“I’m going to the restroom,” Ian says. “I’ll find you guys.”

Corbin walks to the hostess stand, and Miles and I are both behind him. I steal a glance in Miles’s direction. “Congratulations, Captain.”

I say it under my breath, but I don’t know why. It’s not as if Corbin would become suspicious if he heard me congratulating Miles. I guess I feel if I say it in a tone only Miles can hear, there’s more meaning behind it.

Miles cuts his eyes to mine and smiles, then glances at Corbin. When he sees Corbin’s back is still to us, he leans over and plants a quick kiss on the side of my head.

I should be ashamed of my weakness. A man should not be allowed to make me feel the way that stolen kiss just made me feel. It’s as if I’m suddenly floating or sinking or flying. Anything that doesn’t require support from my legs, because they’ve just become useless to me.

“Thank you,” he whispers, still sporting that gorgeous yet somehow modest grin. He nudges my shoulder with his and looks down at his feet. “You look pretty, Tate.”

I want to plaster those four words on a billboard and require myself to pass it on my drive to work every day. I would never take another day off work again.

As much as I want to believe he’s being sincere with his compliment, I frown down at the scrubs I’ve been wearing for twelve hours straight. “I’m wearing Minnie Mouse scrubs.”

He leans into me again until our shoulders are touching. “I’ve kind of always had a thing for Minnie Mouse,” he says quietly.

Corbin turns around, so I immediately wipe the grin off my face. “Booth or table?”

Miles and I both shrug. “Either,” he says to Corbin.

Ian returns from the restroom just as the hostess begins to lead us to our seats. Corbin and Ian lead the way, and Miles follows close behind me. Really close. His hand grips my waist as he leans forward toward my ear from behind me. “Kind of have a thing for nurses, too,” he whispers.

I raise my shoulder to rub the ear he just whispered his admission into, because my entire neck is now covered in chills. He releases my waist and puts distance between us when we reach the booth. Corbin and Ian scoot into each side of the booth. Miles sits next to Ian, so I sit next to Corbin, directly across from Miles.

Miles and I both order sodas, compared with Ian and Corbin’s beer. His drink choice is just one more thing to mull over. Several weeks ago, he admitted he doesn’t usually drink, but considering he was beyond wasted the first night I met him, I figured he would at least have one drink tonight. He certainly has reason to celebrate. When the drinks are brought to the table, Ian raises his glass. “To showing us up,” he says.

“Again,” Corbin adds.

“To working twice as many hours as either of you,” Miles says in mock defensiveness.

“Corbin and I actually have sex lives that interfere with working overtime,” Ian retorts.

Corbin shakes his head. “No discussing my sex life in front of my sister.”

“Why not?” I pipe up. “It’s not like I don’t notice all the random nights you spend away from the apartment when you aren’t working.”

Corbin groans. “I’m serious. Change of subject.”

I grant him his request gladly. “How long have the three of you known each other?” I ask the question to no one in particular, but I only care to hear the answers that involve Miles.

“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.