What You're Not | ✔

44. Masquerade (1)

Miles looked good in a tux. Really good.

I'd spotted him from across the room after looking around for almost ten minutes. The party was already packed with people in sparkling gowns and nice looking suits. Miles was laughing with Owen, over in a corner next to a display of helium filled foil balloons with Vivian's grinning face on them. Just as I suspected, her face was on everything.

Miles wore a mask. It was small and black and only covered his eyes. If it weren't for his signature smile I probably wouldn't have realized it was him.

My eyes were trained on him as I made my way through the mass of people in their best dresses and suits. It was like tunnel vision, the dancing bodies blurring as I moved to get my boyfriend.

"Hey," I said once I was in front of him.

He looked up at me, his jaw dropping slightly. He pushed the mask up into his hair as he took in my appearance. My cheeks flushed as his eyes roamed every inch of me.

"Hi," he said, finally meeting my eyes. "Aren't you grounded?"

My attempts to scale back my smile were futile. It could've been some lingering adrenaline from my escape or maybe just the fact that I hadn't seen him in about twenty-four hours. Whichever it was made me want to skip the small talk and go in for the kiss. So, I did.

Kissing him was satisfying. Like finally settling a craving. It wasn't rushed like in the halls of school—so quick that our lips barely touched. There, without nosy teachers, we could take our time and enjoy it.

"Ahem!" Owen let out an exaggerated cough.

Miles and I broke apart for some much needed air. My face flamed at the thought of our make out having an audience.

"That was painful to watch," Owen commented, snatching a slider from a servers tray as they passed by, which he ate in one bite.

"Then don't watch," Miles said to him. His attention stayed on me, his arms slipping around my waist.

"What else am I supposed to do?"

Miles's lips fell into a frown as he let out a small groan. I kissed his cheek to let him know that we would pick up where we left off later.

"There are people everywhere," Miles pointed out. "Mingle."

I turned around in his arms, pressing my back into his chest and looking out at the crowd. He was right, the place was packed. And I couldn't help but notice a few of girls shamelessly checking Owen out.

"There's only one girl I want," he said, nodding to the opposite side of the room.

I looked over to see Chelsea taking pictures at the photoshoot station that was equipped with a professional photographer. She hadn't complained about her ex sending her unsolicited roses or giant stuffed animals, so I assumed Owen took my advice and backed off.

"This giving her space thing is hard," he confessed, pouting like a small child. "I had to change her number in my phone to Miles' because I kept wanting to text her."

"For the record," Miles spoke, "I loved that poem you sent me the other day."

"It wasn't a poem," he defended. "The rhyming was accidental."

I was intrigued. "What was the poem about?"

"It wasn't a—" he stopped mid-sentence. His eyes grew wide as he gulped. "She's coming over here.

Sure enough, Chelsea was making her way over to us, her black gown dusting against the floor.

"What do I do?" Owen asked, his voice panicky and rushed.