Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
“I prefer cock and clit,” I say, laughing so hard my stomach hurts.
“I prefer my—” He stops himself, but I think we both know where he was going.
I relax into the seat, surprised at how easy this is after all—accepting his help. I’d planned to do it all myself, mostly to prove that I could. But maybe I don’t always have to. Sometimes it’s nice to let someone else step in. Then again, the answer might be a whole lot simpler: I like being with Miles.
It’s not just the sandalwood scent of his cologne, or the way his wild hair flops over his eyes, or even the way his eyes are so expressive and thoughtful. It’s all of it—him.
“Thanks again,” I say, glancing at him once more, my chest a little fizzy with gratitude, “for showing up as my Lyft in shining armor.”
“Happy to do it,” he says with a casual shrug.
“I didn’t expect it.”
“I know,” he says, seeming a little amused.
“I wasn’t sure what to say at first when you arrived,” I admit.
“The correct response is—Miles, you’re fucking amazing and I’ve found a portal to a parallel universe where I can ride your cock tonight.”
A laugh bursts from me. “Yes, take me to that portal right now.”
He taps the GPS on the car’s console, then says in an authoritative tone: “GPS—take me to the secret sex portal where there are no consequences.”
The GPS doesn’t answer, of course, but I do, speaking in a cool, robotic tone, “Take the first left at the light.”
With the panache of a man who wants a woman, he flicks on the turn signal for a hot second, before turning it off with a resigned sigh.
Not bothering to hide my appreciation for his effort, I add, “You were kind of determined to give me a ride, it turns out.”
“I was,” he says, owning it.
“I thought I could do it all myself,” I say, an admission.
“Yeah, but you didn’t have to.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime,” he says, and I believe him—that his anytime means he’ll show up. I like that feeling—the belief that he’ll do what he says. On the one hand, I’m used to it from my dad and my sister; on the other hand, I certainly never felt it with my mom, or any of the guys I’ve dated.
The GPS guides him onto my block, past a Mexican restaurant and a mural painted on the side of a building. It’s of a high heel kicking the word Patriarchy. I point to it. “That’s one of Maeve’s murals and one of my favorite things about this neighborhood. That, and the nachos.”
“You had me at nachos,” Miles says, his tone teasing, before he adds, “but that’s a cool mural too, and so’s the sentiment. Maeve’s got skills.”
“She truly does.”
He shoots me a more serious look as he pulls over outside my building. Spanish music filters out from a nearby corner store. “And yeah, I was determined,” he says. “Because when I asked if you needed a ride, you said you’d be okay.”
I flash back to last night and the words I’d brushed off. “That’s true.”
“But you didn’t say that you didn’t need one,” he says with a knowing grin.
“Another technicality,” I tease.
“I’m excellent at loopholes.” His voice is low and raspy, and the sound weaves through me. But it’s those dark brown eyes that catch my attention most—they’re deep and soulful, and he looks at me like this—here—is the only place he wants to be.
Well, besides that portal.
And maybe I like his persistence because it’s familiar. I understand it. It’s what drives me too. Showing up the way he did seems to say that he understands me—that I won’t always ask for help, but I might actually—gasp—enjoy it. And perhaps need it too.
“Plus, it’s what a friend would do,” he adds.
“And we’re friends.”
“We are,” he says.
I toss him back a smile. “Then, let’s put those muscles to use carrying my suitcases.”
“With so much pleasure,” he says with a wink that makes my damn stomach flutter.
Again.
24
SUSTAINABLE PLEASURE
Leighton
Great. Just great. My once-again roomies have commandeered the living room for a public therapy session.
Indigo stands with her hands clasped to her chest, her long braid trailing down her back. “I am feeling frustrated,” she says in a calm, measured tone, “because I reminded you this morning to move the bamboo out of Leighton’s room. It upsets me that you didn’t do it.”
Ezra hangs his head low, his man bun drooping in solidarity. Even his beard looks defeated.
“It’s okay. We can move the bamboo,” I offer, trying to sidestep the roomie drama on night one. I really just want the bamboo out of my room. Miles is in there, setting down grocery bags.
Indigo lifts a hand in a regal stop gesture. “Thank you, Leighton. But Ezra needs to honor my feelings about this.”
My head spins. Too much honoring happening.