So this part is crap. I'm not happy with it in the slightest. I seem to be going though the most horrible writer's block, so please bear with me. I had to just grind this one out. So please be patient, let me know if you're still reading.

--

I like the gym.

In my years in this city I've grown to love to the energy and noises of New York, but when I need a moment of silence, an hour or two of alone time, I go the gym. At the gym you're surrounded by people who are also lost in their own worlds, working out frustrations and keeping fit on the various forms of workout equipment. They don't bother you, don't nag you. I can put in my headphones, turn on my IPod, become lost in my playlist, and just let my frustrations go. In an odd way, it helps me clear my head and find a moment of peace on hard days.

And, God, today I most certainly could use that.

After last night's (Date? Outing?) dinner with Miley, I can't keep anything in my head straight. After all these years I thought I had healed from the heartbreak she had caused me, but I spend one night at a dinner table with her and one hug, and all of a sudden I feel like that naïve teenage girl once again. The dinner actually wasn't too bad, we talked like old friends should, joking and playing around with each other just like the good old days. Sure, there were moments when we both felt we were walking on egg shells, but that was okay, because we still kept talking.

But at the end of the night, the whole thing almost came crashing down, this thin floor that we were beginning to build underneath us. She leaned in, tried to kiss me on the cheek like friends do, and I like the idiot I am turned my head so that she caught the corner of my mouth with her lips. The intimate contact was shocking, and Miley scampered looking shell-shocked to a cab while I stood on the sidewalk dumbfounded. Sure, you're over her Truscott. Sure you are.

I go through the next day in a haze, replaying every single exchange, every single touch in my head over and over again. Work drags by, there are no meetings and all I really do is turn in my article (which is passable, but not my best work) and spend the rest of the day dodging Eric's questions.

So today, I really need a workout. The gym is pretty crowded after work hours, filled with doctors, bankers, lawyers, waiters, nurses, and others who just finished their days like me, but I find an open treadmill near the back. For some insane reason, I like running. It's a reminder of my former days of sports, soccer, and basketball, and the adrenaline really helps clear the head, or help me feel better after a shitty day. Or at least, that's what I'm hoping.

I start up the treadmill at a low speed, walking at first to stretch out my leg muscles. After working out the kinks in my legs that were formed by sitting at a desk all day, I reach out for the control panel, increasing the tempo to a quick jog, enjoy the feeling of my heart speeding up in my chest as the adrenaline begins to pump throughout my body.

God, what Miley did to me. Still does to me. There's no lying about it, I'm too old for that now, that all the other women I've dated have faded in comparison to the memory that is Miley. Last night she slipped and mentioned the night all the feelings that had bubbling under the surface all those years burst their way to the surface. I reach out and increase the speed on the treadmill.

And last night, after not seeing or talking to Miley Stewart for years, she touched me, kissed me on the cheek. And I couldn't react, wouldn't or couldn't let my poker face fall. A warmth spreads in my chest from the memory of her skin against mine. I increase the speed yet again.

My legs move in a quick rhythm underneath me, arms pump along with them. My breathing is rapid, my lungs start heaving, but I keep moving, keep running. My legs are pistons, I am a machine, I can keep it together no matter what. I can keep my cool, hide the pain her actions cause me to this day. I am untouchable.

But why can't I get that night out of my head? The night of Lauren's graduation party. After years of replaying that night in my head, the memories had laid dormant for a few years, only now to be awakened even more powerful than before.

--

"COPS!"

Miley and I are apart in an instant, and we stand, looking at a pair of boys sprinting down the stairs towards, then past us. I am frozen to my spot in panic.

"What?!" Miley shrieks, and then I hear the bleep of a car siren, and screams from inside the house.

Shit. I can't seem to move, my limbs frozen in their place. I try to will them to move, but I am so shocked by the kiss before and the scene lying out before me that I can't seem to find my head.

Shake it out, Truscott. I grab her hand and hold it firmly.

"Miley, come on, let's get out of here!" I look at our clasped hands for a mere moment and we jolt to life as I begin to drag her through the back yard, past the enormous pool, the hot tub house, over the finely manicured lawn. She moves unsteadily, partly from her heels, partly from the effects of the drinking I'm sure. But I'm not exactly able to walk the straight line either, and at the thought I panic and move faster.

We reach a low white picket fence. Beyond it is a sandy trail down a slope covered in shrubs and grasses, and beyond that, the stretch of a flat sandy beach and the ocean. I stop at the fence. My hand suddenly feels empty, Miley has let go of it.

"Come on," I hiss. I still hear the whine of sirens, and the shouting is louder, closer now. I take a step back, run at the fence and clear it in one hop, placing one hand on the painted wood and swinging my body over easily. I look back at Miley expectantly. She blinks.

"Come on," I say again, louder this time, from the other side. She shuffles her feet, she doesn't trust her own athletic prowess but awkwardly manages to tumble over without any major injuries.

I am already halfway down the path, and I can hear her stumble awkwardly after me, the sharp grass along the slope stinging and scratching at my bare calves. I barely notice this, I just move faster. Once on the beach, we both begin running at full speed. A short glance backwards and I can see the glow of red and blue flashing lights from Lauren's house. Oh shit. I briefly think of Oliver and Sarah, hope that they made it out of the house safely.

After a few more minutes, my lungs are gasping and begging for oxygen, my legs feel like rubber as they try to move my body forward. The sand is damp, makes running difficult, makes my feet cold. Finally, once I am out of sight of Lauren's house, I stop.

"Lily!" I hear Miley croak. "Lily!"

I stop, try to get my bearings, but my head is swirling. I can't seem to wrap my head around what has happened to me tonight. I was chased by the police at a party where there were minors drinking alcohol, and I could have been arrested. And I just kissed my best friend. I just kissed a girl.

I just kissed Miley.

"Lilly," she runs up to my side, still panting from our run. "Look, there's my house!"

Sure enough, in the distance is the outline of the Stewart Mansion, visible thanks to the quickly fading moonlight. She walks forward, but I stay. The wind is picking up, and Miley checks the sky. "Lilly, it's going to rain. Please, come on."

I stand, still panting slightly, overcome with that strange sensation again, the one I'd tried to ignore all this time, feelings bubbling to the surface that I was certain that I'd never show her. My brain is screaming at me to be quiet, to just keep moving my feet, but I feel my mouth open.

"Miley, I need to do something. Just let me do it, and we don't ever have to talk about it again." What am I saying? What am I doing? My head is still buzzing from the trashcan punch, and she looks nervous. I don't stop.

As I reach her I wrap an arm around her waist and back, pull our bodies together roughly, stomach to stomach, breast to breast. Her breath smells like fruit punch, her hair like raspberries, and I can't place the perfume. I stare at her lips, her breathing is shallow and rushed, but then again, so is mine.

And, then, I kiss her. Just like I've imagined it in my dreams. Her lips are soft and meet mine tentatively, and I expect her to push me away, to say no, but her lips rest against mine. Then press, and move. Oh my. She's kissing me back. We work our mouths against one another's slowly at first, then wildly, as if our time is running away from us. When we're no longer able to breathe, I break the kiss, and stand back.

"I just wanted to know what it felt like." Christ, what am I saying? She looks at me with wide eyes, she opens her mouth.

And then the heavens open up onto us.

Now it's her turn to pull me, and we slowly make our way up to Miley's house as raindrops drop onto the sand, darkening it, a few lonely claps of thunder boom overhead and lightning lights up the twilight horizon. We thunder up the deck steps, across the back porch and into the house.

The house is dark and silent as we creep in the back door. I stand in the living room, shivering from the force of the wind and the wet that covers my body. I stare at Miley, beautiful Miley, in her white skirt and tight green top, wet hair clinging to her face. I shouldn't be here. I don't trust myself; don't trust what my mouth might say.

She walks towards me, stops a good distance away. "Let's go to my room, I can get you some dry clothes."

I follow her up the stairs, keep well behind and make a point not to stare at her ass as we ascend the steps. Instead I look at my Converse, sopping wet, squishing with every movement. My shirt clings to my skin, only my beanie protected the top of my head. I want to take it off, but don't. I enter Miley's room several seconds after she does, and she's already rummaging in the Hannah closet, tossing out pajama pants, tee shirts, and camis.

"Maybe I should just go," I say, wrapping my arms around my chilled body.

"It's pouring outside, we've been drinking, and you don't have a car. At least stay here until the storm blows over, I'm sure that your Mom would be okay with it," she answers from the closet. Her tone is hard to read. I don't reply that Mom thinks I'm at Sarah's house.

"Dad's camping with Uncle Earl and the rest of the family that came into town, he won't be back until tomorrow and Jackson's already back at college," she emerges from the closet, offers a sweatshirt and pajama pants to me. I reach out to take the clothing, and our hands touch, just slightly. The skin to skin contact sends shivers down my spine and electricity through my body. I retract my hand, and the clothes fall to the floor in a soundless heap. She's looking at me, with this odd look, as if she's just processing all that's happened tonight. There's a long, long pause, with us just standing, so far apart, the silence enveloping us both.

Then, she speaks.

"What just happened between?" she says. "I mean, at the party, and then the beach. What's going on, Lilly? What are we doing?"

I don't answer; I stand dumb next to the Hannah closet. I love you, Miley. I'm too afraid to say it.

"Because I've never done anything like that," her voice is thick, breaks every so often, "and I'm scared because, because …."

"Because what?" I ask softly, heart thumping in anticipation.

"Because I wanted it."

My breathing quickens, my heart skips a beat and I feel that familiar tug behind my navel. This is bad. Very bad. The words rise up like bile in my throat, and I fight to keep them down, but one more look into Miley's eyes and I know I can't hold back any longer.

"Miley," I say softly, hug my arms around myself to keep some of my body heat. "I need to say something."

She's look at me with those wide, vulnerable eyes, and my heart breaks a little. "Lilly…"

I have to say this. "I know you don't want to hear this, and this is going to change everything, but I need to say it. I love you. I've been falling in love with you for 4 years."

She's crying, but somehow I can't find tears. I must have cried them all already.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I've ruined everything."

And then she steps forward and kisses me. I'm probably still a little bit drunk, but that doesn't matter. The sensation of her lips on mine feels even better than before, warm and soft and wet, and I'm undone. I feel her tear my beanie off my head and bury her hands in my hair, massaging my head slowly, and dear God does it feel wonderful. I finally react, moving my lips against hers and deepening the kiss, place my hands on her lower back and pull our bodies together. Oh, what are we doing? Will we regret this in the morning? Right now, I don't care.

I can't think. I can only feel. Feel the energy between us, feel our shivering bodies pressed up against one another's as we desperately cling to each other. And she doesn't push me away.

I feel her tongue dart out and touch my lips just slightly. My mouth opens right on cue, and our tongues intertwine in the warm crevasse that is my mouth. She pulls away for air, and I look into her eyes, those beautiful deep brown eyes and I am home. They are filled with passion, a passion that I have never seen from her before.

We gasp, kiss again. My lips move to her neck hungrily, I want to touch her, feel every single part of her. Her throat emits a low, guttural moan as I kiss the soft skin, and it creates a thrill in me that I don't bother to suppress or control. Her arms wrap themselves around me once again, and my hands grab her hips and we pull each other even closer.

Our mouths meet once again as Miley hands wander lower down my back, finding the edge of my shirt and moving under it. I feel her hands on the bare skin of my back and I am nearly undone. Our mouths disconnect as I gasp loudly from the sensation. She looks at me. There's no smile, no frown adorning her features, only this curious mix of fear and desire. She doesn't speak, either, only pushes me to her bed, where we collapse in a tangle of limbs and lips.

We sit here, stark naked before each other, gazing expectedly at one another with passion and fear and vulnerability; and I don't believe I've ever seen anything so beautiful in my whole life. My hand reaches up and touches her face, and she leans into it and sighs.

"Miley, I…" my words are silenced by a quick motion of Miley's hand covering my mouth.

"Don't say anything," she says quietly, then removes her hand. "Just don't talk, okay?"

Slowly, piece by piece, we remove our clothing. Shirts first, then her skirt, my Capri's. My bra, underwear are black, hers are white. She's so beautiful. She trembles as she unhooks my bra, and then her own, and I begin to tremble too. We work off our underwear; eyes locked, and face each other, standing on our knees. I feel vulnerable, scared. The cool air kisses my bare skin, I watch Miley's chest move up and down from labored breathing. She's so beautiful that I feel like crying. But I don't. Instead, I take her hands in mine.

I nod. She nods. And we lay down on the bed, gazes locked. And our hands reach towards each other, gathering each other out of the darkness. We're inexperienced, fumble at first, but our touches are filled with instinct and it doesn't take long for awkward touches to produce pleasures that I haven't felt before. I feel like we're enveloped in an intense white light, isolated and protected from the outside world. I'm here with Miley, and in these moments not a thing in the world matters.

She comes with her eyes closed, fingernails digging into my back and then I soon after, gasping her name as I'm pushed over the edge.

We collapse onto one another, our naked bodies bathed in the twilight. As we lie next to each other, I feel tears forming at the corners of my eyes. Tomorrow, we will have to deal with what we've just done. Tomorrow will be the consequences. But at this moment, I'm lying next to Miley in all her beauty and it feels like a dream is coming true. This moment, right now, everything is perfect.

But now, everything changes.

--

"Shit!"

My reverie ends suddenly as my pace hiccups, my feet catch on the rubber matting of the treadmill, and I fall most ungracefully to my knees. For a moment, I sit in shock. Did I really just do that?

The treadmill has shut off, it's built in safety precautions going to good use, and I shift my legs from underneath me as carefully as I can. My right leg aches from where I've fallen on it, and I touch it tenderly. There will be a huge bruise there tomorrow.

"Oh my God, are you okay miss?" Some beefy gym employee has rushed over and hovers over me worriedly.

I am still gasping from the run, face red from embarrassment and exercise. I take a quick look at the time and distance on the control board. Too long. I ran too long, too fast. The employee reaches out and grabs me, helping me most unceremoniously to my feet as concerned lookers-on watch from a distance.

"Yeah," I say once some of my breath returns to me. "I just got the wind knocked out of me."

"Do you want any ice, miss? At least sit down so we can make sure that you're alright."

I put a little weight on my right leg, then take a few easy steps off of the treadmill and back onto solid ground. It's painful, but not broken. It will be tender for a few days at the most. I pull my arm gently free from the employee's grasp and offer him a rueful smile.

"Thanks, I'm good though."

"Are you sure? I can walk you to the front to get a cab if you don't feel like walking."

I shake my head. I'm embarrassed enough already. "No, I'm fine."

I limp my way to the locker room, eyes, glued to the floor and cheeks flushed partially from the run and partially from my complete and utterly humiliation. Once safe inside the locker room, I hobble my way over to a shower stall.

It would probably make more sense that after my little trip down memory lane that I take a cold shower, but I turn the knob almost all the way to the left, hold my hand under the water until it turns from cool to lukewarm to nearly scalding before I step in. I've always liked hot showers.

I let the hot spray soak my hair and drip down my body before I begin going through the regular motions of washing my hair and body. The warmth of the water on my hurt leg helps the pain a bit, but I can still see a massive purplish red bruise beginning to form on it.

So the workout didn't help. At all. It actually made things worse, which I thought couldn't ever happen. And it's all because of Miley, and because I can't seem to act like anything besides a nervous teenager when I am around her.

I promised myself that I would leave all the questions from our last days together behind me and forget it. That didn't happen. All these questions that were on my mind are obviously still there, weighing me down with a gray funk that I can't shake free of. I feel frustrated. I feel angry. I feel sad. I didn't say all the things I wanted to say to Miley, didn't ask the questions I truly wanted answered.

I end my shower and dress quickly in shorts and a tank top, throw a heavy sweatshirt on top to combat the cold weather. Stop thinking about all this, I try to tell myself, and run outside to hail a cab.

The cab whizzes by buildings, down streets. Past restaurants, hotels, offices, stores. I can't get her out of my head. The sound of her voice, the feel of her lips on my skin. The warmth of her body from the hug.

I could call her tomorrow. Ask her out for a drink. I could actually try to be an adult about this, instead of a child. It was obvious that she was ready and willing to answer my questions, ready to talk about what happened between us, and it was true that I wanted nothing more than just those answers.

Who am I kidding? I'm scared. But Miley is here, after all these years, and she wants to see me. Wants to touch me, hug me. What does it all mean?

An emotion seizes me, a quickening, and a sudden need overtakes me. The need to see her, to hear her voice, her answers, so that I can finally put all the pieces to the puzzle together. I don't want to wait until tomorrow to call her. My hand shoots out, knocks urgently on the plastic barrier between the cabbie and the passenger backseat.

"Yes ma'am?"

"Turn around."

--

Of course Miley would stay at the Four Seasons. Only the best for the former Hannah Montana. As Lola and Hannah, we would go to parties at the most expensive hotels, eat at the fanciest restaurants, shop at the trendiest stores.

But none of that seems to matter now. I realize now that I never missed the clothes, or the parties, or the celebrity friends. I missed Miley. I missed her smile, her laugh, her hugs. My romantic feelings for her killed our friendship, changed it and mangled it beyond all recognition. I feel a twinge of guilt and pain within my chest.

I feel a little out of place, walking through the posh lobby and riding up the fancy polished elevator. With Miley, though, I always felt like I was a little out of my league.

Tenth floor. The bell dings, and I step out. I walk down the hallway, almost in a haze.

This is the one. I don't hesitate at all. I've come too far to second guess this now. I knock, one, twice, three times loudly, then stand back and wait.

A few moments pass. And then a few more.

Finally, a sound. The clicking of the lock, then the door handle. The door swings open, and there she is.

"Miley, can we talk?"

She looks surprised, but not shocked to see me. And after a few seconds (that seem like a lifetime), she finally pulls the door open.

"Please come in."

--

Hey guys thanks for reading. Send me your love!