked out and snuggled against me. He must have not moved all night; one leg is still caught between mine, he hasn't rolled off his side, and his arm slides off my waist to hit the mattress.

Oh my god, I think to myself again in dismay. Did I seriously sleep with him like that all night?

I don't know what I should be feeling. Never in any of my wildest dreams did I think our first time sleeping together would turn out like this.

One-third of me is shocked that we didn't end up banging it out—hell, he even turned me down last night. The second third is shocked. I pictured myself walking him into the house, turning around, and going home.

We're getting too comfortable with each other.

But... that takes me to the final third.

We're getting comfortable with each other.

If the circumstances were different, I would be drinking this moment up. Moving away from him would be the last thing on my mind. He looks so content and peaceful that I want to sneak back into his embrace and stay there until Monday morning.

Although Miles won't remember what happened last night. There's no possible way he will, considering he consumed enough alcohol for an Irish army. He would be more shocked than I currently am to wake up seeing me in his bed. I can't do that to him. We need to talk about whatever's happening between us first because something is happening here.

And I want to talk to him. Today.

Okay, maybe not today, but soon. I need to get my shit together before explaining my thoughts. Although, I don't even know what those thoughts are. In a dream world, I'd give my old life the middle finger and jump into Miles arms like a scene from the Notebook. Unfortunately for me, this isn't a dream world. I have my sport, future, friends, and family to consider. It's all too tricky to consider at this moment, especially with Miles looking as good as he does next to me.

I need to get out of here before I do something stupid.

Carefully, I pick my head up to evaluate our situation. Miles is lying on his left side, with his right leg tangled between mine. His head is sharing my pillow, which makes my skin prickle, knowing that we slept so close.

His right hand is flopped on the mattress, the same hand that held me against him all night. Not that I needed the brace, there was no way I wanted to move away.

Okay, Romeo, I scold myself to knock it off. If I plan to make things simple and straighten out my reputation without any repercussions, I can't be thinking about cuddling.

Gently, I brace my elbow on the mattress and shift away. The bed creaks, and I wince. Miles doesn't move. I'm careful to move my one leg off of his and inch my other leg out from underneath. This way of sleeping was a cute, sweet gesture that I would love any other day, but god damn! This whole trying-to-flee thing is a chore.

I bite my cheek as I get my legs free. Miles foot falls, and he slowly sighs, shifting his weight.

Great. My cover is going to be blown.

I'm grateful for my nimbleness as I roll out of bed without making it squeak again. My feet finally hit the floor, and I slowly stand, afraid my knees might crack and wake him up. My body pulls through for me and I'm silent as I step away. Miles exhales and shifts again, his hand reaching out to my side of the bed. My heart pangs in misery and I deeply wish that I could've stayed.

That also means something else: he remembers. Even if it's subconsciously, he still remembers that I was here.

I plan on fixing this, yet it hurts all the same as I turn away and carefully open the door. The handle clicks. I squeeze my eyes shut, praying for a miracle as I inch the door open. I make enough room to squeeze out, then shut the door softly behind me.

Victory.

At least, it is in one sense but not another. The real win will hopefully come later if he's stable enough to meet me somewhere.

I put my weight on my toes as I scurry down the hall, hoping for no loud floorboards. Luck is on my side this morning because I reach the front door with no issues. Swiftly I pull on my shoes, then hesitate when I notice the sneakers on the mat. Those weren't here last night. So who...

Oh, no. His mom came home last night.

My stomach twists so violently that I almost puke. There's absolutely no way that she could ignore my car in the driveway. The last time she saw me, I played it cool in the driveway. I gave her no evidence to suspect that I had any other intentions but to get my oil changed.

What if she looked in the room last night and saw us snuggling like lovers? What if she tells someone that I was here?

What if, in her eyes, I'm only another one of the boys that Miles brings home for one night?

I can't even think about that. My anxiety flares so fast that dark spots flicker in my eyes. Taking deep breaths, I unlock the door and slip outside. The cool October air feels good on my throat as I get my oxygen levels back to normal. This is not how I imagined my relationship building around his mom. She'll only classify me as her son's whore.

God, shoot me would you? I beg in my head as I get in my car and start it, digging my nails into the wheel as I wait a moment for the engine to warm up. Finally, I glance at the clock and blink. 6:23am.

It's probably good that the crazy lawn-mowing neighbor woke me up so early. Hopefully I can leave this neighborhood without raising any suspicion from other residents.

I rush to drive away, throwing my car in reverse and dodging Miles' mom's van. She didn't even park behind me.

This is probably her usual routine with his hookups, my brain whispers as I drive out of here. I'm definitely feeding myself more lies, but the thought fires up my jealousy.

I spend the rest of the drive home trying to calm myself down.

- - -

Once I make it home, I slip inside the foyer and slide my shoes off. The door gently shuts behind me. I grit my teeth when the clicking handle sounds like a gunshot in the quiet house.

I hurry in case that sound woke my parents up and sprint up the stairs before they can come down here and realize that I was gone all night long. There's no way for me to explain where I've been. I'm careful as I enter my bedroom and shut the door behind me as silently as possible before laughing breathlessly. My life feels like some shitty rom-com as I lean back against my door, knocking my head against the wood. There's no way I got away with that so easily.

A fresh course of adrenaline pumps through my blood, and I go into my closet, pulling down a cream t-shirt, jade green plaid shorts, and a fresh pair of boxers. Hurrying to my bathroom, I lock the door behind me and turn one of the shower heads on.

That familiar, nasty feeling of guilt gnaws on me as I strip down and turn my shower LED lights down to more of an off-white. While I'm here deciding on whether or not I want both shower heads running for my shower, if the blue or yellow LED lights will vibe better, or if I want to hook up my phone to the built-in Bluetooth, Miles gets to coordinate his schedule in the bathroom around his mom.

Oh, the side effects of privilege once you realize what the lack of privilege looks like. I can't believe I've been so blind to his situation this entire time.

On any other day, I wouldn't have been able to keep my hand off of myself in here after such a crazy night, but I'm too distracted by my privileged thoughts to be worried about that.

I'm quick to shower and clean up before drying off and changing. Grabbing my hair product off the counter, I take off the lid and work my fingertips into the gel. As I work the product close to my roots, my phone vibrates against the counter.

I curse and look at my messy hands, except there's no time to waste when I see the name on the screen. Griffin. It's only 7am. He should still be in bed for another three hours. What's he calling for?

Using my elbow to maneuver my phone closer, I lean down, boop the green circle, and then the speaker button with my nose.

"Rise and shine, party animal! Where the fuck were you last night? Did you just get home from banging hot models all night—oh, that's right, you're not into the whole Victoria Secret shit anymore."

I cringe and glance over at my bathroom door, even though I'm well aware that many layers of insulation, a guest bedroom, and a whole other side of the house are lying between my personal space and my parent's bedroom.

"Good morning to you too, snitch. You realize that there are male models, right?"

"I guess I've never paid attention to that. I'm not gay."

I can practically see Griffin smirking. Little prick.

"Whatever. Why are you so worried about where I've been?" I ask and turn the faucet on, rinsing my fingers off.

"Because a few sources told me you left home to go to a party last night that started 3 hours prior. You either go to parties right when they start and leave immediately, or you don't go at all."

"Thanks for the insight, Sherlock."

"I'm not fucking done. First that, then you're gone all night? And then show up back home at a very early hour?" Griffin questions, obviously trying to pull answers out of me.

I scoff and dab moisturizer on my face. "If I didn't know any better, then I would assume that you've been stalking me."

"Ever since your little... Whatever the hell that was at the last party with Kilometers, you've lost your privacy privileges. You know that I don't give a fuck if that's your type of... whatever your problem is, but I sure hope you weren't doing anything dumb with people around. You're still not out yet, right?" He keeps prodding, twisting that knife in my gut.

I search my eyes in the mirror as I listen to him. My jaw ticks. "Right."

"Okay, well, don't be tossing your reputation around like a disposable Kleenex. Either own it or drop it, dude. Otherwise, you're really going to get fucked in the a—"

"Thank you, Griffin, I know!" I snap at him, then groan. "You don't need to make this any more difficult. I have a plan."

"A plan? Really?" He laughs. I should walk across the lawn to his house and punch his nose.

"Yes, you cunt. Look, something happened last night. Miles got sick, and I had to take him home..." I start and then hesitate, wondering how much I want to admit to him. I know that Griffin will keep my secrets under lock and key forever, except I hate his sly taunting when the curtain closes.

Like he does now. "Holy shit, did you guys have gay sex?!"

He just had to add the gay word in there. Sex is fucking sex, no matter how it looks.

"No! God! He was plastered, and you know he still doesn't know about me. We got back to his place, and..." I pause to make sure I word this right.

And I couldn't turn the chance down. I had to see if what I felt was real. We slept together all night, and I still feel the same way today.

I continue. "And I made him eat before we sat to watch something in the living room. We got distracted and lost track of time. I fell asleep on the floor."

"You gonna talk to him soon, then?"

I cast my eyes heavenward. "Yes. It's none of your business. You'll find out when you find out."

"Yeah, I'm sure." Griffin snorts, making my fingers squeeze in a fist. It's exhausting to know someone so ruthless yet so caring at the same time. "Look, I've gotta go. See you tomorrow."

And with that, my phone goes silent. I pity his future girlfriend because that kid is a trip.

I finish my skincare and pocket my phone as I leave the bathroom. Hunger finally starts to settle in, so I decide to act on it before I lose my appetite again.

As I climb down the stairs, the sound of banging pots makes me wince. This will be the real test.

Dad looks over at me as he opens the fridge and smiles tiredly. "Oh, good morning, mister too-good-to-come-home. Where have you been?"

His tone isn't accusatory, but I still feel I'm being put on the spot. Miles words from last night hit me like a sledgehammer. Are you too good not to join me? My knees weaken, and I grab the island.

"Emmett, give the kid some grace! We're glad that you're home safe, sweetheart. How was the little party last night?" Mom asks over by the stove where she's pushing eggs around in a pan.

Little party. That's the nice thing about having good parents; they're careless and oblivious, in a good way.

"It was alright, kind of the usual show-down. Sorry that I didn't text about being out all night, one of my friends got sick and I had to bring him home." The excuse sounds lame, but it's also the truth. At least, a very watered-down truth.

"Don't worry about it. Trust me. I know how teenagers are." Mom snorts and scrambles up the eggs.

"That was nice to do," dad says as he pulls the fruit bowl from yesterday morning out of the fridge, peeling the plastic wrap off.

"Better than having another drunk driver on the road. What's the plan for today?" I ask casually and jump into the kitchen, taking plates out of the cupboard. It's the least I can do to avoid extensive questioning.

"I finally caught up on all of my editing and work, so I'll be going where the wind takes me," dad answers and portions fruit into little glass bowls. "But your mom and I have to run some errands after breakfast."

"Did you want to come with?" Mom asks, digging a hot pad out of the drawer and tossing it on the counter.

I shake my head and set the plates down. This next lie comes easily. "No, I shouldn't. Since Griffin got grounded, he's been really bored, so I told him I would go over and play video games and stuff."

Dad chuckles at that and eats a grape out of the bowls. "Gosh, that kid. Greyson is serious about keeping him under lock and key?"

"I damn hope so!" Mom laughs and sets out the spices for the eggs. "As much as I love our nephew, what he did was pretty extreme. It's great that he defended you, Parker, but punching another kid?" She whistles lowly. "I've tried giving Greyson and Hollie great recommendations for an anger management counselor..."

I laugh at the thought of Griffin in therapy. He would sooner light the therapy office up in flames... The fact I'm assuming that is a good sign that he needs those sessions.

"Well, can't lead a horse to water and make it drink." Dad shrugs and dishes up eggs on each plate, sliding them onto the counter.

"At least he stepped up and did something to that jerk. All this alone time will give him a chance to think about his actions," I say as I sit at the island and grab my breakfast before starting to eat.

My dad smirks. "You're starting to sound like your mom."

"Hi, I'm right here!" Mom laughs and takes her plate to the kitchen table.

I tune out my parents as they start to bicker at each other teasingly. I should have taken up Miles on his offer of bread for dinner last night because I'm starving. My phone vibrates in my pocket, making those thoughts grind to a halt.

The fork slips out of my hand and clatters on the plate as I dig my phone out and wildly tap the screen. My finger clicks the Message button and I immediately pull the chat from Miles up.

Holy. Hell. He wants to talk about last night?! Like, last night, last night?

I respond way too fast to his message and jump up so fast that my stool clatters. I quickly right it before it hits the floor. My appetite is shot.

Mom and dad jump as they look at me, questions burning in their eyes. I answer them before they waste more of my time.

"Something came up. I need to go now! Everything's fine though, it's just school stuff! See you guys later!"

I don't give them any time to say anything else to me as I run out of the house, my heart racing faster than a Mustang flying down the road.

- - -

The tires on my car kick up dust as I come to a stop in this empty county park. It must be too early for the general public because we're the only two people here. Miles gets out of his car and waves me over.

A dumb smile splits my face as I park and turn off the ignition. I can't get out of the car fast enough, and I shut the door behind me, stuffing my hands in my shorts.

As I get closer to Miles, my smile gets bigger, especially when he looks as good as he does now. He bounced back surprisingly well after last night's activities. There's nothing off about him as he leans against the side of his car.

"You came in here pretty hot. Are you outrunning the police this time or something?" Miles teases me as his eyes droop over my body.

"Hell no, I thought I was late. Traffic was backed up pretty bad on the highway from a collision. You look great, man. I thought you wouldn't be back in this dimension for a few days." I can't not make fun of him as I stop a few feet away. Seriously, this dude is glowing.

"That's what I get for smoking weed while drinking. It balances out the bad effects. Plus, ya know... that wasn't my first rodeo."

"I would've assumed it was with how you tossed your cookies last night." I raise my eyebrows and blame the blush that crawls over my cheeks from the morning sun.

"Low-fuckin'-blow. Okay, so maybe I drank a little more than I could handle. Live and learn, right?" He retorts, swinging his keys around on his finger.

"You're right. Until you're learning the hard way in the hospital, getting your stomach pumped."

Miles laughs and waves his hand carelessly. "Psh, whatever. Enough about me. Let's focus on you. Catch."

My hands naturally open up and cup around the keys he throws at me. The metal is cool against my skin as I check them out. Then, at the same moment, my stomach drops. "What's this?"

He grins, all perfectly-white teeth against beautifully dark skin. "Entrance to the old girl. I figured it was time to humble you after such an amazing football game. Ya know, take you down a few pegs."

My eyes flash between Miles and the car. "Me. Driving... that."

"You! Driving this!" Miles beams and slaps the top of the car. "We're wasting daylight, c'mon!"

I want to argue, tell him that I can't drive stick-shift, that I don't want to sit where Damien used to. I don't want to be the one to crash his time capsule of memories. Before I can open my mouth, Miles darts around to the other side and hops in.

"Sly bastard," I grumble as I go to the driver's door and get in.

It feels illegal to be sitting behind this wheel. There are too many pedals by my feet and too many gears near my right hand. This isn't exactly what I pictured when he mentioned going for a drive.

"You know that I can't drive a stick, right?" I clarify and shut the door as I buckle up. My heart is racing, and I feel that familiar sensation of bile rising in my throat, yet I don't want to back down from this challenge.

I want to show Miles that I can let loose, relax, and have fun even if I would rather shear my head.

"I know." Miles smirks. "You will know in about ten minutes."

"And what's the point of this?" I clarify. Deep down, I'll admit that I'm trying to buy myself time while my head tries to catch up.

"Because you've been stressed recently and need to focus on something other than... Whatever you're stressed about. First lesson." He moves on easily, as if that's normal for him to notice about a person. Every single string in my heart tugs violently. There have been times when we discussed my stress in the past, but the fact he's actually doing something about it? Good grief. It baffles me every single day when I remember he's single.

Miles points at the gear shifter and pulls me out of my pondering. "Take a second and get used to that. Wiggle the stick between the gears."

I oblige because what else am I going to do? Ignore him?

"This is first?" I ask and run my thumb over the number one engraved on the stick. There's a shape engraved on the metal, like two capitals H's merged together. Corresponding numbers are by each point: six altogether.

"Yep. Slide the stick down... Good. That's second." Miles nods while my stomach flutters from the praise. "Bring it to the top middle. That's third. And so forth. Switch between fourth and first."

I do so, the stick clicking under my touch. My tongue slides over the inside of my cheek as Miles smiles.

"Good! You're a natural already. I won't make you go past the third gear, so you'll only stay in the first three, okay?"

I nod and breathe deeper into my gut when I notice my head starts to feel light. "Okay."

"Perfect. Start her up, then."

"Have you ever taught anyone this before?" I ask as I slide the key in the ignition and turn it. Look, I'm not thrilled at the thought of driving Miles prized possession. However, there's something about the sound of that engine and knowing that I'm behind the wheel of a badass car that makes my blood flow faster.

"Only once. Before you ask, it was an old buddy of mine that wanted to try a manual before buying one himself. He didn't crash it, so neither will you."

I blink in shock that Miles could read my mind so effortlessly. He leaves no time for me to react as he leans over to my side. My breath hitches as he enters my bubble to point down at my feet.

"On the left is the brake, the middle is the clutch, and the right is the gas. People make stick sound like a fucking demon, but it's really not that hard. The only difference is that instead of being able to rest your left foot on the ground, you'll have to switch gears occasionally."

I try my best to listen, I really do, yet all I can think about is his hand approximately a few inches away from my crotch as he points between pedals.

"I'm going to walk you through the process step by step. It'll be easier for you to follow instructions and see what I mean rather than for me to explain everything."

Miles is still talking. I'm still caught up on his hand. Shit, if his voice always gets this serious and husky during lessons, then he can instruct me any day of the week. I'd love for him to show me exactly what he means.

"Are you ready?"

I jolt when I realize he's waiting for a response. Running a hand back through my hair, I nod a little too vigorously again. The way Miles is looking at me expectantly with his dark eyes trained on me, his head tilted at a slight angle... it's enough to make me wish I wore pants that are better at hiding boners.

"Yeah." My voice cracks. I clear my throat and try again. "Yeah, let's go."

"I like the attitude! Okay, push the clutch in with your left foot." Miles eyes fall toward my feet, and I tense, waiting for him to notice my situation. There's no way he can't. Or... maybe he doesn't. "There you go. Shift to first and slowly start to release the clutch. Make sure you—"

Miles cuts off as I lift my foot off, and the car sputters before stalling to a stop. My eyes widen to saucers as I lift my hands off of the wheel. "Holy shit, did I just break it?!"

"Break it... No, you didn't." Miles laughs and motions at my feet. "You released it too soon. It's a dance between releasing the clutch and stepping on the gas at the same time."

"Oh. Got it." I hum thoughtfully and redo the steps correctly this time. The car moves normally when I release the clutch, and I can't help the laugh that escapes my lips. "How the hell did you do this going as fast as you did?"

"Practice." Miles shrugs and bites his cheek to keep from smiling. "That would be like someone asking you how you can throw a ball so fast, far, and straight. I bet that to you, it's the most natural thing in the world."

His words resonate with me. The funny thing is that I had gotten that compliment before and thought of it as natural. That's the motivation I need as we approach the exit to the parking lot. I glance at Miles from the corner of my eye. "Do you really want me out on the road?"

"Answer this for me. You know these roads better than I do. Does anyone ever drive down this way?"

My silence is enough of an answer as I purse my lips, making Miles laugh.

"That's what I thought. You'll be just fine, Park. Okay, feel free to turn whatever way you want. Keep giving it gas like normal, and watch the RPM. Your automatic transmission will do the work for you, but not this girl. When it hits 1,500, lift your foot from the gas, press the clutch, and shift to second."

Miles words fly around like a ping-pong ball in my head. I'm too aware of the setting moving behind us in the mirrors, the birds flying overhead, the engine rumbling, each rock I run over, and all of the instructions being told at once.

Rushing to obey his commands, I slip gears, and the car stalls so sharply that we both jerk forwards. I laugh and slap the wheel. "Shit! I thought I had it!"

"I thought you had it, too! Don't worry. It takes time to feel the gear and get used to it. Here..." Miles fades out and squints as he ponders. "Let's try this. Trust me. Turn it back on."

My lungs fight for air at those two words. Trust me.

Miles would never look at me the same if he knew exactly how much I truly trust him.

Either way, I turn the car back on. He quickly walks me through the same instructions as before, but this time as the RPM slowly climbs, he lays his palm over my hand on the stick shift.

The feeling of Miles warm, calloused skin genuinely scares the shit out of me. I lose all sense of reality for a moment as if he injected me with morphine from that small, stupid touch.

His hand tightens around mine when I try yanking it away. "Breath, chico. Remember, trust? Feel this for a moment. Adjust the clutch."

"Okay," I reply breathlessly and let my feet slide over the pedals. Miles fingers slide against mine as he shifts the gear for me. Just like that, the vehicle adjusts, and the RPM ticker lowers.

"Good boy. Pay attention to the engine and how it starts to rattle when it needs to be adjusted... like that. Switch."

I do. I pay attention to the rattle. I switch the gear. I feel the movement of his fingers on my hand as easily as I could imagine feeling them on my throbbing dick. Good boy.

"Nice! You're getting it!" Miles praises me as we cruise along.

I laugh again in exasperation, my imagination plunging and resurfacing like a dolphin. Right when I start to pull myself out of the daydream, Miles will slide his palm over the top of my hand, and I'm dragged back under.

"This isn't terrible," I admit, though I don't know if I'm talking about the driving or whatever's happening between us.

"I know! It takes getting used to. Then it gets fun. Okay, let's downshift. Same thing except backward. Shift..." Miles says and slides the gear shifter down when the time is right. At the same time, his fingers slide comfortably in between mine. His pointer finger traces down over mine while the rest of our fingers interlock.

My focus is suddenly shot. The clutch slips from under my foot, and I barely yank the wheel over to the side of the road in time, right before the engine stalls.

Miles and I look at each other and break out laughing at the same time. He tips his head back, showing off every square inch of the skin on his neck. I try not to think about it, like how I try not to think about how his hand is still covering mine. It would be easier not to think about if my hard-on would ever go away.

"You're a pretty great teacher for being able to get us that far without any casualties," I giggle and run my other hand down the wheel. "I never pictured myself driving a manual. Ever."

Miles smirks and shrugs, running his tongue over his teeth. "Wouldn't be the first time I've been told to be a great teacher. It helps to have a willing student."

With those words, his eyes droop down my body. My hand tightens around the stick shift as his palm tightens around my hand. I catch how he wets his lips. Actually, I watch him do it. And I can't look away. It's not fair that he got blessed with a picture-perfect mouth.

We both go silent for a moment, and the sudden tension is pliable.

My gaze flies back to Miles eyes, and I catch him staring at my mouth, too. He's faster at rebounding, and I feel like we're looking at each other for the first time.

I've never felt such a sudden, strong urge like this in my gut to kiss anybody before.

That's why I know I have to act on it.

It's impossible to tell who races forward first.

My free hand flies up to Miles jaw and cups his flawless cheek as our lips meet and open against each other, the warmth of his sweetened breath running down my throat.

There's no thinking, no reason to do anything except drink each other in, each breath as it comes, the soft press of his lips. It's a miracle.

Our mouths glide into a perfect match. My hand trembles on Miles jaw, afraid to do anything that will scare him away. I don't know what to do with him or what he likes. Even still, the euphoria of this moment outweighs the fear.

In my short-term kissing experience, I've felt butterflies here and there, but nothing, nothing compares to the sparks that fly from this simple kiss.

And when we finally pull away, I gasp at the sudden exertion. It's like we ran a relay race together because Miles is panting, too.

We consider each other for a moment, our hands still intertwined, his hand in my hair, my hand on his face. Then, before another second can be wasted, we meet again.

There's desperation this time. We're both frantic to show each other exactly how much we've been waiting for this. I'm sick of bottling up my feelings, and Miles is sick of downplaying his.

Miles reaches down and slides back his seat at the same time I grab his shoulders and start to climb over the center console. My knee rests in the cup holder as our kisses deepen and widen.

One of us groans as our tongues meet in the middle. I twist the fabric of his shirt in my fingers as he grabs my waist and hauls me on top of him. There's no reason to mess around with waistbands or pant buttons. I've dreamt of this scenario one hundred times, so I know exactly what to do with my hips.

I grind on Miles so hard that he whines into my mouth. It feels so good on my dick that I break our lips apart to gasp at the sensation. He grabs my thighs and forces me into a better sitting position where I can feel his boner pressing right where we'd both want it.

The nature of the situation gets me wet. We both take a second to throw our heads back and gasp and moan as I dry-hump on him. Harder and harder.

Miles presses one hand against my lower back to feel the beat while his other hand guides my face back to his. The heat of our mouths mingle as he takes my bottom lip in between his teeth and pulls on it.

Whining, I spread my lips further apart so we can kiss each other like we mean it. Pressure builds where our laps meet. Rather than grinding faster, I grind harder, every inch of my boner pulsing on his hips.

I moan again, determined not to come too soon, but from how Miles is trying to fuck me through four layers of clothes, that timer is running out of seconds.

Even more so when he moves his hand right over my dick and grabs it. I want him to feel every inch of me. I want to explore every inch of him.

Miles pulls his mouth off of mine to whisper my name. "Parker."

"Parker."

Flinching, I open my eyes and stare directly into Miles.

Everything is pulsing as if we actually were a minute away from fucking each other. Instead, my imagination got carried away. My lips are still tingling from the connection, and my hands are shaking harder as I pull away from his face. The first kiss was real. Nothing else was.

Miles swallows, and I'm certain that he's actually, finally, blushing.

"I..." I start to explain, but the excuse falls short on my lips.

I'm afraid to talk in case I ask if we can try going further.

I'm afraid to admit that I'm not actually ready. That maybe this was a mistake—not a genuine mistake. It's the type of mistake where I teased him with something neither of us can have. Not until I can face this awakening myself.

As always, Miles reads my mind better than me and nods.

"I get it," he whispers. That soft accent does nothing for my blood that's already running hot. It's such a far crying difference from...

"Hannah." I blurt out and cover my mouth with my hand. "Oh my god."

Miles blinks and pulls back. "Oh, were you thinking..."

"No!" I say louder than I mean to, which makes Miles jump. "No. I wasn't picturing—no, no, no. We're seeing each other on Friday. We're going out. Together."

We stare at each other for a moment. I do my best to read Miles expression, his eyes, anything for a sign that he cares.

His poker face is stronger than ever. Seeing him so devoid of emotion makes me want to grab him by the shoulders and shake a reaction out of him.

Tell me you want this as badly as I do, and I won't go.

Instead, Miles turns his head away and nods. He licks his lips, the same ones I was kissing only a minute ago. I can still feel him pressed against my skin.

"I see, okay. You'll have fun. She seems like a nice girl."

"She is. Sometimes a little too nice." I chuckle awkwardly and silently curse the awkward air simmering between us. Every neuron in my brain is firing and working to figure out what that kiss was about. Not one of them is focused on this conversation about a silly girl.

Miles smiles tightly and unbuckles. "I get that. Let's trade places. I haven't eaten yet, so would you be fine if we ran into town?"

I'm already nodding before he finishes speaking. Things might be weird all of a sudden, although that doesn't mean I want to run home with my tail in between my legs. There's no way I want to lose my friend over something so stupid. So thrilling.

"That's fine with me. We've already pushed my luck to its extent. I'm afraid the car will combust if I keep driving."

Miles laughs and shakes his head as he opens his door. "Nothing is going to blow up. C'mon, let's run to Chic-Fil-A before they stop serving breakfast."

"I thought they didn't support any of the LGBTQ community?" I ask as I unbuckle and get out.

"You think I give a shit? Good food is good food! Chop chop!" Miles claps his hands as he walks around the hood.

I grin and jog around the backside of the car. Thank god he's just as willing to ignore what happened five minutes ago as I am because I don't know what I'd do without Miles.