We watch every Star Wars film. Miles knows every line, and he delights in reciting them with me. Well, he delights in mocking me, too—in mocking my very obvious crush on Han Solo. What can I say? Maybe I do have a thing for scoundrels.

It's almost dawn when we go to bed, but this time Miles doesn't put me in the spare room. We sleep together on his bed, in his bedroom. It's not the biggest bed, but it feels so good to be pressed against him. His body fits perfectly with mine. I fall asleep almost instantly, and I wake up in his arms.

Miles stirs when I get out of bed. He drags me to the bathroom, and we take another shower together. It's as amazing as before. We kiss, touch, and help each other with soap and shampoo.

After, he makes me breakfast and coffee. It's like we're playing house, like we're playing pretend at being grownups in a grown-up relationship. I know I'm twenty-one, and he must not be more than a few years older, but I've never really felt like an adult. This, though, being in this house alone with him—it feels real.

Miles snickers when we leave for Kara's. "You've been wearing that outfit for almost three days."

"So?"

"Something tells me you don't normally wear low-cut tops and short skirts to hang out with your best friend. Not that I object."

He's right. I never dress up to see Kara. At best, I wear a t-shirt and jeans. I need clean clothes, especially clean underwear. There's no way I'm going commando to hang out with my best friend.

"So drop me at my place. I'll change."

He shakes his head. "No, I'll take you to a boutique I know."

"I'm not a doll."

"And you won't be on display to anyone but me." He leads me to the front door. "But I'll feel awful about ripping off your panties if I didn't buy them."

"No you won't."

He smirks. "Okay, I won't. But I'm still buying you something to wear today."

"That's not necessary."

"You're not going to win this one, Meg. You should give up resisting if you don't want to be late to meet with your friend."

"I don't need an outfit. And I don't need you to buy me any kind of lingerie."

He presses his lips into my cheek. "All this time you're spending resisting. We could be spending it in the dressing room together."

"Oh." Oh.

I get in the car without any further objections.

* * *

The boutique is better than I could possibly imagine. Not the clothes—I couldn't possibly care less about clothes. Miles drags me into the dressing room. One hand under my skirt, one hand over my mouth, he rubs me until I can barely muffle my screams, then rubs me some more. I come three times despite my fear that the sales girl will throw us out.

I pick out a pair of jeans, a tank top, and a lacy black lingerie set. Everything here is outrageously expensive—more than I make in a month—but he insists.

We—well, I—am right on time to Kara's place. She opens the door and takes in my clothes with curiosity.

"I've never seen that outfit before."

"It's new."

She shakes her head, not buying my version of the story. "Those are expensive jeans."

I nod.

"Is there some reason why you're keeping this a secret?"

"I don't want you to freak out."

"Name one time when I ever freaked out." She throws me serious side eye. "English Breakfast okay?"

"Sure."

She moves to the kitchen and turns on her electric kettle.

I turn over my options as she fixes tea. I trust Kara more than I trust anyone. I should want to tell her about everything with Miles.

She returns to the main room with two mugs of tea. She sets one down on the end table and hands the other to me. There's infinite patience in her eyes, like she could wait eight million years for an explanation.

I sip my tea to buy another ten seconds.

"I was with Miles," I say.

She gasps then clears her throat as if to cover her surprise. "And what were you doing with Miles?"

"We slept together."

"Holy shit, Megara Smart. How the fuck did you not tell me this?"

"It's no big deal."

"Bullshit. Don't act like you don't give a damn. You lost your virginity to Miles. That's huge. Is he huge?"

My cheeks burn.

"He is!" She squeals. "Let's put the issue of your secrecy aside for a moment." Kara leans in close, her eyes wide. "What was it like fucking him?"

"Good."

She stares at me. "Good? You call that a detail? I want a better fucking detail!"

"Is great a better detail?"

"Technically, great is better than good."

"You sound like an English teacher."

"Thank you." She taps her fingers against her jeans. "So…"

"Very, really good. He's good at everything, and he's more tender than you'd expect. But it's just sex. It's really not a big deal."

"Not buying it, sweetie." She shifts to the other side of the couch. "Was it only once or have you been seeing him?"

"A few times. We're… friends with benefits."

"And what, he picked you up last night and dropped you off here with a change of clothes?" She studies me like she's looking for cracks.

"This is why I didn't want to say anything."

"What is?"

"Stop looking at me like I'm fragile. I'm not going to break because of a little casual sex."

"Fine. As long as it feels casual to you. Does it?"

Damn, is she a mind reader? It doesn't exactly feel casual. But he's been clear about not wanting more. And I don't want more. "I don't want feelings for anyone. What if a medical school in New York is my best option? I don't want anything affecting my decision. Certainly not feelings for a guy."

"But you have feelings for him?"

"We're friends." I think. I hope.

"Hmmm." She nods. "Okay. You're a big girl. I'll drop it if you give me every detail!"

"Every detail?"

"Not a blow by blow." She laughs. "Just tell me what's going on. You know, like we're best friends or something."

"That would be something."

"Wouldn't it?"

"Okay." I take a deep breath, and I start at the beginning. I'm vague about the sex and about how mixed up he makes me feel, but I include all the other important details.

When I'm finished, she throws together a plan. There's a Sinful Serenade show Saturday and the two of us simply must make an impression. She has just the outfit I can borrow. Our height and cup-size differences are not an issue.

"You know how we're best friends and we tell each other things?" I ask.

"I don't like where this is going."

"Why are you trying to make an impression if you're set on staying just friends with Drew? You do like him."

"It's not about whether or not I'll like him. He'll never want me that way. And it's not worth the risk of things changing. When he got back in touch last winter, it felt like I'd found my favorite dress. I didn't realize how much I'd missed him until I heard his voice again. How good it felt just sitting next to him at dinner or during a movie." Her eyes get dreamy. "He's such a good friend. Overprotective, yeah, but he's sweet. And he makes me laugh. I can't lose that. Nothing would be worse than losing that."

"What if he started dating someone else?"

She frowns. "It's going to happen eventually. He's handsome and famous. Girls are always stopping him to ask for his autograph. They're always touching him. Their stupid hands on his arm like they deserve to touch him." She shakes her head. "Is it so wrong that I want him to look at me like he's desperate to rip off my clothes?"

"Depends what you'd do if he offered to rip your clothes off."

"He won't."

"But if he did?"

She lets out a sigh of pleasure. "I have to read five hundred pages tonight. I can't think about Drew ripping off my clothes or I won't make it through the first sentence." She pulls her knees into her chest. "What would you do if Miles developed feelings for you?"

"He won't."

"But if he did?"

"I have no idea."

* * *

I'm in a daze the rest of brunch. Mostly, we talk about school. Midterms. Her plans to go home, to San Francisco, for Thanksgiving break. My attempts to avoid going home to see my parents for even a single weekend. The house still hurts too much.

At home, there's something waiting by my apartment door—a wrapped box, complete with an aqua-blue bow. The card is simple.

Good luck studying tonight.

- Miles

I set inside, throw myself onto the bed, and unwrap the box. It's a Nintendo 64 and two faded, gray cartridge games—Star Wars Episode I: Racer and Star Wars: Rogue Squadron.

How the hell did he track down two twenty-year-old games? I haven't seen either of these, or a Nintendo 64, in ages.

I connect the wires to the TV the same way I did when I was a kid—red to red, white to white, yellow to yellow.

I text Miles.

Meg: Thank you. I love it.

Miles: Always happy to bring you pleasure.

Meg: You're very distracting. My grades are going to suffer.

Miles: I can take it back if you don't trust yourself.

Meg: No! You can't! It's the sweetest gift anyone has ever given me.

Miles: You're a nerd.

Meg: You are too.

Miles: That's our secret.

We have a secret. We have other secrets. We have a level of intimacy I don't quite understand.

Does Miles have feelings for me? It's possible. Guys don't buy hard-to-find video games for girls they're apathetic about.

My phone buzzes.

Miles: Kara tell you about our show Saturday?

Meg: She did. I even managed to make plans to go with her. I'm not sure how. I'm not very quick today. Someone kept me up all night then used up all my energy this morning.

Miles: You didn't like coming in the dressing room?

Meg: I'm not complaining.

Miles: It's Saturday. We go on around nine. We're working out some of our new material. Our manager's idea. I'll put you on the list.

Meg: Okay.

Miles: I'll pick you up. Give Kara the chance to take Drew home.

Meg: I don't think that's happening.

Miles: Not yet. But it could. Your friend is hot and Drew isn't fucking anybody. Everybody in the band knows he's not fucking anybody. He's pissy nonstop. Guy needs to get laid bad.

Meg: You think Kara is hot?

Miles: Not as hot as you, but yeah, she's attractive. And she's a sweet girl. I don't have any interest. Don't have any interest in touching anyone but you.

Meg: This is really strange sweet talk.

Miles: You can tell me you think Drew is hot if it makes you feel better.

Meg: It kinda does. He is hot.

Miles: How could you say that? You're destroying my confidence, Meg. I can't believe you even look at other men.

Meg: I don't. Not really.

Miles: Good.

Meg: You really think he's pissy nonstop? That's not a nice thing to say about your friend.

Miles: I'd say it to his face. Guy knows he's not all rainbows and sunshine.

Meg: Yeah?

Miles: Yeah. He has a vision. Only Tom has a different vision. Shit gets heated in the studio.

Meg: He punched you in the face once?

Miles: Yeah. I was being an ass.

Meg: You, an ass? That's shocking.

Miles: I know. I'm usually so polite.

Meg: And not at all full of yourself.

Miles: Not at all.

Meg: Do you have a vision too?

Miles: Yeah, but I approach songs differently than they do. Tom wants to be popular. Drew wants to make this killer rock music. He thinks he's a guitar legend. And he's right. He's good. But it's not necessarily what will get the most radio play. Then Pete, our bassist, he stays out of the fray so nobody will notice he gets to do whatever he wants with the bassline.

Meg: And you?

Miles: I own the vocals, the lyrics, the emotional arc of the song. Band knows better than to fuck that.

Meg: It's probably because you're so beautiful. They do whatever they can to appease you so you'll stick around.

Miles: Undoubtedly. You must be tired. You're not usually this honest.

Meg: I am tired.

Miles: Tell your friend that Drew hasn't fucked anyone else in a while.

Meg: I'm not sure she wants to know. She insists they need to stay friends.

Miles: Trust me. That's not how these things work.

Meg: It's terrifying, but I think I do trust you.

Miles: Enough to go bareback next time?

Meg: Yes.

Miles: Fuck. Saturday still six days away?

Meg: Last I checked.

Miles: I can come over right now.

Meg: I have to study. Is it that much better without a condom?

Miles: Fuck. Barely remember. Last time I went bareback was in highschool. Tried a monogamous relationship for an entire month.

Meg: You did not.

Miles: I did. It failed. Horribly. Sure you're that busy? You can kick me out of bed when we're done.

Meg: But I can't.

Miles: Yeah, you'd probably beg me to go again. Okay. Go study. I'll be counting the minutes to Saturday.

Meg: Me too.