Funny Story(64)

He’s got an arm hooked around her waist, and she’s set a hand proprietarily on his chest. “You been harboring a secret bartender fantasy?” Peter asks dryly.

And once again, I’m mostly sure he’s not trying to be a dick to me, but I’m also sure he does mean to be a dick to Miles.

Judging from Petra’s gaping mouth and tight brow, she thinks so too.

And then there’s Miles, who I feel tense behind me, even though he’s still smiling, one hand still gently rubbing over my hip bone like he’s not bothered at all.

I am. I’m bothered.

“No,” I say firmly, turning in to Miles. I loop my own arms around his waist, basically propping my boobs up on his chest, and gazing into his eyes as I say, “But the roommate thing is pretty hot.”

Miles’s pupils flare as he takes the cue, one hand cupping my jaw, and kisses me.

And I’ve kissed Miles in front of Peter before—a kiss that was a move in a game—but this feels different.

This one is the prize.

Slow, soft, familiar. A relief of a kiss, and over way, way too soon, though from the way Petra is gawking at us, you’d think we’d just performed a handstanding sixty-nine in front of God and everyone.

Miles knots his hand through mine, his knuckles tightening as he clears his throat. “Excuse us,” he says. “I’ve been waiting all week to dance with Daphne.”

He tugs me away from them, and I follow, brain foggy but heart racing as it all replays.

The light, upward brush of his lips, the pressure of his tongue, the way his hand rolled back and forth across my hip bone while his other tilted my jaw to the perfect angle.

We draw to a stop near the center of the dance floor, the twinkling lights seeming to shimmer and dance across his face as the mirror ball twirls over us. “You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, good,” I say, voice small.

“Good,” he says, and folds his fingers through mine again, drawing me in, already slightly swaying along to Neil Young’s “Harvest Moon.” He sets his other hand against my back, every motion so slow, so considered, every second engraving itself into my memory.

“I’m sorry,” I say. His brow furrows. “For what Peter said.”

“Ah.” His shoulder twitches toward a shrug. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” I say.

“It’s nothing I didn’t hear from Petra’s family for the last three years,” he replies.

My hand involuntarily clenches into the fabric of his shirt, like that will do any good, protect him from anyone who doesn’t understand what kind of gift he is.

“I thought you said they were nice,” I say.

“No, they were.” Another shrug, a sidelong dart of his eyes before they drop. “Every once in a while, though, there were comments. ‘Must be nice not to have to grow up.’ Things like that.”

“Miles. That’s not nice.”

“She always thought I was reading too much into it,” he says. “But I think they were worried I couldn’t give Petra everything they want for her.”

“Then they’re not only mean, they’re also stupid.”

“They had a point,” he says. “I’ve never been good under pressure. I would’ve fucked it up eventually.”

“Based on what?” I demand.

His smile is rueful. “History.”

For several seconds, neither of us speaks. We just slowly sway and turn with the music. “Thank you, by the way,” he murmurs. “For what you said to Peter.”

It takes me a second to remember what I said, and then the lava starts coursing through my face. “Sorry about that.”

Miles laughs. “No, don’t be embarrassed.” He touches my cheek for a second, then feels my blush with the backs of his fingers. “It was amazing. I think Peter’s soul left his body for a second.”

The flirty, nervous buzz in my chest dies at the mention of Peter. I know I’ve been a willing participant in this whole game, but the closer I get to Miles, the harder it is to tell what’s real.

“Well, what’s embarrassing about copping to a roommate sex fantasy right after your ex’s hot fiancée calls you dowdy?”

“She did not call you dowdy,” Miles says. He twirls me, pulls me back in closer, our bodies fitting snugly together, every point of friction its own little sun, heat and gravity and heat and gravity.

“Defend her all you want, Miles—”

“I’m not defending her,” he says. “I know she didn’t say that, because there’s no way she thinks that. I mean, obviously, you’re . . .” His eyes cascade down me.

“It’s fine,” I promise. “I’m fine with how I look, except when I have to stand next to my ex’s superhot girlfriend and really underscore the trade-up.”

Miles stops moving abruptly. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” I say. “Something better always comes along. That’s my curse.”

“Daphne.” He gives a low, scraping laugh, but his eyes stay serious. “You can’t see him right now, but Peter is literally standing in a gap at the edge of the dance floor, watching your every move, and in a second, I’m going to turn you ninety degrees and kiss you again, and when I stop, I want you to look to your left and see his face. Then you can tell me if he thinks his new life, without you, is something better.”