“Miles and I have known your brother since meeting him in flight school a few years back. I’ve known Miles since I was nine or ten,” Ian says.

“We were both eleven,” Miles corrects. “We met during fifth grade.”

I have no idea if this conversation is breaking rule one of no asking about the past, but Miles doesn’t seem uncomfortable talking about it.

The waitress brings us a complimentary basket of bread, but none of us has even opened a menu yet, so she tells us she’ll be back to take our order.

“I still can’t believe you’re not gay,” Corbin says to Miles, completely changing the subject again while he opens his menu.

Miles peers at him over his menu. “I thought we weren’t discussing sex lives.”

“No,” Corbin says. “I said we weren’t discussing my sex life. Besides, you don’t even have one to discuss.” Corbin lays his menu flat on the table and engages Miles directly. “Seriously, though. Why don’t you ever date?”

Miles shrugs, more interested in the drink between his hands than in having a stare-down with my brother. “Relationships aren’t worth the end result to me.”

Something in my heart cracks, and I start to worry that one of the guys might actually hear it fragmenting over the silence. Corbin leans back in the seat.

“Damn. She must have been a serious bitch.”

My eyes are suddenly glued to Miles, waiting for his reaction to a possible revelation about his past. He gives his head a slight shake, silently dismissing Corbin’s assumption. Ian gently clears his throat, and his expression changes as he loses the smile normally affixed to his face. It’s obvious by Ian’s reaction that whatever issues Miles has from his past, Ian is definitely aware of them.

Ian sits up straight in his seat and raises his glass, pasting a forced grin onto his lips. “Miles doesn’t have time for girls. He’s too busy breaking company records by becoming the youngest captain our airline has ever seen.”

We take Ian’s interruption for what it is and raise our glasses. We clink them together, and everyone takes a drink.

The appreciative look Miles shoots in Ian’s direction doesn’t go unnoticed by me, although Corbin seems to be clueless. Now I’m even more curious about Miles. And equally concerned that I’m getting in over my head, because the more time I spend with him, the more I want to know everything there is to know about him.

“We should celebrate,” Corbin says.

Miles moves his menu down. “I thought that’s what we were doing.”

“I mean after this. We’re going out tonight. We need to find a girl to put an end to your dry spell,” Corbin says.

I almost spit my drink out, but luckily, I’m able to contain my laugh. Miles notices my reaction and taps my ankle under the table with his foot. But he leaves his foot right next to mine.

“I’ll be fine,” Miles says. “Besides, the captain needs his rest.”

All the letters on the menu begin to blur as my mind replaces them with words like ending and dry spell and rest.

Ian looks at Corbin and nods. “I’ll go. Let the captain go back to his apartment and sleep off the effects of his cola.”

Miles pegs me with his eyes and adjusts slightly in his seat so that our knees touch. He wraps his foot around the back of my ankle. “Sleep actually sounds really good,” he says. He trades my stare for the menu in front of him. “Let’s hurry up and order so I can go back to my apartment and sleep. It feels like I haven’t slept in more than nine days, and it’s all I’ve been able to think about.”

My cheeks are on fire, along with several other areas of my body.

“In fact, I kind of have the urge to fall asleep right now,” Miles says. He lifts his eyes to meet mine. “Right here at the table.”

Now the temperature in the rest of my body matches the heat in my cheeks.

“God, you’re lame,” Corbin says, laughing. “We should have brought Dillon instead.”

“No, we should not have,” Ian immediately says with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

“What’s the deal with Dillon?” I ask. “Why do you all hate him so much?”

Corbin shrugs. “It’s not that we hate him. We just can’t stand him, and none of us realized it until after we had already invited him to our game nights. He’s a prick.” Corbin shoots me that all-too-familiar glare. “And I don’t ever want you alone with him. Being married doesn’t stop him from being an asshole.”

And there’s that possessive, brotherly love I’ve been missing all these years.

“Is he dangerous?”

“No,” Corbin says. “I just know how he treats his marriage, and I don’t want you getting involved with that. But I’ve already made it clear to him that you’re off limits.”

I laugh at his absurdity. “I’m twenty-three, Corbin. You can stop acting like Dad now.”

His face pinches together, and for a second, he even starts resembling our dad. “The hell I will,” Corbin growls. “You’re my little sister. I have standards for you, and Dillon doesn’t come close to meeting even one of them.”

He hasn’t changed a bit. As annoying as it was in high school, and still kind of is, I do love that he wants the best for me. I’m just afraid his version of what’s best for me doesn’t exist.

“Corbin, no guy will ever come close to the standards you’ve set for me.”

He nods, getting all righteous. “Damn right.”

If he warned Dillon to stay away from me, it makes me wonder if he warned Miles and Ian, too. Then again, he did think Miles was gay, so he probably didn’t see a possibility there.

I wonder if Miles would meet Corbin’s standards.

My eyes want to look at Miles so incredibly much right now, but I’m afraid I’d be too obvious. Instead, I force a smile and shake my head. “Why couldn’t I have been born first?”

“Wouldn’t have made a difference,” Corbin replies.

Ian smiles at the waitress and motions for the check. “It’s on me tonight.” He lays down enough cash to cover the bill and tip, and we all stand and stretch.

“So who’s going where?” Miles asks.

“Bar,” Corbin replies immediately, blurting it out like he’s calling dibs.

“I just got off a twelve-hour shift,” I say. “I’m beat.”

“Mind if I catch a ride with you?” Miles asks as we all make our way outside. “I don’t feel like going out tonight. I just want sleep.”

I like how he doesn’t disguise the emphasis in front of Corbin when he says sleep. It’s like he wants to ensure that I’m aware he has no intentions of actually sleeping.

“Yeah, my car is back at the hospital,” I say, pointing in that general direction.

“All right, then,” Corbin says, clasping his hands together. “You lame asses go sleep. Ian and I are going out.” Corbin turns, and he and Ian waste no time heading in the other direction. Corbin spins around, walking backward in pace with Ian. “We’ll drink a shot in your honor, El Capitán!”

Miles and I remain motionless, boxed into a circle of light cascading down from a streetlamp as we watch them walk away. I look down at the sidewalk below us and scoot one of my shoes to the edge of the circle of light, watching as it disappears into the darkness. I look up at the streetlamp, wondering why it’s shining down on us with the intensity of a spotlight.

“Feels like we’re on a stage,” I say, still looking up at the light.

He tilts his head back and joins my inspection of the odd lighting. “The English Patient,” he says. I look at him questioningly. He gestures to the streetlamp above our heads. “If we were on a stage, it would probably be a production of The English Patient.” He flicks his hand back and forth between us. “We’re already dressed the part. A nurse and a pilot.”

I mull over what he says, probably a little too much. I know he says he’s the pilot, but if this really were a stage production of The English Patient, I think he would be the soldier rather than the pilot. The soldier is the character who is sexually involved with the nurse. Not the pilot.

But the pilot is the one with the secretive past …

“That movie is the reason I became a nurse,” I say, looking at him with a straight face.

He returns his hands to his pockets, shifting his gaze from the light overhead back to me. “For real?”

My laugh escapes. “No.”

Miles smiles.

That rhymes.

We both turn at the same time to head back toward the hospital. I find myself using the lull in our conversation to construct a really bad poem in my head.

Miles smiles

For no one else

Miles only smiles

For me.

“Why are you grinning?” he asks.

Because I’m reciting embarrassing third-grade-level rhymes about you.

I pin my lips together, forcing my smile away. When I know it’s gone for good, I answer him. “Just thinking about how tired I am. Looking forward to a really good”—I cut my eyes to his—“sleep tonight.”

He’s the one smiling now. “I know what you mean. I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired. I might even sleep as soon as we’re inside your car.”

That would be nice.

I smile but bow out of the metaphor-laden conversation. It’s been a long day, and I actually really am tired. We walk in silence, and I can’t help but notice that his hands are shoved firmly into his jacket pockets, as if he’s protecting me from them. Or maybe he’s protecting them from me.

We’re only a block away from the parking lot when his footsteps slow, then stop completely. Naturally, I stop walking and turn around to see what caught his attention. He’s looking up at the sky, and my eyes focus on the scar that runs the length of his jaw. I want to ask him about it. I want to ask him about everything. I want to ask him a million questions, starting with when his birthday is and then what his first kiss was like. After that, I want to ask him about his parents and his entire childhood and his first love.

I want to ask him about Rachel. I want to know what happened with them and why whatever happened caused him to want to avoid any form of intimacy for more than six years.

Most of all, I want to know what it was about me that finally put an end to it.

“Miles,” I say, each question wanting to dive off the tip of my tongue.

“I felt a raindrop,” he says.

Before the sentence leaves his mouth, I feel one, too. We’re both looking up at the sky now, and I’m swallowing all the questions along with the lump in my throat. The drops begin to fall faster, but we continue to stand there with our faces tilted up toward the sky. The sporadic drops turn into sprinkles, which then turn into full-on rain, but neither of us has moved. Neither of us is making a mad dash for the car. The rain is sliding down my skin, down my neck, into my hair, and soaking my shirt. My face is still tilted toward the sky, but my eyes are closed now.

There’s nothing in the world that compares to the feel and smell of brand-new rain.

As soon as that thought crosses my mind, warm hands meet my cheeks and slide to the nape of my neck, stealing the strength from my knees and the air from my lungs. His height is shielding me from most of the rain now, but I keep my eyes closed and tilted toward the sky. His lips come down gently over mine, and I find myself comparing the feel and smell of brand-new rain to his kiss.

His kiss is much, much better.

His lips are wet from the rain, and they’re a little bit cold, but he counterbalances that with the warm caress of his tongue against mine. The falling rain, the darkness surrounding us, and being kissed like this make it feel like we really are on a stage and our story has just reached its cl**ax. It feels as if my heart and my stomach and my soul are all scrambling to get out of me and into him. If all my twenty-three years were laid on a graph, this moment would be the crest in my bell curve.

I should probably be a little bit sad and disappointed about this realization. I’ve had a few serious relationships in my past, but I can’t recall a single kiss with any of those guys where I felt this much. The fact that I’m not even in a relationship with Miles and I feel this affected by him should tell me something, but I’m too invested in his mouth to scrutinize that thought.

The rain has turned into a downpour, but neither of us seems to be affected by it. His hands drop to my lower back, and I fist his shirt in my hands, pulling him closer. His mouth fits mine as if we’re two pieces from the same puzzle.

The only thing that could possibly separate me from him right now would be a bolt of lightning.

Or the fact that it’s raining so hard I can’t breathe. My clothes are stuck to parts of me I didn’t even know clothes could stick to. My hair is so saturated it can’t absorb another drop of water.

I push against him until he releases my mouth from his, and then I bury my head under his chin and look down so I can take a breath without drowning. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and ushers me toward the parking lot, lifting his jacket over my head. He picks up his pace, and I match him step for step until we’re both running.

We finally reach my car, and he approaches the driver’s-side door with me, still shielding me from the rain. Once I’m inside the car, he rushes around to the passenger side. When both of our doors are shut, the silence inside the car magnifies the intensity of our heavy breathing. I reach my hands behind my head and gather my hair, then squeeze the excess water from it. It runs down my neck, my back, and my seat. It’s the first time I’m relieved to have leather seats in California.

I drop my head back and sigh heavily, then steal a glance in his direction. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this wet in my life.”

I watch as a slow grin spreads across his face. His thoughts obviously plummet into the gutter with that statement.

“Pervert,” I whisper playfully.

He cocks his eyebrow and smirks. “Your fault.” He reaches across the seat and wraps his fingers around my wrist, pulling me toward him. “Come here.”

I make a quick inventory of our surroundings, but the rain is falling so hard I can’t even see outside. Which means no one can see in.

I adjust myself on top of him and straddle his lap as he scoots the seat as far back as it goes. He doesn’t kiss me, though. His hands slide down my arms and come to rest on my hips.

“I’ve never had sex in a car before,” he says with a little bit of hope in his confession.

“I’ve never had sex with a captain before,” I offer.