Page 47

“Taylor, what the hell are you doing?”

I wait for her to catch her breath. “I signed up to pick up those scooters around the city, it pays some good change but fuck, these hills, man.”

“Tay, you know I’ll never push you, but just throwing it out there…do you think maybe you’d like to try and find maybe one career you could stick to? I know that would require a little commitment, but it's gotta sound better than multiple jobs, especially when one of them now requires you to crawl up the steepest street in the city.” I hesitate because I know all too well what it feels like to have pressure put on me about a career and I never want to put that on Taylor but her situation is different than mine.

“Yeah, I think I’ll just stick to my other gigs for now, this scooter shit is for the birds.”

I laugh and look at the time. “Hey, I gotta get going. I’m meeting the realtor soon to check out that space I was telling you about.”

“Mila, I’m so proud of you, this is a huge first step.”

“Simmer down, I’m not doing anything. I’m just going to look fun funsies. Just like when we would go look at multi-million dollar beach homes, pretending we could afford them.” The truth is, even though I know nothing will come of this visit, I couldn’t stop myself from taking the number down and I couldn’t stop myself from calling for a viewing appointment. I don’t know why I did it. There’s absolutely zero security in owning and managing an art gallery. So until I’m ready to give my parents the middle finger—which I don't see myself ever doing—there really is nothing that can come from this.

“Nah. I feel it in the air, it’s something,” she says, waving her hand in front of her face.

“I think you’re feeling your sweat.” We both laugh and I quickly check the time again. “Alright for real, I have to leave now, I’ll call you later. And please be careful on that hill.”

She blows a kiss into the phone screen before hanging up. I take one more look at myself in the mirror, tuck my shirt into my cutoff black denim skirt, and smile at my reflection. I’m feeling good about myself. I think a piece of my confidence comes from the fact that Miles and I are in a good space. I’m no longer tiptoeing around him and that’s one stress off my back.

I’m double-checking my bag to ensure I have all my things, and I’m momentarily confused when I hear the elevator doors open. Miles steps out of the elevator strutting over to me with one hand in his pocket, looking sexier than usual in his suit.

“H-hey,” I stammer. I pause, one hand holding my bag, the other digging around in it.

“Hey yourself. Where are you off to?”

He stops just in front of me with a smile seductive enough to bring me to my knees. But I can’t even look him in the eyes. “I’m uh…I’m going to meet with a realtor to look at that studio space I was telling you about.”

“I’ll come with you.” My eyebrows bunch together, but he ignores it and reaches his arm out toward the elevator for me to lead the way.

“What are you doing home in the middle of the day, anyway?”

“I just wanted to see you.” My chest cracks open and a million butterflies begin fluttering throughout my entire body.He wanted to see me?“Camila.” His husky voice pulls me from my thoughts. His searing eyes lock on mine when we reach the elevator and my heart pounds rapidly against my chest. Something about the way he’s looking at me right now has my body melting with a mixture of nerves and excitement. His face is calm but somehow still intense and he’s the picture of seduction with one hand in his pocket while the other reaches behind me to press the call button. His face hovers an inch above mine and I have to fight my eyes from dropping to his lips. “Say it.”

I don't know…Say what?

His eyes are searching mine and between him coming home to see me, wanting to come to the studio with me, and his attention on me now, I need to know what's going on. “Tell me something,” I whisper.

The corners of his mouth pull up into a satisfied grin and his eyes bore so deep into mine, I think he sees through them. His free hand finds the back of my neck in a tight grip as he lowers his mouth to my ear. “I don't regret what happened the other night.” I audibly inhale as my eyes go wide. “I regret not making sure we were on the same page beforehand. I regret not bringing you back to our home so I could worship your sweet little pussy properly. And I regret allowing you to brush it off the next day. But I don't regret what happened, and I don’t think you do either.”

Oh my god.His words bleed into every thought trying to bounce around in my mind. I had a feeling—it was more like a fleeting thought. But after that night I suppressed any more thoughts deep in my gut but to hear him say the words out loud.He doesn't regret what happened.“What?”

“It took me some time to wrap my head around it. To voice what I was thinking, and what I wasfeeling, and for that I’m sorry.”

“What does this mean?” I ask.

“If you're asking what it means for us moving forward, I don't know. But I do know that I haven't stopped thinking about you. Not just that night, but you. Every minute I’m not with you, I’m thinking about when I get to be with you again. I’m thinking about that night. About you.” His hand lifts from his pocket dipping below my skirt and his thumb swipes smoothly across my thigh. If he moves half an inch higher he’ll feel how embarrassingly wet I am through my underwear. “Tell me you want this, too.” My hips involuntarily inch forward. His long thick middle finger runs up my seam, and my legs tremble at the touch. “Tell me it’s not all in my head and that you want this, Camila.”

“Don’t you think this would complicate things?” I don’t recognize my own breathless voice. I can barely register my own thoughts over his admission.

“That's not what I asked you.”

My sweaty palms tighten on my bag, searching to get a grip on anything tangible. “I?—”

Ding.

The elevator door opens behind me and Miles slides his hand out from under my skirt. My body protests at the loss of his touch but I follow him into the waiting elevator on shaky legs.

The door is unlockedwhen we arrive. The realtor is on her phone by a door in the back. She smiles at us and waves around the room, telling us to look around before she steps back inside the office, closing the door to finish her call. I’m filled with wonder as I step into the studio for the first time. The space is so much larger than it appears from the outside. It’s unfinished, the floors are solid concrete beneath my feet but the bones are perfect. Light pours in from the large front windows, while a partition wall in the middle of the room gives way to a more private backspace. There aren’t any other windows so custom hanging lights could be used to spotlight wall art, and there is plenty of space for a projector as well. The place is empty with the exception of a wood workbench, a card table, some discarded paint cans, and a few sheets of rolled-up canvas tarps.