𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝟿𝚝𝚑, 𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚢
Parkers POV

Hannah's hand lands on my forearm and squeezes appreciatively as I pull the chair out for her. "Wow, Parker, you outdid yourself with this restaurant! How do you know about this place?"

My ears ring with the superficial way she says my name, so hurried that I hardly hear the vowels. Still, I put on my best smile as I walk around the table and remind myself: you wanted this.

"My parents. They brought me here after I won my first awards at the football banquet as a freshman. It's kind of a hole-in-the-wall place. In all my years of living here, I didn't know about it until that night," I explain as I pull out the chair across from Hannah and sit down. There's no other way to describe this location. Thousands of people drive past this restaurant daily because it's tucked a few blocks away from the main road. It's high enough on the hill to have a perfect view of San Francisco sprinkled beneath us, with the ocean lolling in the distance. The sun is slowly starting to set, setting the city ablaze.

I know I should be enjoying this moment, but I'm not. My stomach is tighter than a knot as I look over the cocktail menu I'm too young to order from, desperate for any excuse to keep my eyes down.

I bet if Miles was here with me instead, he could get away with ordering something off this menu. I would probably be having more fun with him too.

"You got that right!" Hannah laughs and brings me back to reality. "I always drive on the same streets, so I never would've known of this place."

The menu clatters as I set it back in place, and I make myself look her in the eyes, my smile taunt. "Well, now you do."

Before we can keep droning on and on about this place, the waiter whisks by to drop off the food menus and take our drink order. I have to double-take and blink sharply to make sure I'm seeing straight. The waiter is a tall, dark-skinned boy who expands the balloon in my chest by looking at him. One of the only reasons I know it's not Miles is the hair; rather than intricate braids, this boy has his buzzed. And he's missing that sultry accent. I can't recall if I even said what I want to drink. A gallon of water would be nice to wet my dry throat.

"...otherwise, pop makes my stomach bloat too much. Isn't that weird?" Hannah asks.

My eyes snap away from the retreating waiter and back at Hannah's face. It's sad how these boys don't need a dab of makeup to look so fine, yet she caked her face with the stuff and my heart still doesn't pound in her presence.

I swallow. "That is weird."

"Right? Anyway, do you have any plans for Halloween?" Hannah tucks long, stray pieces of hair behind her ears. She drags her fingers down the strands to lay them over the top of her dress that plunges dangerously low between her breasts. Quickly, she plays it off by dropping her hands to pick up the food menu. Seriously, the amount of trust she has in these outfits to hold her together is almost impressive.

"Um..." I grab my menu and scan it as another excuse not to look at her. It's unbelievable that I couldn't wait to hang around her a few days ago. Now that we're here, I can't wait to get away. "I do."

Silence settles between us for a very weird, long moment before I continue. "My cousins planned this super small Halloween movie night thing. With just our families. It's kind of a new tradition since we're too old to go scrounge the neighborhoods."

"Awww, that sounds like fun!" Hannah croons, her voice as sweet as sugar. "I wish my family and cousins would do fun stuff together like that. Instead, I only get to see them at Christmas. Everyone lives too far away."

I hum in acknowledgment and try reading the menu again. Each letter swims around the page. "What will you be doing then?"

She brightens and sets her menu down. "Ali, a few other girls, and I are going to a party. You know Isaiah?"

I shake my hand and glance up at Hannah. The way she's checking me out makes my skin crawl—and not in a good way.

Undeterred, she keeps talking. "Well, he's one of the lacrosse boys. That team is hosting a Halloween party at his house for the juniors and seniors. Supposedly it's going to be better than the homecoming one."

"Shoot. That's some big talk," I say, which makes Hannah laugh again, although that wasn't supposed to be funny.

Her lips continue to move in a blur. I breathe in and out, trying to keep my composure as I remember the homecoming party.

The memory of Miles head on my lap is razor sharp, clearer than twenty-twenty vision. There's no way I'll ever forget his raspy voice, slurred with addiction. Yet, somehow, he was sober enough to take care of me and respect me. I hear his soft snores in my ear, see how that little dip below his neck rose and fell with each breath, and recall how his curls frizzed in the yellow morning light.

I also remember how not even twelve hours later, his hands were wrapped in my hair, his lips pressed into mine. Self-conscious, I lick them now at the memory.

Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me?

Hannah looks at me expectantly, and I suddenly realize she's waiting for a response to her question. I feel the blood drain from my face. It's like getting caught cheating on a quiz, except instead of a quiz, it's a girl, and I'm cheating on this date by thinking of Miles.

I should've sucked up my fragile masculinity and talked to him on Wednesday. I haven't spoken to him since then. He deserves a text, at the very least.

And I still haven't replied to Hannah.

Before I can ask her to clarify what she asked me, the Miles-that's-not-actually-Miles comes back around to drop off our drinks and get our food orders. I let Hannah go first so I can re-evaluate the menu and choose the first thing I think I'll be able to hold down. There's no need for me to see a mirror. I already know my face is scarlet as my fingers brush against the hot waiter's as he takes our menus. I hold my breath and wait for a wink or some other telling sign, except... he's not Miles.

The waiter doesn't acknowledge the touch as he pockets his little notepad and walks away.

My hands tremble. Tucking them onto my lap, I squeeze my fingers tight to hide my anxiety from Hannah.

She's blissfully unaware of my emotional turmoil as she continues drawling on and on about her food sensitivities. I do my best to listen. It's difficult to pay attention without hearing the musical accent of Miles.

- - -

This was easily one of the worst first dates I've ever been on. Not that I have many other dates to compare this one to, but considering I am one more "Parker" away from splitting my head open on the steering wheel, I think it's safe to assume I'm officially done with Hannah.

She's still as smiley and cheerful as ever. Her candy-pink, almond-shaped acrylics drag lightly up and down over my center console as I pull into her neighborhood. My acting must be much better than I think because I'm shocked she hasn't picked up on the hint yet.

Damn Miles. Everything about my life was so perfect until he showed up. How is it that I've gone this long without being sexually attracted to a boy, then he walks into class, and I'm a lost cause?

I don't count the time I couldn't finish Black Panther because seeing Micheal B. Jordan shirtless was too much for my middle school brain. Or the first season of Euphoria when McKay sent me over the edge more than once.

"Any other plans for the night?" Hannah chirps and points at her house as I drive around the bend. I'm glad she elaborated on the house because they all look the same here. My dad would describe these homes as cookie-cutter houses.

"Nah, I need to go rest for the game tomorrow." I pull into her driveway, and the Audi hums as I slide it into park.

"Isn't it going to be a pretty small game?"

Christ. This girl and her questions. Is this how Miles feels when I get going on my tangents? If it is, then I need to apologize to him personally.

I shrug and watch her fingers slide over the leather on the center console. Up and down. "Small, yes. Important? Also yes. It plays a pretty big part in whether we'll go to state or not. Besides, you know Greyson. All of these games are like the Super Bowl to him."

Hannah laughs for what must be the millionth time tonight. "God, you're right. I don't know how you put up with him." She unbuckles and pushes her hair off her shoulders, exposing every inch of pearly skin.

"It helps that he's my uncle. I'm used to it." I glance between her and the house in front of us. "Alright, well, thanks for taking this night with me. It was..." the word sticks in my throat, "fun."

She smiles so suddenly that I almost have to squint at the brightness.

"It was! Thank you for taking time away from your busy schedule to entertain me." Her eyes swoop over my body before catching on my face again. She catches her lower lip between her teeth. "One last thing..."

Before I know what's happening, Hannah dives towards me like a seagull attacking a french fry. I'm taken off guard by her lips on mine so harshly that I grunt, my eyes wide open.

Hannah mistakes my noise of alarm as a sound of pleasure. She wraps those disgustingly pink nails around my collar and pulls me closer. Her lips, chapped from too many layers of gloss, slipping against mine.

It's so horrifically different from Miles. There's no rhyme or reason— or, maybe, she has a reason, but I don't share that point of view. My gag reflex triggers, and I choke as I find the strength to push her away from me.

Hannah collapses back into her seat, gasping. Whatever smile she had on her face a minute ago is shot as she takes in my revolting look.

"I should go," she says quickly. "Bye, Parker."

With that, she gets out of my car and slams the door so hard that the entire frame shakes. I should be annoyed that she could have ruined the door, but... My brain is somewhere else. I don't want to think about Hannah. For fucks sake, I wasn't thinking about her this entire night. Not even for the kiss. All I keep doing is comparing the feeling of Miles on my mouth against her.

The difference is drastic enough to make goosebumps rake over my skin.

Miles. I need Miles.

I whip my phone out and send him three weighted words.

- - -

For the first time all night, I take a full, deep breath as I come over the hill and see Miles parked in front of my house. It's childish, I know. Except I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a relief to see him here.

I pull my car into the driveway and park on my usual spot on the far side of the pavement. As I turn off the engine and hop out, a grin stretches across my face as I watch Miles walk up the driveway. He looks damn good tonight. Between his fresh braids, a black tshirt, and pine green basketball shorts, my fingertips twitch to rein in the impulse of racing my hands over his deep brown skin. It's a wonder that I mistook that waiter for this boy. Miles is in a league of his own.

Then, Miles goes and opens his big mouth. "Good grief, no wonder you're having girl problems. Is that fuckin' polka dots?"

There's no helping the laugh that escapes my throat. I look down at my shirt and raise my eyebrows. If you were to ask me, this navy shirt with the white polka dots looks pretty friggin' good.

"C'mon, don't give me that. It's been a long night. I don't need your unsolicited opinions," I tease Miles. The car beeps and locks as I walk away. This banter is too effortless and easy. It's exactly what I needed.

"Shit, you obviously do if you're walking around looking like that." Miles smirks and gives me a look that I can't decipher as sexual or accusatory. "Speaking of, why, exactly, did I drag my rearend out of bed to come here?"

"Because we have lots to discuss." I wave my hand and walk towards the house. "Let's go around to the back. First, I need some water."

"Sure," Miles replies and tucks his hands into his pockets as he follows me. I watch him from my peripheral vision, and I can tell he's trying to hide his amazement at this neighborhood, this house. I don't like to assume, but if I had to, this is probably the nicest house Miles has ever been to. And considering how he goes from amazed to downright stupefaction as we walk through the front door, my point is proven.

"You can keep your shoes on," I say to Miles as the front door clicks shut behind him. He nods, his brown eyes full of wonder as he takes in the foyer that's almost bigger than his kitchen back home.

"Parker? Is someone here?" A voice from the kitchen calls.

"Shit," I hiss under my breath and glance at Miles. "I'm sorry. I assumed my parents would've been in bed by now."

"That's okay. I'm an expert at playing off these situations." Miles winks, and I roll my eyes, planting an elbow in his ribs before walking forward. He stifles a giggle.

"Yeah," I call back out to my mom in response. "A friend stopped by, and I..." The excuse dies on my lips—every nerve in my brain short circuits. There's no good reason for Miles to be here at this time of night.

Mom comes around the corner of the kitchen, a mug of steaming tea in her hands. It's just my luck that dad follows close behind her with a cookie in his hand, his lips quirked as he examines Miles.

"I was in the area and wanted to see your guys' lovely house. Rumor has it that someone has a killer car collection," Miles says smoothly, all smiles and soft brown eyes. Fuck him and his chivalry. He steps forward and offers my mom his hand. "I'm Miles. It's nice to meet you guys."

"Oh, the pleasure is ours." Mom returns his easy smile and handshake, even though I can spot her confusion beneath the surface.

I never bring anyone over. Ever. Aside from my cousins, hardly any of my other friends have seen this place, much less at such a late hour. I can only imagine what she's thinking.

"I'm Quinn, Parker's mom. I apologize that I didn't prepare anything. I didn't realize we were going to have a guest tonight."

"Jesus. Don't worry about that, trust me, ma'am. Just being in a clean, quiet house is a treat." Miles turns to dad and offers him a hand as well. If he's nervous being around an older male the same age as his own father, he doesn't show it.

My dad beams and brushes cookie crumbs off of his palm before grabbing Miles hand. "Emmett. I agree with you. My wife is a little..." Dad hums knowingly. Miles laughs as my mom cuffs dads' shoulder.

"Sue me because I like being hospitable!" Mom scoffs and tucks her freshly-done blonde hair behind her ears. "As much as I'd love to talk more with you, Miles, I'm afraid we're both off to bed. Hopefully we'll see you soon?" She casts a quick look at me, and her eyebrow quirks so fast that I nearly miss it.

Her silent question goes unspoken. What's this boy doing here?

I'll be fucked if I even know.

"You will. He's coming over on Sunday," I say and scratch my neck.

"Oh good! The more, the merrier!" Dad crows and slaps Miles shoulder as he walks past. He pats my head lovingly in a passing greeting as he heads for the stairs, then comes to a fast halt. "That's right! Parker, how was your date tonight?"

Right when I was starting to forget it. I paste on a smile. "It was alright. It could've been better, though. We can take about it more tomorrow. Sleep good, guys."

"Sorry to hear that, honey. At least you gave it a shot!" Mom kisses my hair as she walks past. "I'll look forward to hearing about it. Goodnight, boys!"

Miles and I say good night in unison. We both walk into the kitchen, and I wait to hear the sound of their bedroom door click shut before turning to him.

"Oh my god." I groan and run a hand down my face. "I'm so sorry about them!"

"For what?" Miles laughs and leans against the counter in a manner that makes my blood run hot.

"I don't know. They're embarrassing. I'm sorry if it was weird," I apologize again as I pull a glass down from the cabinet.

"Park," Miles speaks my nickname in such a way that the blood rushing in my ears overpowers the sound of the water pouring into the glass. "I've had parents throw shoes at me, send me death threats, and use my skin color as an excuse to be a bitch. Your folks are the farthest thing from weird."

I turn and rest my hips against the counter as I sip my water and look at him for a moment. It will never stop baffling me how he can talk about these topics with a straight face as if they're totally normal.

Swallowing, I look away and set my glass down. "Well... still."

"Well, my ass. Pop a Xanax, baby. So, what did you want to talk about?" Miles tilts his head.

That same stupid blush erupts over my cheeks. Baby. I know he didn't use that word with a sexual connotation, but ever since we shared that kiss, it's too easy to jump to conclusions.

I take this chance to put my back to Miles and walk towards the back door, sliding it open. Miles follows me and shuts it behind us as I talk.

"I have to get this dumb date off of my chest. I know that you'll be able to relate the most because I think this was a dumb thing for me to do." Soft grass cushions my shoes as I walk out to the middle of the yard and sit down. "Have you ever unintentionally led someone on before?"

Miles nods and sits down next to me. He gets comfortable effortlessly and stretches his legs out. "Many times. Don't beat yourself up over it."

"I know I shouldn't, yet..." I shake my head and watch Miles pull two things out of his pocket: a joint and a lighter.

He glances at me from under his eyelashes when I go quiet and blinks. "Is it cool if I smoke out here?"

Hesitating, I glance back at the house. My parents' room is on the other side of the house, and besides, they're in bed. Not that they would care, anyway.

"That— That's fine," I stutter and glance away as he flicks his finger over the lighter. After a moment, the smokey, grassy smell wraps around my head. "Like I was saying, it's difficult not to overthink it. Hannah has always been so sweet, and she's easy on the eyes."

Miles chuckles. White smoke floats toward the starry sky. "I'm a gay boy, and I'd even tap that."

"TMI. But also, point proven." I scowl at the thought of him laying his hands on a girl. Especially since his fingers held my body so easily already. "She's been a friend of mine for a long time, and I don't mind talking to her, except recently, it's been a chore. I think she's reading too deep into things."

"Who initiated the date?" Miles asks and lays back on the lawn, bringing the smoldering blunt to his lips.

I can't resist lying down next to him. "Hannah did. I think I only agreed out of guilt." The following words stick in my throat. "She kissed me when I dropped her off, and I pushed her away. I don't know which of us was more embarrassed."

Miles hums, and smoke trickles from his nostrils. I've seen hundreds of people use that trick before, except this is the first time it has given me a hard-on.

"You can look at this situation as negatively as you want, Park, but maybe this was a good thing. If you hadn't taken the chance to take her out, you never would've known that you don't like her in that way."

I exhale and spot a satellite slowly creeping across the night sky. "I dunno. I don't think that she's really my type."

Miles shifts, the grass crinkling under his weight. "What is your type, then?"

I jolt, his question catching me off guard. The answer might be obvious if it weren't for the fact that I emotionally pushed him away, too, earlier this week.

I roll my head to the side to look at him, the blades of grass pressing against my cheek. Thank god that he's not watching me because he can't see the war happening inside of my head.

On the contrary, Miles eyes are fluttered half shut, one of his hands resting on his stomach. The other holds the blunt to his mouth.

Moonlight illuminates the smoke that rolls out of his mouth, and he inhales again, that same white cloud rolling into his nose.

Usually, I'd be repulsed by the sight of smoking or the smell of weed, but truthfully, that was fucking hot. It's difficult to bash his bad habits when he looks as fine as he does right now.

Every inch of Miles skin is illuminated like angels poured silver glitter over him. His fresh braids press onto the Earth, each strand as inky as the sky above us.

No part of his body isn't tastefully sculpted, almost like he took a shearing knife to his muscles before coming here simply to carve out a perfect body to tease me with.

His tshirt pulls taunt with each breath. The fabric catches on his muscles.

The words are caught in the back of my throat.

You. You have always been my type.

Instead, I snort. "Whatever it is, it sure as hell wasn't her."

Miles chokes on his next inhale and starts to cough as he holds his blunt away from him, his chest raking with laughs as he rolls onto his elbow, covering his mouth with his forearm as he hacks and guffaws.

A smile splits my face, and I sit up to snatch the blunt from his fingers. "What, you think I'm joking?! Give me this shit. I need a pull to forget about this awful night."

Miles keeps chuckling as his coughing subsides. He wipes tears out of his eyes and eyes me as I hold his prized possession. "That must've been one terrible kiss if you're smoking to forget about it. Have you ever had weed before?"

"Once. Last year at a party, I tried it, but I'm pretty sure it was laced." With those words, I hesitate. "Is this...?"

A corner of Miles mouth tilts. "What's my philosophy on drugs again?"

"... Never mix them?"

"Good boy. You're fine. That's all natur-ale. Nothing is out of the ordinary with that blend."

I roll my eyes again to play off how deeply his choice of words affects me. Good boy. Why not roll over and have sex with me right here instead?

Instead, I bring the appropriate end to my mouth and take a long drag. A burning sensation crawls down my throat and lights up inside of my lungs before quickly turning into more of a dull itch. I take the roll away from my mouth and cough on the smoke that escapes my mouth, covering my mouth with my other hand as I pass it back over.

"How the hell is that enjoyable for you?" I'm able to sputter in between coughs.

Miles laughs and takes it back. "When you're born and raised around it, it comes naturally. Easy on the inhale, this isn't cheap frat boy lettuce. And it's the only one I packed."

I nod and utter one more final cough, letting him take a few more drags before sticking my hand back out. He passes it back over, and I take another, more successful pull this time. Still, I wince at the sensation of smoke.

Miles lays back down on the grass and tucks an arm under his head as he watches me. "So, speaking of, do you want to talk about what happened last weekend?"

His words stop me in my tracks. I hesitate and take one more inhale. I'll need it if this is what we'll be talking about next.

"Um..." I hum and pass the joint over again. Our fingers brush, and electricity races up my arm. "I don't know what to say. That, I, you..." I ramble and wave my hands around in front of me. "I don't know."

Miles is quiet. More smoke fades into the sky.

That answer isn't good enough, so I try again. "I don't know. I guess... I got caught up in the moment. I'm sorry that I ran from you all week long. There's this irrational fear in me that you would tell people that... You know." Pausing, I look down at Miles. "You'd think I know you well enough by now that you wouldn't spread rumors like that."

Miles blinks up at me in a way that's supposed to be harmless. Yet, from this angle of him below me and with a good amount of weed in my bloodstream, it's too easy to imagine him looking at me from between my legs.

That mental picture does nothing for the case I'm trying to plead here.

"Rumors..." Miles says slowly and shakes out the embers on his fingers from the blunt that's now reduced to ashes. "You're right. I would never say a word about something like that." He goes quiet for a moment and rolls onto his back before continuing at a much quieter volume. "If it means anything to you, I was surprised too. You're a fairly good kisser. I guess."

Miles smirks another shit-eating smirk.

Scoffing, I flourish my hand. "'I guess'?! Come on. It was a much damn better kiss than tonight, that's for sure."

"Uh-huh, I can imagine. You sure didn't push me away." Miles grins and arches his back as he stretches, a small sliver of dark skin showing at the bottom of his shirt.

My gaze catches on that spot. It's definitely the weed talking now because I've never felt such a strong urge to touch him before.

Okay, that's a stretch because there have been plenty of nights where I've been feverish for Miles, but still. Point made.

He notices my silence and my staring. This time he moves slower, his hand inching across empty space.

I look down where his slender fingers stop a few inches away from mine. I move as slowly as he did to cross the space and intertwine our fingers—Miles dark skin clashes with mine. There has never been a more beautiful sight.

This time there's no hesitation. I don't look at Miles, yet I don't stop myself either as I lean over his upper body and shut my eyes, pressing another soft, willing kiss to his lips. My elbow presses into the grass as our hands stay woven together.

Another bout of adrenaline courses through my veins, or it's the hormones. It's difficult to think about how strained my boxers are when our lips move so fluidly with each other. When we're sharing the same breath.

Miles mouth gently slides and opens against mine. Comparing Hannah's kiss to this one is like measuring a crack in the sidewalk against the Grand Canyon.

It's steady and grand, astonishing in its beauty and wonder. It leaves no thoughts except, how can I live on the same Earth as this marvelous force of nature?

It's likely the weed talking, but this is the best kiss I've ever had in my life.

It ends too soon. Too fast.

Miles presses a hand against my sternum and gently pushes me up. He sneaks his hand out from underneath mine. His words are quieter than a whisper, although I hear them like a scream. "You're high, Parker. Don't do this."

Don't do this.

Isn't he the outed gay kid? Why isn't he pulling me on top, tearing my shirt off, and fucking me on the lawn with the moon as our only witness?

That thought alone makes me dizzy. I sway. Nod.

"I know. Hey, do you want to play basketball?"

One topic is buried under the next. Miles smiles, his lips soft and tinged pink and still very kissable.

I dig my nails into the earth to keep from leaning down on him again. My greatest friend. My safe space. My harbor.

Miles staggers to his feet and helps me up.

The stars watch us play together, dancing around and laughing as Miles proceeds to show me exactly how he gathered all those medals on his wall.

Only they, the moon, and I know the secret.

Not the secret of our shared kisses or the fact that I suck ass at basketball.

The secret that I'm undeniably falling in love with Miles.