11. Olivia

It"s only when I open my eyes that I realize the ringing isn"t just inside my head. Who wants me at this time of the morning? With bleary eyes, I search for the nearest clock, which turns out to be the one on Miles's bedside table.

Miles.

Oh, my God.

Of all the stupid things to do… Here I am in Miles's bed, in his arms, sweaty and sticky and sore. And the worst part of all is that I don't regret it at all. I don't regret one single second of it. I don't regret kissing him or letting him convince me to come back to his apartment.

And the sex we had was absolutely mind-blowing. I"ve never felt so connected to someone like that. I"ve never wanted anyone as much as I want him.

And if my stupid phone wasn't ringing, I'd be tempted to wake him up and let him have me all over again. Just for now, while we're in this bubble, I can pretend that sleeping with him is a normal thing to do.

I need to silence that noise. That's the only thing I know for certain. But my phone isn"t waking Miles up, and the grip of his arm around my shoulders is ironclad. Trying not to disturb him, I stretch out my fingers, reaching as hard as I can for the phone, which is lying on the floor where it's been all night. Eventually, my fingertips brush against it and I manage to drag it closer to me until I can grab it. I flop back into bed and unlock the screen to find thirty-two missed messages and calls, all of them from my boss. Shit.

I unhook Miles's arm from me, no longer caring about waking him up, and stumble out of bed. I pull on the first shirt I can find and it's only when I wander into the living room that I realize it's Miles's.

We were supposed to be at the club an hour and a half ago. We have slept in big time.

I read one of the messages from Tim and wince. He is decidedly not happy. I shoot a quick text back, apologizing for the fact that we got held up and assuring him that we'll be there soon. I silence my phone and toss it onto the sofa so I don't have to look at it again, terrified of what the response will be.

Could I happily stay in this little bubble all day? Yes, of course I could. It's warm and if I don't think too hard about it, it's comfortable. But do I want this to be the cruel twist of fate that loses me my job? No, absolutely not. This isn't the way I want Miles to get me fired.

I head back into the bedroom where Miles is still snoring and shake him until he wakes up. At first, he squints, groaning because of the headache I"m sure he must have. Then he realizes it's me doing the shaking and his face splits into the most genuine smile I've ever seen him give. "Good morning, sweetheart," he says. "How are you feeling?"

"How are you feeling?" I throw back. "You were pretty wasted last night."

"Drunk on love?" he winks as if he thinks that might charm me.

I shake my head. Hearing him say the word love sends a flutter through me, but I park that trail of thought for later. Much later. "We're late," I say, shaking him again. "Come one, get up."

"Five more minutes? Please?" He pouts at me, making such an adorable puppy-dog face that I very nearly give in to him.

Still, I resist. "No," I say, shaking my head again. "There"s no way I"m letting you lose my job for me. I'm going to shower, and if you are not dressed by the time I get ready, I'm dragging you down to the club naked. Don't test me."

I don"t quite hear his mumbled response, which is probably for the best.

I have the quickest shower that I can, washing my hair and scrubbing myself clean. When I get out, I grab one of the folded towels from the cupboard and hope to God that the fact it's in the cupboard means it's clean.

To his credit, Miles has pulled on some clothes and is standing kind of sheepishly, hood pulled up over his head, waiting for me. "Do we have to go?" he asks in a mumble.

"Yes," I say, all but pushing him towards the door and into the elevator. He stumbles as we go but doesn't protest any further.

We stand with a deliberate distance between us in the elevator, a rift opening between us that feels like it might never close. Our shoulders don't brush, and our eyes don't meet. Any urge I ever had to touch him is extinguished like a snuffed-out flame.

The sun is beating down outside, making us both squint as we step into the fresh air. Whatever last night was, it's fading into a weird and vague memory, fueled by badly placed lust and maybe one too many cocktails. Not that it was all a mistake exactly. It was fun.

It just needs to end here.

I unlock the car but hesitate as I open the door. "That's the end," I say to him over the car. He gives me the blankest look ever in return, which for him is really saying something. "Of us," I clarify. "Of any ideas you might have about making this a repeat event. It was fun, but never, ever again."

"So, you did have fun?" He raises a cheeky eyebrow and I sigh.

I can't exactly deny it. He made me feel so special and so good all night, and even if I wanted to hate him for it, I can't. It was good, even if I didn't want it to be.

And on top of that, I finally got through to human-being Miles. All this time, he's been giving me the act of Miles, a guy who doesn't care about anything except women and sport — and making himself look like an idiot for it. He's been pretending to be the clown for so long that I didn't think anything real was left in him. But last night…

There was a vulnerability in his eyes, like a plea for someone to see him for more than the things he's trapped himself into being. And he gave that piece of himself to me.

Despite everything that's wrong with this situation, that's a precious thing that he's given me. He's shown me that he's a real person and given me the best night I've had in a long time.

And he's also about to get me fired, so even though it makes me feel nauseous, I have to put my foot down. I have to trample on any stupid thoughts I might be having about taking this further, because there can be no further. I like my job and my life the way it is. There's no space for a rogue element like Miles.

"Yes, I did. And I'm pretty sure you did too. But this is the end of it, okay? It can't happen again. It makes both of us look bad."

"But it made both of us feel pretty good, huh?" There's that ridiculous grin again, the kind of lopsided one that makes him look like a puppy, especially when his hair flops down into his face like that. I can't deny that it's cute.

"I'm not going to argue with you, Miles," I say swinging the door open to flop into the car, every muscle in my body aching from our athletics. "It was good. And now it's over. End of story, okay? I won't let you lose my job for me."

He slams the door behind him as he gets into the car too, pouting like he thinks it might make a difference, only for his face to fall when he sees that I really mean it. "Okay," he sighs.

"Cheer up," I say, turning the engine on. "You'll find another girl soon enough. I might even let you out and everything."

"Yeah," he agrees moodily, my joke falling flat.

We spend the rest of the car ride in silence, and when we get to the club, Miles all but runs away from me. And though I'm pretty sure this is just him moving on, I can't help but wondering whether, now that I've seen that he has human emotions too, his disappointment is perhaps genuine?