Miles was waiting for Juno in his room and had changed positions four times already. He’d vetoed waiting on the bed (too come hither) and didn’t trust himself not to accidentally knock his (securely wall mounted) TV over with a nervous twitch if he stood near it. He’d settled on hovering by the plant, pretending to inspect the leaves. “You can eat a girl out twice in the back of your packmate’s car but this is what you’re shitting yourself over,” he muttered to himself.
