He should be apologizing, but the first thing that comes out of his mouth is a bark of laughter. Miles’s happy is so loud that it rings in my ears long after I hear it. It’s hard not to laugh along with him. I reach again for the paper towels, but he beats me to it, tearing off a bunch and tossing his cone in the trash.

“You wasted it,” I say. He bends down to wipe off my leg. I can feel the heat of his hand through the napkin. Whatever I was about to say dies in my throat. All I can muster is a soft “I can do it.”

He glances up at me, something devious in his eyes. By now, most of the ice cream is gone, but his hands, warm and rough, are on both of my thighs.

“It’s fine,” he says, voice low. “I’m cleaning up after myself.”

That’s definitely a euphemism.

His hands are still pressed against my legs, and instead of crouching down, he’s on his knees now. I lean against the counter so I can get a better look. There are so many places to look—at his lips, the long legs folded perfectly, the way he looks at my legs like they’re something to be desired. When he catches me staring, neither of us looks away.

Then his mouth is on my thigh, tasting my skin, exploring, leaving sloppy kisses in his wake. It almost tickles. He takes his sweet time reaching for the zipper of my shorts, and my hands shake as I help get them off. His eyes are darker, bigger, when he glances back up.

“Is this okay?”

I nod, blushing so hard that my face burns, but then he’s leaning in and my mind goes blank. I’m not thinking about the counter digging into my back or the fact that I’m in Miles’s kitchen or how I ditched lunch with my friends. I’m not thinking about anything.

I dig my nails into my thighs, legs trembling. His hand tugs at one of mine, guiding it to his head. I grip his hair between my fingers, letting my own head fall back.

There’s heat everywhere: radiating from me and him, burning deep inside my belly. My breathing grows labored, blood rushing through my ears. I know I’m making all sorts of noises, breathing and moaning. I don’t care. Miles always makes me happy, but this…It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt.

When I finally come back to my senses, we’re sitting on his kitchen floor, slumped against a cabinet.

“Are you okay?” he finally asks. It sounds like he’s out of breath, too.

I squeeze his hand, leaning down for my underwear.