Chris Miles Skins Novels & Stories

I murmured, flexing my fingers to dispel the lingering sting from when I'd pounded the wall. "Time to learn more about this Miles asshole and what horrors he inflicted on Megan." The search engine was already loaded, so I simply punched out the name, the web exploding with an avalanche of results. My eyes boggled at the sheer volume - movie premieres, charity galas, People Mag covers – all glossily depicting the same chiseled, generically handsome face with an oily smile plastered on. "Holy shit..." I swallowed hard against the lump of indignant revulsion creeping up my throat. "This Miles character is like... the quintessential douche-bro celebrity schmuck."

I smelt the figure looming behind me before he spoke. "I never thought I'd see the day you'd take that." Miles' familiar voice made me turn around to look at him. The bright lights at the club made me squint my eyes as I assessed him. He was dressed in a wine colored Ralph Lauren t-shirt tucked into blue fitted jeans. As usual, he looked impeccably put together, but I could sense the undercurrent of sleazy seeping off him.

"Where? Let me see." Miles let Catelyn take his coat off and pointed at a few random spots on his back. "Here, here, and here… No, my thigh is now itchy too, my face is itchy too, my whole body is itchy!" "I think your buttocks are itchy. Get to your class now!" Cedrick saw right through his tricks and said loudly. Miles was stunned for half a second, then squirmed in Catelyn's chest. Catelyn had not seen Miles in a long time and did not know about his mental battles with Cedrick all this while. She said instinctively, "Young Master Ollie said his body is itchy. Maybe he has an allergic reaction. You don't have to yell."

"You aren't sweating but he does when you both are sitting just under the AC. Hey you don't even look okay. Something's ....." "I'm okay. It's just the sweat Chris, why make a big deal out of it." Miles laughed nervously. "Hey, why do I always feel like you keep hiding something from me. Do you not feel comfortable with me now? Do you not like to talk to me?" Christopher said in concern. He can literally feel Miles keeping distance from him. "There's no such thing. There's nothing like that." Miles said, to be honest he doesn’t even believe it himself.

Patient in a way I hadn’t seen from him before – the natural patience of someone who cared about the outcome and understood that caring meant time. Miles connected on the fourteenth try. The puck didn’t go top corner – it barely made it past the crease, sliding along the ice with the anticlimactic wobble of a shot that was technically a goal and aesthetically a mess. Miles threw both arms up. Full celebration. Stick in the air. The same pose from the hockey posters that used to cover his walls before he stripped them bare. Rhys grinned. The real one. “When you go pro, can I come to games?”

Marcus POV The rooftop offered a perfect vantage point, a concrete island amidst the sprawling cityscape. Marcus stood shrouded in shadows, his long coat intact despite the wind that whispered secrets through the alleyways below. In the streets, Kael’s men patrolled the perimeter of Isla’s flat—four men in fitted tactical gear, their movements precise and calculated. Their eyes, sharp as knives, scanned the surroundings, but none sensed his presence. They never did.

Wilder repeated himself right when the doors opened. “THERE WAS THIS DUDE IN THE CROWD WHO DIDNT HAVE A SHIRT AND HE WAS FIT!! HE KEPT WINKING AT ME AND BITING HIS LIPS AND UGHHH!!! WHY ARE MEN SO HOT!!!" Miles cried out. “Okay Miles we get it, now go get change you smell horrible" Nikolai rolled his eyes. "Oh please I smell amazing even when I sweat" Miles said grabbing his bag, "later hoes, about to get me some dick tonight" He said leaving the room.

And everyone knew it. Miles watched him from the opposite bench, towel slung around his neck, blond hair dark with water and sticking up in spikes. Taller—six-one—broader shoulders, the kind of build that made coaches drool over potential linebacker conversions. Pale skin still pink from exertion, freckles scattered across his nose and collarbones. His gym shorts were tented obviously. He didn’t bother hiding it anymore. “You gonna keep pretending that ankle’s fucked, or are you gonna come over here?” Miles asked, voice low, rough from shouting on the field.