25

VANESSA

I have a feeling Miles was expecting more than a movie night when I took him up on his offer to come back to his apartment. He’s been visibly agitated since the moment I suggested it, his knee bouncing and his posture tense from his seat beside me on the couch. It’s Italian leather, by the way- everything in his place is super nice, and he goes out of his way to brag about the finery of his furnishings whenever he has the chance, like he wants me to know how much money he has. I think it’s his way of showing that he could provide for me, but I tend to find his boasting in poor taste. And if he thinks I’m after money, he doesn’t know me at all.

I nearly breathe a sigh of relief when the credits roll, anxious for an excuse to head back home. I’ve set clear boundaries with Miles, but he’s been pushing them tonight, no doubt fueled by the beers that he’s been downing like it’s his job. There’s a cluster of empty bottles on the marble coffee table in front of us, only one of which