By the Book

Chapter Thirty-One: Crisis of the Heart

The movie cast a warm, flickering glow across the room, the faint sound of dialogue mingling with the quiet hum of the heater. I was curled up against Miles on the couch, my legs tucked under me and his arm draped casually over my shoulders. His thumb traced absentminded circles against my arm, a motion that was slowly, hypnotically unwinding all the tension I'd carried through the week.

"This is nice," I murmured, half to myself. My head rested against his chest, and I could hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat, even and calming.

"See? I told you you'd like this one," Miles said, his voice low and laced with amusement.

I snorted, turning my head slightly to look up at him. "You didn't 'tell me.' You bullied me into this. I wanted to watch the documentary about that cult."

"Documentaries are for afternoons," he replied with mock seriousness. "Movie nights are for the classics."

"You call this a classic?" I gestured vaguely at the screen, where a poorly CGI'd explosion lit up the scene. "This is barely passable as entertainment."

Miles clutched his chest dramatically with his free hand. "Wow. A direct attack on my taste in movies. That's low, even for you."

"You'll survive," I said dryly, though the corner of my mouth twitched into a smile.

"Will I, though?" He tilted his head down slightly, his eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. "You're awfully smug for someone who didn't even bother to follow the plot."

"I'm following the plot," I shot back, shifting slightly to get more comfortable. "It's about... a guy with a vendetta. And explosions."

Miles laughed, the sound a warm rumble against my side. "Incredible summary. You should write movie reviews."

"Don't tempt me." I let the comfortable quiet settle between us for a moment before glancing up again. "I guess it's not terrible."

"High praise," he said, smirking. "I'll take it."

His smirk lingered, and when I looked up at him, the flickering light from the TV softened the angles of his face, making his expression unreadable. There was a beat of silence, and then his fingers shifted on my shoulder, brushing lightly against my collarbone.

"You know," he said, his voice low and teasing, "I think I like this more when you're not insulting my taste."

I grinned. "Don't get used to it."

Miles chuckled softly, but instead of firing back, he leaned in, his lips brushing against mine in a way that stole the next quip off my tongue. The kiss was warm, unhurried, and just distracting enough to make me forget about the movie entirely. His hand slid down my arm, finding its way to my waist as he pulled me just a fraction closer.

I shifted, turning toward him fully as my hands found their way to the soft fabric of his sweater. His lips moved against mine with quiet confidence, deepening the kiss as my fingers curled into the material, anchoring myself against the dizzying warmth spreading through me. The TV became nothing more than background noise, the explosions on the screen no match for the steady rhythm of his lips against mine.

His hand settled at the small of my back, his thumb brushing against my side in slow, deliberate circles. The motion sent a ripple of heat through me, and I tilted my head slightly, adjusting to the way he leaned in closer, his breath warm and steady against my cheek.

My phone buzzed loudly on the coffee table, jolting me slightly, but I ignored it, the sound barely registering through the haze.

Miles smiled against my lips, pulling back just enough to murmur, "Should you get that?"