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Of course she doesn’t.

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I roll my eyes and walk to my bedroom, slamming the door
unintentionally.
I change out of my scrubs and pull on a pair of jeans. I grab the shirt
I slept in last night and just get it over my head when someone knocks
on the door. I swing it open almost as dramatically as I slammed it
earlier.
He’s so tall.
I didn’t realize how tall he was, but now that he’s standing in my
doorway—filling it—he seems really tall. If he were to wrap his arms
around me right now, my ear would press against his heart. Then his
cheek would rest comfortably on top of my head.
If he were to kiss me, I’d have to tilt my face up to meet his, but it
would be nice, because he would probably wrap his arms around my
lower back and pull me to him so that our mouths would come together
like two pieces of a puzzle. Only they wouldn’t fit very well, because
they are most definitely not two pieces from the same puzzle.
Something strange is going on in my chest. A flutter, flutter kind of
thing. I hate it, because I know what it means. It means my body is
really starting to like Miles.
I just hope my brain never catches up.
“If you need quiet, you can go to my place,” he says.
I cringe at the way his offer works knots into my stomach. I shouldn’t
be excited about the possibility of being inside his apartment, but I am.
“We’ll probably be here another two hours,” he adds.
There’s regret in his voice somewhere. It would more than likely take
a search party to locate it, but it’s buried there somewhere, beneath all
the sultriness.
I expel a quick, relinquishing breath. I’m being a bitch. This isn’t
even my apartment. This is their thing that they obviously do on a

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regular basis, and who am I to think I can just move in and put a stop to
it?
“I’m just tired,” I say to him. “It’s fine. I’m sorry if I was rude to your
friends.”
“Friend,” he says as clarification. “Dillon is not my friend.”
I don’t ask him what he means by that. He glances into the living
room, then looks back at me. He leans against the frame of the door, an
indication that my relinquishing the apartment for their game wasn’t
the end of our conversation. He swings his eyes to the scrubs strewn
across my mattress. “You got a job?”
“Yeah,” I say, wondering why he’s suddenly up for conversation.
“Registered nurse in an ER.”
A crease appears on his forehead, and I can’t tell if it’s a result of
confusion or fascination. “Aren’t you still in nursing school? How can
you already work as an RN?”
“I’m getting my master’s in nursing so I can work as a CRNA. I
already have my RN license.”
His expression is obstinate, so I clarify.
“It allows me to administer anesthesia.”
He stares at me for a few seconds before standing up straight and
pushing off the doorframe. “Good for you,” he says.
There’s no smile, though.
Why doesn’t he ever smile?
He walks back to the living room. I step out of the doorway and
watch him. Miles takes his seat on the couch and gives the TV his full
attention.
Dillon is giving me his full attention, but I look away and head to the
kitchen to find something to eat. There isn’t much, considering I
haven’t cooked all week, so I grab all the stuff I need from the

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refrigerator in order to make a sandwich. When I turn around, Dillon is
still staring. Only now he’s staring from about a foot away, instead of all
the way from the living room.
He smiles, then steps forward and reaches into the refrigerator,
coming inches from my face. “So you’re Corbin’s little sis?”