Page 46 of Rent: Paid in Full

Fuck, it felt good. Eyes-rolling-back-in-my-head good. The-end-of-the-world-is-nigh good. It wasn’t just his tongue that felt good either. It was his lips too. And his hands. And his breath on my skin.

Ngh.

If I continue at this rate, Miller will need to buy more of his expensive face moisturizer a lot sooner than he might think.

That’s not the only weird thing happening either. Miller has been behaving himself. It’s very jarring. Not kind of behaving himself. Not smiling with ulterior motives or anything like that. Actually behaving himself, and given everything I know about him, that in itself is very unusual. He’s been friendly and polite, even going so far as to give me space. He hasn’t been lurking in our room all the time, and he hasn’t even been drilling holes into the back of my head with his eyes when I have my back turned on him. He hasn’t been interrogating me about where I’ve been, and he hasn’t made a pass at me once in like four or five days. For him, that’s a record.

It’s a big relief. Obviously, it’s a relief.

I mean, yeah, the money was nice. Of course it was nice. It’s the most I’ve earned from any job I’ve ever had. It’s the first time I’ve had more than a couple hundred dollars in my bank account that wasn’t earmarked for something else. It’s a nice feeling to check your account and not feel sick with panic. It’s a huge relief. Anyone would enjoy it. It’s totally normal to like having money, and it’s totally normal not to be completely happy about not being able to get more. Anyone would feel a bit bleak about being cut off from this type of cash.

It doesn’t mean anything.

It definitely doesn’t mean anything.

Actually, you know what? It does. It means one thing. It means I’m human. That’s what it means.

I head out of the dorm to go to a lecture, and as I walk down the stairs, I run into Miller and Dean, who are on their way back from the gym.

“Yo, Ryan,” says Dean, stopping on the landing when he sees me. “You good?”

“Yeah, you?”

He smiles and nods and holds a fist in my direction. I bump my fist skittishly against his, feeling like a fraud. We all know I’m in no way cool enough to pull off an authentic-looking fist bump. That’s just a fact. I hate that I know Miller can probably tell how I’m feeling even more. Now that I know how observant he is, it’s even harder to know how to act around him.

“You coming for pizza tonight?” asks Dean.

“Nah, can’t.” Miller doesn’t react. No reaction whatsoever. Not a blink. Not a smile. Not an accusing glare. Nothing, so I tack on, “Em and I are going out. Yeah, we’re going out. We’re meeting Ben and Nic.” I let my voice drift to nothing, not least because I’m talking complete and utter bullshit.

“Nice,” says Miller, smile still notably absent. “Em’s a great girl.”

Em’s a great girl?

Em’s a great fucking girl?

Dean gives me a little shoulder butt and a pat on the back and then starts to head for the doorway. I stand frozen, dumb and confused about what I want from this inane interaction that I haven’t already got. Miller watches me thoughtfully as I try to figure it out. I can’t stand the look on his face so I turn and start walking. The second I do, I hear it, or feel it, or however the hell you describe a smile you can’t see but know for a fact is aimed straight at you. I spin around to catch him at it, and as I do, I’m all but toppled over by the resounding slap he lands on my ass.

My entire body bursts into heat. It travels through my flesh, up my spine, and makes my face hot with frustration.

“Ow! What the fuck?” I hiss.

“What?” he asks, raising his shoulders innocently. “Want me to do the other side so you’re evened out?”

I walk off as quickly as I can. I’m annoyed and irritated and humiliated to boot. Not least because the handprint on my ass isstinging, making me hot, burning me, and setting my dick and balls alight.

I was right about the smile though.

Hewassmiling. His whole face was alive with it. It was the worst smile I’ve seen on him yet. Sexy and seductive and lustful as fuck. It was terrible. It really was. It was so horrible it made me feel lightheaded and sick.

And if you want to know the worst thing about it—I’m not one hundred percent sure I hated it.

I round the corner and find my favorite section of the library completely deserted. My lungs empty the breath I didn’t know I was holding, and I feel myself relax. There are few things in life better than libraries and solitude. It’s heaven. A forest of books, a labyrinth of high shelves, a comforting cocoon of letters on pages, and complete and utter silence. I sit and lean back in my chair, relishing the peace, closing my eyes, and sighing so loudly that a librarian would probably shush me if there was one nearby.

I’m about to get my notes out of my bag and start reading through them when I’m hit by a familiar feeling. A hair-raising feeling of being watched. A feeling of gunmetal-gray eyes piercing deep into me. A feeling I factually hate but one I’ve found myself strangely adrift without for the past week or so.

I look behind me, and there Miller is, resting against a bookshelf with his arms crossed and one leg bent at the knee. A vision of blond arrogance wrapped in a crisp white sweater and eye-wateringly well-fitting jeans.

“What are you doing here?” I make no effort to remove the accusation from my words.