Miles and I text about nothing all week. Wednesday, I finish my shift and pull out my phone. A picture message greets me.

It's an STD test. From Miles. He's totally clean.

It's dated Monday. Two days ago. He got tested. For me. For us.

Miles: I don't want to assume you're on birth control. But I figured you'd like the option of skipping condoms.

Meg: I'm on the pill. It seemed like a good idea when I went to college.

Miles: I'll bring condoms. It's up to you.

Meg: Okay. I'll think about it.

Miles: I want to take you somewhere Friday. What time do you get off work?

Meg: Ten.

Miles: Send the address and I'm there.

* * *

After work Friday, I change in one of the handicapped bathrooms. This is the sexiest outfit I own—low cut chiffon blouse, tight black skirt, black wedges—but I don't feel like it fits. Eyeliner and red lipstick do little to help matters.

It's strange. I felt sexy when I was with him. I felt totally irresistible. But the outfit makes me feel awkward and stiff.

Oh, well. I'm not planning to spend much time in my clothes. Damn, I'd like to skip straight to me and Miles in bed together. It made sense. It felt good. I want to feel that good again.

I make my way through the ER.

A nurse winks at me. "About time you went out. You're too young to work so hard."

I nod a polite goodnight. The older nurses are always teasing me about wasting my youth. They don't understand that bars and parties aren't fun for me. They make me think about Rosie losing herself. I don't want to explain it to anyone.

But I do want to explain to Miles. I want him to understand. My heartbeat picks up. It's scary, how much I want him to understand.

The ER is quiet for a Friday night. The waiting room is sparse. The counter is empty except for a man with a bandage over his nose. He got into a fight.

He looks familiar.

He's shorter than I am. His hair is light. He's wearing one of those button-up shirts. The same that Rosie's boyfriend always wore.

No.

No, no, no.

That is Rosie's boyfriend. Jared.

What the hell is he doing here? He lives on the other side of town, closer to a dozen different hospitals.

He should be in jail by now. Or dead from an overdose. Not standing in the ER with a broken nose.

My breath picks up. My heart pounds against my chest. I turn so my back is to him. I can't risk him recognizing me. If he offers his condolences, I'll break another one of his bones.

He's hurt. Thank God. I shouldn't smirk—future doctors should never smirk over people's injuries—but it feels good to see him bruised. He deserves every bit of pain in the world. If it weren't for him, Rosie would still be alive.

"I've never seen that look before." It's Miles. He's three feet away, spread out on one of the ugly gray chairs.

"It's nothing."

"It's something." He stands and moves close enough to whisper. "You may as well tell me. You know I'll drag it out of you."

"Maybe I'm smirking because we're going to have sex."

"I know what that looks like, and it involves a lot more blushing and squeezing your knees together."

So I am that obvious. Doesn't matter. Someone broke Jared's nose. At least I know he deserved it.

Miles laughs. "Should I be jealous?"

"Of...?"

"You were staring at that guy." He motions to Jared. "Is he your ex-boyfriend or something?"

"Or something."

"What—he broke your heart, and you paid one of your friends to break his nose?"

"You really think it's broken?"

Miles nods. "Likely." His fingers brush against my wrist. "Did he cheat on you or something?"

"Or something."

He leans closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Want me to kick his ass?"

"Would you really?"

"For you, yeah."

"That's okay. Someone already did." I smile. It's the widest smile I've ever smiled. I should feel horrible about wishing this pain on Jared, but I don't.

Miles laughs and slides his hand around my waist. "Meg Smart. I never thought I'd see the day."

I clear my throat and adopt my most mature stance. "There is no day. Now, where are we going?"

"You're glad someone kicked that guy's ass."

"He deserves it."

Miles's eyes connect with mine. Joy spreads over his face. "Do you trust me?"

"That depends on what we're talking about."

"This guy hurt you. Right?"

"You could say that."

Miles pulls me towards the wall so we're out of the way. "I'm going to do something to hurt him back."

I should feel sick at the suggestion, but I don't. This asshole stole my sister's life from her.

He needs to hurt. He needs to bleed.

I nod. "Okay."

Jared is still filling out paperwork. I haven't seen him since before Rosie died. He didn't come to the funeral. At the time, it pissed me off, but now I'm glad. I would have killed him if I saw him that day.

I want to kill him now.

The two-faced asshole was so fucking polite to me. He acted like a gentleman, like he was a prince and he'd treat her like a princess. I guess his idea of royalty involves massive opiate indulgence.

He needs to pay for what he did.

He needs to hurt.

Miles grabs my arm hard. "Go wait outside. Now."

No. I need to tell Jared he's the scum of the earth.

"You're not getting in trouble on my watch," Miles says.

"I won't get in trouble," I say.

"The look on your face begs to differ." Miles lowers his voice. "You wouldn't be able to hurt him if you tried. You're not that kind of person."

My expression screws in irritation. What the hell does Miles know about what kind of person I am?

"Trust me." He leans closer. "Hitting him isn't going to make you feel better."

"I want to watch."

"Wait outside or it's not happening."

I grit my teeth. "Fine."

As long as Jared hurts. As long as he pays for what he did to my sister.

I go outside and plant on one of the benches in front of the building. Cool air sends goosebumps over my arms and legs. This outfit is not appropriate for the fall evening air.

Time slows. My excitement twists to panic. What if Miles really does hurt the guy? What if he's doing something illegal? What if he's going to get into real trouble?

I try to calm down, but deep breaths aren't working. I like Miles. We are friends. I don't want anything bad happening to him.

There are footsteps behind me. Miles. He sits on the bench next to me and drops something on my lap.

A wallet. Jared's wallet.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" I ask.

"Return it to the lost and found."

"But...what? Why?"

Miles smirks. "I have his address and credit card number now."

"And?"

"And he's going to send himself a few dozen custom t-shirts about what an awful asshole he is."

The stiffness in my neck relaxes. It's a prank. An illegal prank, but only a prank. It's not like Miles is going to wait outside the guy's house with a baseball bat.

Miles will be okay. He won't get hurt.

He leans close enough to whisper. "Unless you want to do something that will really hurt him."

My breath collects in my throat. "Like what?"

"The possibilities are endless. All sorts of accidents no one could ever trace back to us." Miles plays with the hem of my skirt. "It depends how much he hurt you."

"More than anyone else ever has."

"What happened?"

I want to tell him, but my tongue is sticky. It’s better to keep this to myself. It’s less dangerous. "I… I don't want to talk about it right now."

"As you wish." He slides the wallet into his pocket. "You must have loved him a lot to hate him so much."

Anger rises up inside of me. The thought sickens me. My hands curl into fists. "No."

Miles shakes his head. He doesn't believe me. He thinks I'm hung up on the asshole who destroyed my sister. Miles probably thinks that I'm in love with Jared, that he's the reason I don't want a relationship.

"I never loved him. I barely know him. He was my sister's boyfriend and he...he ruined her life."

"Call her. Let her decide what to do with him."

My heart sinks. Everything is heavy. I open my mouth to speak but no words come out. "I… I can't. She died a few months ago."

"Oh, fuck." He turns to me, his eyes wide with concern.

This isn't part of our deal. He's not supposed to be concerned, and I'm not supposed to let him take care of me.

"What happened?" His voice is so soft. It's the sweet Miles, the one who wrote all those songs.

I shake my head. I can't discuss this. I can't even say it out loud.

His voice gets softer. He runs his fingers through my hair. "What happened, Meg?"

"She…" It's hard to breathe. There. Inhale. Exhale. "She overdosed."

"An accident?"

"Yeah." I press my fingers together. This is too close, too personal. I need to get up, to get out of here, to be anywhere else. Jared doesn't matter. He's nothing. Just another loser who will dig his own grave.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

His arms wrap around me. He pulls me into a tight hug. It's intimate. Too intimate. He's seeing inside me, seeing all the things I try to keep hidden.

I can't take it. But I can't move. I can't do anything but lean into Miles's touch.

He pulls me tighter. I slide my hands under his leather jacket and press them against his lower back, over the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

He's warm. He's here. But he's not mine. We'll never have that kind of relationship.

I take a deep breath. "I want to go home. Let’s put the wallet in the lost and found."

"Okay. Where is that?"

"Give it to me. I'll do it."

Miles pulls the wallet from his pocket and hands it to me. I stare at the sky. There are big, gray clouds covering the moon. The stars are tiny and dull, like they can't bother to shine tonight.

"Meg." His voice is so soft.

"I'm fine." My throat is sore. My eyes sting with tears. I blink them away. I can't cry here.

"I'll take you home."

"No." I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. "I'm going to say I found this out here. And then we're going out."

If I go home, I'll drown in how awful this feels. I have to convince him I'm okay enough to go out.

I march into the waiting room, drop off the wallet, and march back to Miles.

He's standing there, his eyes wide with affection. It's like he's desperate to do anything to make this hurt less.

His voice is a whisper. "Come here."

I stay put. This isn't what we're doing. I've already said too much. He's already seen too much, too deep inside me.

"Can we go?" I ask.

He shakes his head and wraps his arms around me. It's a tight hug. I want to push him off, to bang on his chest until he releases me.

But I can't. His body feels too good. I need the comfort too badly.

I take another ragged breath. I dig my fingers into the slick fabric of his leather jacket.

I can't cry in front of Miles. Not even if this is some other version of Miles, the one who hurts deep inside, who writes songs about the unspeakable agony of losing everything that matters.

"It's okay." His cheek brushes against mine. "I know how much it hurts."

I want to ask him how. I want to ask who he lost. I want to comfort him too. But I can't speak. I can't move.

I can't do anything but soak in the feeling of his arms against me.

This isn't what we're doing. We're casual. Not confidants.

After a few more breaths, I'm calm enough to release him. I pull back, slowly shaking him off. Cold hits me. It's brutal and sudden, like I'm shedding my favorite coat to step into a snowstorm.

His eyes stay glued to mine. "You look miserable."

I shake my head. "I'm fine."

His eyes turn to the street. "Don't make me call you on our 'no lies' clause."

"Can we please get out of here?"

He says nothing.

I need to turn the mood, to change him back to the other Miles. At least I know what that Miles wants. I make my voice light. "I'll go crazy if I have to make conversation with you for one more minute."

He smirks but he doesn't laugh. He's not quite back to snappy, sarcastic Miles. Not yet.

And I'm not back to acerbic Meg either. My defenses are down.

It's terrifying.

Miles wraps his hand around my wrist and leads me to his car. Or the car he borrowed from one of his band mates.

I settle into the passenger seat. My skirt rides up my thighs, but it does nothing to entice Miles to touch me.

He slides the key into the ignition. "You're not as good at pretending you're okay as you think you are."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I'm not going to fuck you out of your misery." His lips curl into a smile. "I know. In my dreams, right?"

I nod.

"All this dreaming. I must be pretty fucking desperate." He brushes my knee. "Listen, Meg—"

"If the next words out of your mouth aren't something about how irresistible I am, you can save your breath."

"You're painfully irresistible." He trails his fingertips up my thigh. "I was thinking about fucking you the entire drive here." His eyes find mine. "Almost crashed this damn car."

Yes. Now. That makes sense. That feels good.

This hurts. It hurts so fucking badly.

Miles's voice gets low. Breathy. "I was planning on driving you to Malibu and fucking you in the backseat."

"The passenger seat isn't good enough?"

He smirks. "Only for round two." His hand slides over my thigh, back to my knee. "But I'm not going to be your human distraction. I don't have that kind of sex. No matter how badly I want to fuck someone."

I fight a sigh. Miles won't have sex with me, fine. I have other ways of satisfying myself without his soft lips or his strong hands.

It won't be nearly as fun, but then it's not looking like this evening is going to be very fun.

He turns the key. "Don't sulk over it."

"You're the one who invited me out."

"We're out. If you want to spend the night pouting over not getting in my pants, I'll drive you home."

I pull the seatbelt over my chest. "What's the alternative?"

"I take you to Malibu. We have a conversation under the stars."

"I'm not really in the mood to talk."

He laughs. "You don't say."

I take a deep breath. I am irritable. I can't stand how mixed up I feel around Miles, how close I am to clinging to him and crying my heart out.

It's dangerous. Falling for him is the first step to falling apart. He's a drug. Different than the heroin that took hold of my sister's life but just as deadly.

I should go home. I should cry myself to sleep.

But I can't. I need someone.

I need him.

"I'm not cranky. I'm just hungry," I say. "Can we stop for something to eat?"

"Your wish is my command."

He turns the key and, mercifully, the radio fills the car with noise.

This is going to be a long night.