Wait With Me (Wait With Me, #1)(31)

I can’t drag Miles up the stairs fast enough.

The light from the Edison bulbs is pouring through the back window into the dark bedroom, so I don’t even bother with the light switch. Miles walks into the room behind me like a dark, thunderous cloud. When I turn around to look at him, I realize this room has never felt so small.

He looks around, noticing men’s shoes on the floor in the open closet. “Do you have a roommate?”

My face heats instantly because this is nowhere near the conversation I want to have right now. Especially after Dean just flounced me around like a bimbo in front of everyone two seconds ago.

“Kind of?” I reply hesitantly.

“So it’s a guy,” Miles states, staring into the closet, then sliding his eyes to me.

There’s no hiding that fact now. “Yes.” I shrug.

He laughs and shakes his head. “It figures.” He presses a hand to his forehead as he paces the room. “It’s not that Dean guy, right? You said he was a neighbor.”

“He is a neighbor. It’s not Dean.”

“Then who is it?”

“No one,” I rush out, noticing that Miles is getting tenser and tenser by the second. The last thing he needs to hear is that I still kind of live with my dumbass ex-boyfriend. “He’s away for the summer, so it doesn’t matter.”

“But it’s a dude,” he snaps, his hands balling into frustrated fists at his sides. “Damnit, Mercedes, I can’t do this!”

“Do what?” I ask, my chest lifting with hope.

“I’m a jealous guy! You know that,” he exclaims, throwing his hands out wide in surrender as he points downstairs. “This is not the kind of shit I handle well.” He forks his hands through his hair, looking like he’s about to bolt.

But I don’t want him to bolt.

I want him to stay.

“I’m sorry, I should just go.”

He moves toward the door, and I dash in front of him, blocking his exit.

“My roommate is…gay,” I blurt, and my eyes fly wide at the lie that tumbled so easily from my lips. “And he’s out of town for the summer.”

Miles stares down at me, blinking. “Seriously?”

I shrug, completely unable to confirm it again because I still can’t believe I lied in the first place. “Tell me why are you turning into such a maniac right now? I thought you only wanted to be friends.”

He exhales heavily. “It’s a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

“Well, what can I do to help?” I ask, even though I don’t want to help. I want to bone.

Miles groans and pins me with a serious glower. “Babe, jealousy is an issue I have to keep in check constantly. I try not to be like this, but it’s virtually fucking impossible. I had almost ten years with a girl who took pleasure in fucking torturing me every chance she got.”

“Well, I’m not that girl,” I retort and step in closer to him, reaching my hands out to touch his forearms.

“I know you’re not,” he nearly cries. “But before we do anything, you need to know this about me. I’m overprotective. Overbearing. Over arrogant. Pretty much everything I do is to the extreme.”

“Okay,” I reply slowly and swallow a knot in my throat as he cups my face in his rough hands, looming over me like some sort of caveman staking his claim.

His voice is deep and melty as he adds, “And I fucking lose it if I think a guy is moving in on my property.”

Okay, I shouldn’t be turned on by that. I’m a modern woman. I’m independent. I think I could be a feminist if I ever knew exactly what the fuck that all entailed. But personally, I don’t think feminism belongs in the bedroom. I think feminism is having license over your own desires, and Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I think I just felt a gush of liquid between my legs, and I am so not mad at that!

I shake my head, trying to refocus my brain on the main point here. “But I’m not your property, Miles!”

“In my mind, you are,” he replies, his jaw tight, his lips pinched. “And I really need you not to do things to make me jealous.”

“Why?” I nearly sob.

“Because if you make me jealous, then I won’t be able to stay friends with you.”

“Why?” Good God, man, just fucking take me!

“Because it’ll make me want to fuck you, so you don’t ever want to look at another guy again.”

Heavy breaths.

Thunderous heartbeats.

Noisy party downstairs…the real downstairs. That wasn’t a euphemism for my pants, though, now that I mention it, I think I heard his dick grow. Like literally, I think I hear his jeans stretching between us.

I reach out and touch him with my hands and oh my God, yes. He’s hard, and I’m hard, and I want him to just…“Prove it.”

He shakes his head, severity to his brow that has a knot forming in my throat. “I hope you know what you’re asking for.”

With a feral sort of growl, he slams his lips to mine and plunges his tongue straight into my mouth. Deep. So deep. As if he’s looking for tonsils deep. It isn’t exactly sexy—it’s uncontrollable. Heady. Toxic. I can’t get away from him, and I don’t want to. My arms wind tightly around his neck, holding him as if it’s possible to merge our bodies together.