Edge of Midnight (McClouds & Friends #4)(71)

Speaking of drags. Of all the things currently getting her down, Miles topped the list. It was so hard to accept, that he was definitively blowing her off. They’d been friends forever. He knew her embarrassing secrets, all the crazy shit she’d done, and he’d accepted her anyway.

Not anymore. He’d abruptly cut off the total acceptance part.

She’d known that he had a thing for her, of course, but what could she do about that? She’d never led him on. She’d been clear from the start that he wasn’t her type, that she just wanted to be friends.

Call her shallow, but when it came to romance and sex, she went for big, gorgeous, muscular guys. Like, duh. So shoot her, already.

It was so hard. She kept on wanting to talk to Miles about all her problems, all the weird stuff that happened. She missed his sarcastic, funny take on things. Life was flat, without Miles to bullshit about it with. And he was so freaking brainy, too. It had been super convenient, having a crazy smart, insanely competent best friend. Like being smart herself, but without the effort and the bother. How awesome was that.

At least she had the satisfaction of knowing he still missed her. Or why would he have used her for his Mina profile?

That had given her an idea. A favor she could offer him, in return for helping record Javier’s tape. She wasn’t asking any more free favors.

Not while she was still smarting from that crack about her being a concubine, when she was not.

That had stung. Months of working eighteen hours a day, keeping her nose clean, saving up for first, last and security on the Seattle house in September, and he thought she was just a slut any guy could buy for a couple of lines of coke. Ouch.

She peeked around to see if Miles’s new wheels were parked outside the dojo, but she didn’t see the car. She ran up the stairs, nose wrinkling at the overpowering odor of sweat. A karate class was taking place, she saw through the glass window, kids dressed in their white outfits, going through a sequence of kicks and punches.

She pushed the door open and leaned on the frame, spotting Miles off to the side, correcting the posture of a kid with a green belt knotted around his gi. Miles knocked the kid’s knees out to widen his stance, tugged his arm out, nudged the back arm higher, and said something that made the kid laugh. He held up his hand at shoulder height and jerked his chin, go. The kid swung his leg back, and kicked at Miles’s hand, over and over. Sometimes he hit, sometimes he missed. They tried it from the side, from the front, from the back again.

Cindy was startled. Miles looked different. She hadn’t gotten the full effect in the dark basement. Hair in a ponytail. No glasses. He grinned at the kid, said something encouraging. He didn’t look like the vampirish Goth geek freak she knew and loved. He looked, well, cute. He had a black belt knotted around his waist, too. Wow. Who knew?

He spun around, kicked. Tap, he touched the kid’s chest with his toe, ever so lightly. She was no expert, but that looked awfully graceful.

Then, predictably, disaster struck. He caught sight of her, and did a big fat double take just as the kid threw his leg back again.

Smack, the kid’s foot connected with Miles’s face. Down he went, on his ass. There was yelling, screaming. A bunch of people scurried towards him. Blood streamed from his nose, dripping all over his gi.

Cindy sprinted towards him, horrified. “Shit! Miles? Are you OK?”

“Get off the tatami with your shoes, Cin.” Miles’s voice was razor sharp, even burbling through the blood.

She retreated, chastened, to the door, and waited. People clustered around him. Someone brought him a towel. His eyes kept darting over to her. They did not look friendly.

Aw, shit. Shit. What was it with her? Was she cursed, or what?

Miles got up and stalked towards her, stripping the bloodstained gi off with a hiss of disgust. “What the hell are you doing here, Cin?”

“Uh…I…” She gaped at his naked torso, struck dumb.

Holy cow. Miles was, like, ripped. Big, thick, meaty deltoids that a girl could just sink her nails into. Cut pecs. Serious ab definition. She wanted him to turn around, show her his lats, his traps. His ass.

Um, no. That was asking a bit much, under the circumstances.

“Uh, Cin?” he prompted. “Hello? Why are you here?”

She opened and closed her mouth, helplessly, like a beached fish.

“Just thought you’d help me make an unforgettable first impression on my first day of teaching, huh?” His voice dripped sarcasm. “Thanks, Cin. This does great things for my credibility.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose! I was just standing there!”

“Yeah, that’s all it takes.” Miles took the towel away from his face, and grimaced at the gory smears. “Jesus. I need ice.”

“Can I go get you some?” she asked, eager to redeem herself.

“No. Just tell me why you’re here, and get it over with. Come on.”

He grabbed her arm, steered her into a room full of weight-lifting equipment. He shut the door, and dabbed at his nose. “So? Spit it out.”

“It’s really hard to talk to you while you’re glaring like that.”

Miles rolled his eyes. “A glare is the default expression of a guy who’s just gotten his nose practically broken by a twelve-year-old. So have you thought of something you want from me after all?”

She gritted her teeth and pressed on. “Actually, yes,” she admitted. “But not for me. It’s for Javier. He’s—”