Mag-log inShe stepped out of the dress slowly, her left black heel scraping deliberately across the floor, then she kicked the dress aside with a sharp flick that sent it skittering.
She stood there in nothing but that sheer black lace and those cock-teasing strappy heels that clicked softly every time she shifted her weight.The bra was a transparent black lace so thin that it was basically a taunt. Her wide, dusky areolas bled through it dark and teasing, her fat nipples were now stThe highway was lighter now—rush hour over, and evening settling in, and I made sure to merge into the traffic smoothly.The playlist Miles had chosen was still playing through the speakers. It was kinda atmospheric and moody that fit the fading light. I should change it. Put on something I'd really choose myself.I didn't.For the first five minutes, I let myself exist in the afterglow of the day. Let myself smile at memories: Miles's story about the poop talk, the way he'd looked at art, how his hand had felt in mine. The kiss under the oak tree. The promise of Saturday.It was good. Today had been genuinely good.And then, like a dam breaking, everything else flooded in.What was I doing?This morning I'd woken up with someone's else cum on my skin. I'd let him touch me, use me, claim me in ways that left marks. Had walked downstairs for breakfast still feeling him.And then I'd spent eight hours with Miles l
The walk back to the parking garage felt different than the walk to the park. Less anticipatory, more settled. Like we'd crossed some invisible threshold and were both aware of it.Miles kept my hand in his, our fingers laced together naturally. Every so often his thumb would brush across my knuckles, unconsciously. Like he needed the contact."Okay, real question," he said as we turned onto a busier street. "If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you go?""That's a big question.""I'm a big question kind of guy." He pulled me closer as we navigated around a group of tourists clustered on the sidewalk. "Come on. Anywhere. Money's no object, obviously.""Obviously." I thought about it. "Paris, maybe. Or Barcelona. Somewhere with good food and architecture and a language I'd have to actually learn.""Not stay here?""I don't know. Maybe? New York feels like where you go to prove something. Not necessarily whe
A family walked past our tree.A parents with two small kids who were clearly at the end of their patience. One of them was crying about ice cream, the other dragging a stuffed animal through the dirt. The mom looked exhausted in that specific way only parents of toddlers understand."That'll be us someday," Miles said, watching them go."Exhausted and negotiating over ice cream?""I meant the family thing. Kids. The whole deal." He paused. "Sorry. Is that weird to say on a first date?""A little weird. But honest.""I'm trying this thing where I say what I actually think instead of trying to rephrase everything." He settled back against the tree trunk. "My therapist says I use deflection and humor to avoid genuine connection.""And what do you say?""That she's probably right and I'm paying her two hundred dollars an hour to tell me things I already know."I laughed. "Two hundred an hour?""Ma
We stepped out of the gallery into afternoon sunshine that felt warmer than when we'd gone in. The city had that golden quality now—the light softer, shadows longer. Late afternoon bleeding toward early evening."The park's this way," Miles said, pointing down the street. "About ten blocks. Too far to walk?""I'm good. These heels are surprisingly comfortable.""Liar. All heels are instruments of torture.""How would you know?""I had a girlfriend freshman year who made me hold her heels, and wore my shoes while i walked barefoot home from parties." He grinned at the memory. "She said it built character. I said it built resentment.""And yet you dated her.""For three whole months. A record at the time." He laced his fingers through mine as we started walking. "What about you? What's your relationship record?"I thought about it. "Define relationship.""Interesting answer.""I've dated people.
The gallery was housed in a converted warehouse—all exposed brick and industrial windows that let in floods of natural light. Very beautifully great and effortlessly cool.A receptionist sat behind a minimalist desk and it felt like she was the most busiest person in the world. She looked up as we entered, and gave a warm smile."Good afternoon. Are you here for the Nakamura installation?""We are," Miles confirmed."Wonderful. Second floor. Just take the stairs past the desk. Let me know if you have any questions."We both thanked her and headed for the floating metal staircase. My heels clicked against each step, and the sound echoed in the open space."I read about this in the Times," Miles said as we climbed. "The critic said Nakamura spent three years on this series. Three years on twelve paintings.""That's insane.""That's dedication." He paused on the landing, turning to look at me. "Or insane obsession.
Outside, the street was busy with people. From beautiful shoppers, to happy tourists, and business types of expensive suits. Normal great New York City.Miles didn't let go of my hand as we walked through them."So," he said, stopping on the sidewalk. "I told you my car is about a kilometer that way." He gestured down the street. "You'd love to walk with me to go get it right?""Let's walk. I could use the movement after all that food.""Good call. I might be in a food coma."We started down the street, and I noticed things I usually didn't. The way he matched his pace to mine without thinking about it. How he steered us around a puddle left from earlier drizzle of rain. The way his thumb brushed absently across my knuckles.He told me about the time he got food poisoning in Barcelona from street paella and spent two days convinced he was dying in a hostel bathroom."Lexi had to bring me crackers and ginger ale," he said. "Actually, it was Alex. He was there too. Kept making jokes abo







