Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“Have you always been an artist?” I lean against the counter and watch as Miles starts browning the ground beef.
“For as long as I can remember. I’ve always loved art.”
“I bet your dad is proud,” I say, but the look on his face tells me it was absolutely the wrong thing. “Okay, so maybe not. My bad. I’m sorry.”
“We have a complicated relationship. But no, he’s not proud of my art. He wanted me to do something practical.”
“Maybe our dads are long-lost brothers,” I joke.
“And now I’m fucking my cousin.”
“I mean, it wouldn’t be our fault. We didn’t know,” I tease, and he laughs along with me, before he sobers.
“It’s not like that with my dad, though. It’s not the same as what you described about yours. He lost himself when my mom died, and in that, he left me.”
Shit. I don’t know what he means by that, and I want to ask him so badly, but I also don’t want to push. It’s not as easy for Miles to open up as it is for me, and I never want him to feel obligated to share anything before he’s ready. Plus, we already had a heavy afternoon. I just want to spend time with him right now, so I say, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad feelings.”
“Bad feelings are always there.”
Jesus. Whatever he’s been through, he’s definitely been hurt. There’s so much sadness in him, so much pain. I want nothing more than to make him feel better. “But I bet I help.” I smirk.
“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t,” he replies, and I wait, letting him decide where the conversation goes next. “You like spaghetti, right?”
“I fucking love it.” I push up so I’m sitting on the countertop, making myself comfortable, and Miles cocks a brow at me.
We chat about school and everyday shit while he cooks. At one point, he walks by me, and I wrap my legs around him, pulling him close. Miles comes easily, his hands on my thighs as I lower my mouth to his. He lets me lead the kiss, and I take it slow, give myself a long, deep exploration of his mouth, his hands sliding up and down my legs, then my torso and back down again. I nibble at his lips, relish the taste of him, until his hand lands on my throat again, squeezing just enough to make my dick plump even more. “Be good,” I say, pulling away. “We’re getting to know each other, and then we’re eating.”
“You’re the one who started kissing me.”
“You’re annoyingly addicting,” I admit, and I swear Miles beams. First time I’ve seen that. He seems to want me as much as I want him, and there’s something incredibly intoxicating about that. “I think the pasta is done.”
He bites my bottom lip, then heads back to the stove.
“You fucker,” I complain, but I like what he did.
We eat on the couch, Miles putting on a show about queer men in the military. One episode ends, another starts, but he doesn’t ask me to leave, and I don’t try to go. I don’t want to go.
“You know what I like?” I ask.
“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
I chuckle at his grumpy response. “Cuddling.”
“Ew.”
“Aw, come on. It can be fun. Human touch is good for you. At least, it’s good for me.”
“I’m not the cuddling type.”
“How do you know if you haven’t tried it? Maybe you’ll like it with me.”
He watches me, one brow cocked, gaze studying. “Maybe you’re the annoyingly addicting one,” he says but wraps an arm around me, and I settle against him. He smells like paint, but also, strangely, like a cool fall day—when the weather is just about to change, and everything is orange. I wonder what color he would see himself as. He used yellow for me. Despite the dark edges, the shadows I see in him, I like orange for Miles.
That’s my last thought before I fall asleep.
19
Miles
It’s frustrating drawing Dax in class now. I don’t want to aim for the most accurate version of him, which is the point of the class. I want to draw the real Dax, the one I feel like I’ve seen much more of in the past few weeks, since we’ve been on some kind of sexathon after I made that ass exclusively mine.
He doesn’t make it any easier by posing like a goddamn slut.
Not that it’s any sluttier than anything he did before, but it’s not as easy to draw when I’m constantly shifting around to make room for my boner. And it would probably help if I didn’t keep shooting daggers at my classmate Hughey. He seems like a nice enough guy. Shy, keeps to himself, which I get, but he better raise his eyes a little, or I’m liable to flip my canvas and show him how to respect a model.