Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
I laugh under my breath, a shaky sound. “You’re insane.”
“Probably.”
“And you think that fixes the fact that I don’t know your name?”
His mouth curves. “Miles is who matters. Friends, family, and everyone in between know me as Miles. But since it seems important to you. My name by birth is Dixon Hardison.”
The name lands heavier than it should. “Dixon,” I repeat more to myself than him. He nods. “And you already know mine.” I add the obvious. I look away, my chest tight. “I’m here for Josie, for Journey. I can’t complicate things.”
“I know why you’re here,” he whispers gently. “That’s part of why I’m asking to take you out and not just showing up and taking you.”
I don’t answer because this is insanity. Normal people don’t just get taken, literally taken out to dinner. Then again, normal people don’t get held at gun point, take a man home, stitch him up, to later sleep with him. Nothing about Dixon “Miles” Hardison is normal. Which only makes my curiosity for how good dinner might be climb even higher. I nod just once, my body answering before my mind can stop me.
He smiles, satisfied but not smug. “Tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll pick you up at five.”
When he leaves, the house feels different. Charged. Like something has shifted. I don’t sleep much after that.
In the morning, Josie catches me staring into my coffee like it owes me answers.
“You look like hell,” she remarks cheerfully.
“Thanks.”
She squints at me. “You didn’t sleep.”
“I slept,” I lie. “Just lightly.”
She studies me a second longer, then grins. “You gonna tell me why Miles was here last night?”
My coffee nearly goes everywhere. “What?”
“Oh, please,” she states with a dramatic wave of her hands. “Raff told me he stopped by when I heard a noise and woke up. He didn’t say why, but I saw your face this morning. So if Miles was here and my man didn’t get out of bed to see him, and you got this look like you want the floor to swallow you whole, I think Miles was here for you.”
I close my eyes. “I need to tell you something. And you have to promise not to judge.”
Her grin widens as she nods with enthusiasm. “I love when you say that.”
“Miles is the one-night stand,” I blurt it out.
The silence lasts exactly half a second. Josie squeals. “You are kidding me.”
“Um, nope, not kidding. This is somehow my life. I get reckless and do something out of character and boom, life puts it right back in my face.”
“Oh my God,” she says, clapping her hands. “Oh my God. Danae.”
“I don’t know how this happened,” I say, panic rising. “I didn’t know he was, I swear. I didn’t know he knew you. I didn’t know any of this.”
She grabs my hands. “This is amazing.”
“No, it’s overwhelming.”
“Same thing,” she says easily. “Are you going out with him before you leave?”
I groan. “Yes.”
She beams. “I knew it. I love this for you.”
I press my palms to my eyes. “He’s here. I’m here. I didn’t plan any of this. And Josie Mosie, you are way too excited for something that isn’t going to work.”
Josie’s voice softens. “You don’t have to plan everything, Danae.”
That’s the problem. I always do. I like having a plan. I like order and organization. I don’t like surprises and unknowns.
The rest of the day crawls. I help with Journey. I fold laundry. I nod at conversations I barely hear.
By late afternoon, I’m standing in the guest bathroom staring at my reflection, trying to decide who I’m supposed to be tonight. I don’t recognize the woman looking back at me. She looks vulnerable. Terrified.
More than anything though, the woman looking back at me, she looks alive.
I choose a simple flowy tank top and jeans. Nothing fancy. Something that feels like me. I wear my hair down in waves, my makeup soft, subtle, but with a little shimmer on my eyes. I’m not overdone, but I’m a step above the casual way he normally sees me.
When I hear the bike outside, my heart stutters. Am I really going to do this?
Miles knocks like a normal person this time. I take a breath and open the door.
And whatever this is, whatever it’s going to be, begins now.
Nine
Miles
I don’t tell her everything at once.
Some things deserve space. Time. The slow stretch of miles unspooling beneath us instead of sitting heavy between two plates and a flickering candle.
When I pull up in front of Raff’s place, I head to the door and knock like I’m a damn teenager. She answers and takes my breath away. Simple outfit, loose but nice, satin type material shirt. It’s red. Bare arms. Hair down. She looks like she’s put a little time into the style but stayed true to herself, and it hits me right in the chest. She’s in a pair of black jeans that fit like a second skin making my dick hard because the woman has an ass meant for grabbing. I resist the urge to pull her in and cup that ass because we need to do more than me take her over my shoulder to the bedroom and fuck her senseless. Even though, I really want to.