26. MILES

TWENTY-SIX

MILES

I’m a fucking idiot. I’m screwing things up. Since when does being around Bilson make me nervous? Like, heart-pounding, palm-sweaty nervous.

“You’re not going?” Jorgensen asks, nodding the way Bilson went. I want to. I’m buzzing to follow him like a lost dog, but he came out tonight and invited the whole team except for me.

Ouch.

I’m getting the message loud and clear, CB.

Didn’t stop you from showing up though, the snide voice in my head says.

This sucks. I need to do what Robbie said and talk it out, but the three texts he sent today made me realize how I won’t be okay to lose this friendship. I typed out a thousand and one bullshit responses and couldn’t send any of them because, dumbass or not, this isn’t a conversation I can’t put in a text message.

Oh, btw, man, totally might be falling for you, but it’s not like I can do anything about it anyway, so let’s keep fucking on the down-low and change nothing. K?

That’s about as useless as tits on a bull.

“Earth to Rook.” Jorgensen waves his hand in front of my face.

“Don’t fucking call me that.” I don’t mean to snap, but apparently, my whole personality goes out the window when I’m angsting like a teen girl at a boy band concert.

Jorgensen’s bushy eyebrows are at his hairline.

“Sorry, dude.” I scramble for an excuse. “Superstitious.”

“Whoa. Didn’t know.”

“You’re okay.”

At least that’s an excuse that should shut them up from using that name, even if I’m lying through my teeth. I hate that it’s become something I associate with Bilson while also loving it at the same time.

“He’s up.”

At first, I’m not following until Jorgensen and a few others jump up and head in the direction of the mechanical bull.

Do not go over there. Do not go over⁠—

Oh, look, my feet aren’t listening.

Is it possible to be pussy-whipped when the person you’re acting silly over doesn’t actually have a pussy? What’s the equivalent? Cock busted?

I hate myself as I push my way through my teammates to get to the front as Bilson mounts the fake bull. I try not to notice how good he looks up there. How those sexy hips move in time with the bucking machine. Until we talk, both our cocks are staying firmly in our pants, but hot damn, the man is making my resolve difficult.

I drain my beer glass dry, trying and failing to fulfill my thirsty ass.

Like the universe is taking it easy on me, whoever is controlling the bull suddenly jacks it up. Bilson goes from powerful and in control to one of those flailing arm inflatable thingies businesses use to get attention. He flings to one side, rights himself, and then, with one big buck, flips off the back and smacks face down on the padding.

The team catcalls him, and I laugh as Bilson gives us a thumbs-up but doesn’t move.

“Oh, city boy got his ass handed to him,” Stoll says.

“Motherfucker, you’ve never left Nashville.”

“Like you have.”

I’ve got aunts and uncles with properties all over the state, spent a lot of vacations on the back of a horse, and one of the family things we did when I was younger and not being run between games and training was go to rodeos. This won’t be my first time on the back of a bull.

“I’m up next,” I say before anyone else can jump in. I climb up onto the padding and help Bilson to his feet, those pain-in-the-ass nerves rearing me up as soon as we clasp hands.

“Not too bad for an old guy, right?” He’s joking, but it feels forced.

I want to ask him why he didn’t invite me. Why I was the one left out. If Stoll hadn’t given me the heads-up, would they all be here having fun without me? That hurts.

But now isn’t the place, so I just wink and say, “Let me show you how a young buck does it.”

Am I a professional at this? Nope. But I should be competent enough to show up the uncoordinated thrusting of my teammates.

What most people don’t realize is that you need to sit as close to your hand as possible. It helps keep your center of gravity so when the beast is going wild under you, you have more control.

It starts off slow like the others, but I’m prepared for when it kicks up a notch. My arms strain with my grip as I try to anticipate the next move, the next kick or turn. I’m thrown around, and it’s harder than I remember, but I just want to hold on longer than the others. Maybe just long enough to impress Bilson.

The wilder it gets, the more I put my whole body into it. I’m sweating, grip locked on, thighs tense, and right when I can feel I’m getting out of my depth, I throw my head back and let out a “yee-haw” to be as much of a cocky shit as Bilson claims I am.

I land on my side a second later, thwack of the padding under me echoing in my ears. The catcalls and jeers of my team slowly sink in, and even though I’m panting, I force myself to jump up and bow, then make my way back to the team, arms raised like a championship fighter.

I’m overly aware of Bilson’s eyes on me, but I try to pretend like I haven’t noticed when it’s all I can goddamn think about.

And when he catches up with me, team distracted watching someone else have a go, and leans down to my ear, his words send a shiver down my spine.

“I suddenly understand why cowgirl is your favorite position.”

I swallow roughly. “It’s the tits, man. I like the way they bounce.”

His hum is gravelly. “Bet your cock bounces just the same.”

Fuck.

And now I’m hard.

I cannot be hard around him. No, Cobra. Bad boy. There is no sexy times until we both know where we stand.

Taking advantage of the team’s distraction, I grab his sleeve and drag him through the bar and down the corridor that leads to the axe throwing. It’s all black and dimly lit, making it the perfect place to do this where he won’t be able to see my face. This late in the night, people are a few drinks in, so the area isn’t busy.

Before he can say anything, I cross my arms and go first. “Why didn’t you invite me tonight?”

“Ah …” His handsome face falls, and he pulls his gaze from me to the wall. My heart is doing that stupid racing thing, and I wish it would shut up for a moment so I can get through this.

“Good answer,” I add dryly.

“You’re pissy with me?”

“You left me out, dude. Kinda hard not to be hurt when your best friend doesn’t want you around.”

“You haven’t written back to any of my texts. I thought you wanted space. I’ve been really horrible about giving people space in the past, so I’m, you know, trying to pay attention to things like that.”

Oh, wow. I thought he was being an asshole and wanted distance from me, but nope. My silence has been making him question all the same things. So, with the weight of Stone and Seddy in my pocket for courage, I finally do what I need to.

I can barely breathe when I say, “I’ll never want space from you.”

He holds my gaze, something shifting behind his eyes, and I know this is where I need to make a joke if I want to back out. To pretend this isn’t happening and go on living in my denial bubble.

But I can’t do that to him. Can’t let him think this is something it’s not.

I don’t think I can do that to me either.

He steps closer, so close we’re almost touching, and it’s a goddamn mindfuck how much I crave this. Us. But even if I’m letting him see that, it’s not like it changes anything with me. I can ache for him all I like, the simple fact is that it can’t be more than this.

“Don’t worry,” I whisper, voice hoarse. “I’m not proposing or anything.”

“Miles …” His large hand lifts, but a second before he can cup my face, he pulls away. Steps back and straightens.

Disappointment hits me, but then a couple rounds the corner, headed for the bar area. We’re both silent as they pass.

“What are you saying?” There are no teasing smiles or soft eyes as he looks at me. Nothing to give me any insight into his thoughts.

“I know we said that hooking up was a safe way to make sure you didn’t fall for someone again, but we kinda, uh, forgot about me.” I swallow. “I’ve never fallen for anyone, so I assumed I was immune.” I look him straight in the eyes. “I’m not.”

“Shit.”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea whether to say anything or not, but my frat brother pointed out that it wasn’t fair to keep sleeping with you if you didn’t know.”

A soft look crosses his face. “Your frat brother is smart, which isn’t a phrase I ever thought I’d say. But I mean ‘shit’ as in … now you’ve said all that, all I really want to do is kiss you.”

I groan, low and deep in my throat. That kiss is something I haven’t been able to stop thinking about, and now that it’s on the table, it’s so fucking tempting.

“Yeah … but we can’t. Here.”

“Sounds like we need to leave, then.” He makes me laugh, and I wish I could go along with it, but this next part is too important.

“You wanna let me in on how you’re feeling?”

“Sorry, I thought that part was obvious.” His face goes serious. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Just yes.”

I punch his shoulder. “That tells me nothing, you dick.”

“What, like, ‘news flash: I emote too’ tells me so much.”

“You know what I meant.”

“I do.” The affection in his eyes sends my nerves out of control. “And I still mean yes. Yes, as in, that’s my answer to anything that happens between us from here on. I know you’re worried about your parents, and I’m not going to push you to talk about labels if it’s not something you want to do. We can be as public or as private as you like. I don’t care. I just know I’m having too much fun with whatever is happening here, and yes, I’m feeling some things too, but for the first time in maybe ever, I … I’m happy to see where things go. To let you lead.”

I pretend to scowl, but holy fuck, he’s never said anything more perfect. “You mean I don’t get to be the next Mr. Bilson?”

“Rook Bilson does have a nice ring to it …” Then he drops to one knee.

I burst into laughter and haul him to his feet. Bilson falls against the wall beside me, shoulder pressed to mine, chuckling along with me while he watches my face.

“Fuck,” I sigh, letting out all the tension I’ve been holding on to for the past twenty-four hours. “I was so scared to tell you all that.”

“We can tell each other anything, remember?”

“Yeah, somehow, I assumed we drew lines at stupid crushes.”

“I wanna know about allll your stupid crushes—wait. Let’s just stick to the one.”

I contemplate how far I can tease him with that. My nerves have shifted, less making me want to puke and more lightness at the knowledge that this incredible, handsome, broad-shouldered, sweet man beside me sees something in me too.

“Miles?”

I turn my head so we’re looking at each other. “Hmm?”

“We need to go.”

“You don’t wanna hang out with the team some more?”

“Nope. I want to take you home and get a front-row seat to those moves back there.”

A shiver runs through me. “Now? Let’s go.”

“And then you’re going to stay the night.”

My mouth goes dry. It’s exactly what I wanted the last time we were together, but admitting that makes me feel vulnerable. What the hell do we do? Fuck each other stupid, then … snuggle? With Bilson?

I’m usually the big spoon, but I can’t deny the thought of him surrounding me isn’t horrible. Just hard to imagine. Sex is one thing; affection is worlds different.

But this is what I signed up for. This is what it means if we’re going to continue this but with feelings.

“Okay.”

“Good.” He pushes off the wall. “But there’s one thing I want to do first.”