“Hey, it’s Miles. Corbin is fine.” He pauses for a few seconds. “Yeah, she’s fine. I’ll tell her to call you in the morning.” A few more seconds pass, and he says good-bye. He sets the phone on the couch beside him. “Your mom.”
I nod. I already knew.
And that simple gesture, him calling my mother, just made me fall for him even harder.
Now he’s kissing the top of my head, rubbing his hand up and down my arm reassuringly.
“Thank you, Miles,” I tell him.
He doesn’t say you’re welcome, because he doesn’t think he did anything that deserves thanking.
“Did you know them?” I ask. “The crew on board?”
“No. They were out of a different hub. The names didn’t sound familiar.”
My phone vibrates, so Miles hands it back to me. I look at it, and it’s a text from Corbin.
Corbin: In case you’ve heard about the plane, just want you to know I’m fine. I called headquarters, and Miles is, too. Please let Mom know if she hears about it. Love you.
Receiving his text fills me with even more relief, now that I know with one hundred percent certainty that he’s okay.
“It’s a text from Corbin,” I tell Miles. “He says you’re okay. In case you were worried.”
Miles laughs. “So he checked up on me?” he says with a grin. “I knew he couldn’t hate me forever.”
I smile. I love that Corbin wanted me to know that Miles was okay.
Miles continues to hold me, and I savor every second of it.
“When is he scheduled to come home?”
“Not for two more days,” I say. “How long have you been home?”
“About two minutes,” he says. “I had just plugged my phone in to charge when you called.”
“I’m glad you’re back.”
He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t tell me he’s glad to be back. Instead of saying something that might give me false hope, he just kisses me.
“You know,” he says, pulling me onto his lap, “I hate the circumstances surrounding the reason you probably didn’t have time to put on pants, but I love that you don’t have on pants.” His hands slide up my thighs, and he pulls me closer until we’re flush together. He kisses the tip of my nose, then kisses my chin.
“Miles?” I run my hands through his hair and down his neck, then pause with them on his shoulders. “I was also scared it could have been you,” I whisper. “That’s why I’m glad you’re back.”
His eyes grow soft, and the worry lines between them disappear. I may not know anything about his past or his life, but I definitely notice that he hasn’t called anyone to let them know he’s okay. That makes me sad for him.
His eyes fall away from mine and land on my chest. He fingers the bottom edges of my shirt, then slowly pulls it over my head. I have nothing but a pair of panties on now.
He leans forward, wraps his arms around my back, and pulls me against his mouth. His lips close softly over my nipple, and my eyes shut involuntarily. Chills erupt over my skin as his hands begin to explore every bare part of my back and my thighs. His mouth works its way to my other breast, just as his hands slip inside my panties at my hips.
“I think I have to rip these off you, because I sure don’t want you to move off my lap,” he says.
I smile. “Fine with me. I have more where these came from.”
I can feel him grin against my skin as his hands pull at the elastic band of my underwear. He pulls on one side but fails to tear them. He tries ripping the other side to pull them off me, but nothing gives.
“You’re giving me a wedgie,” I say, laughing.
He lets out a frustrated sigh. “It’s always so much sexier when they do this on TV.”
I readjust myself and sit up straighter. “Try it again,” I encourage. “You can do it, Miles.”
He grabs the left side of my panties and yanks them hard.
“Ouch!” I yell, scooting in the direction of his pull to lessen the pain of the elastic digging into my right side.
He laughs again and drops his face to my neck. “Sorry,” he says. “Got any scissors?”
I cringe at the thought of him coming at me with a pair of scissors. I scoot off of him and stand up, then pull my underwear down, kicking them off and away from me.
“Watching you do that was totally worth my failed attempt at being sexy,” he says.
I smile. “Your failed attempt at being sexy actually made you sexy.”
My comment makes him laugh again. I walk toward him and climb back onto his lap. He repositions me so that I’m straddling him again. “My failures are a turn-on for you?” he asks teasingly.
“Oh, yeah,” I murmur. “So hot.”
His hands are on me again, roaming across my back and down my arms. “You would have loved me from the ages of thirteen to sixteen,” he says. “I failed at pretty much everything. Especially football.”
I grin. “Now we’re talking. Tell me more.”
“Baseball,” he says, right before he presses his mouth to my neck. He kisses his way up to my ear. “And one semester of world geography.”
“Holy shit.” I moan. “Now, that’s hot.”
He moves his lips to my mouth and pulls me in for a soft kiss. He barely touches his mouth to mine. “I failed at kissing, too. Terribly. I almost choked a girl with my tongue once.”
I laugh.
“Want me to show you?”
As soon as I nod, he’s repositioning us on the couch until I’m lying on my back and he’s on top of me. “Open your mouth.”
I open it. He drops his mouth to mine and shoves his tongue inside, giving me what is quite possibly the worst kiss I’ve ever experienced. I push against his chest, attempting to get his tongue out of my mouth, but he doesn’t budge. I turn my face to the left, and he begins licking my cheek, causing me to laugh even harder.
“Oh, my God, that was terrible, Miles!”
He pulls his mouth away and lowers himself on top of me. “I got better.”
I nod. “That’s a fact,” I say, agreeing wholeheartedly.
We’re both smiling. The relaxed look on his face fills me with so many emotions I can’t even begin to classify them. I’m happy, because we’re having fun together. I’m sad, because we’re having fun together. I’m angry, because we’re having fun together and it makes me want so much more of this. So much more of him.
We quietly stare at each other, until he slowly dips his head, pressing a long kiss against my lips. He begins placing soft kisses all over my mouth until the kisses become longer and more intense. His tongue eventually parts my lips, and the playfulness disappears.
It’s quite serious now, as our kisses grow more hurried and his clothes begin to join mine on the floor, piece by piece.
“The couch or your bed?” he whispers.
“Both,” I reply.
He obliges.
???
I fell asleep in my bed.
Next to Miles.
Neither of us has ever fallen asleep afterward before. One of us always leaves. As much as I’m trying to convince myself that it means nothing, I know it does. Every time we’re together, I get a little bit more of him. Whether it’s a glimpse of his past or time spent without the sex or even time spent sleeping, he’s giving me more and more of himself, little by little. I feel like this is both good and bad. It’s good, because I want and need so much more of him, so every little bit I get is enough to satisfy me when I begin worrying about everything I don’t get from him. But it’s also bad, because every time I get a little bit more of him, another part of him grows more distant. I can see it in his eyes. He’s worried he’s giving me hope, and I’m afraid he’ll eventually just pull away completely.