Chapter 15 #2
Heck, maybe I already have. My stomach tilts remembering why Miles took off from the fundraiser—how he’d been too tempted by the drinks to stay a moment longer.
“His construction buddies are fine and all, but he needs stability.” Jude tucks his hands into his front pockets, watching Olena and Miles across the arcade.
“That makes sense.”
He turns to give me a thoughtful look. “I’ll admit, when he first told me about agreeing to this whole pretending-to-be-your-boyfriend thing, I kinda had an oh-shit moment. Thought he’d gotten sucked into some soap opera drama that would be bad for him.”
“I totally understand,” I say honestly. “This situation is… odd.”
“Yeah, but I can tell you’re not gonna be the type to encourage him to, I dunno, steal a boat or something.”
I arch a brow. “Can’t say I’d even know how, to be honest.”
“Perfect.” His amusement fades to something more serious as he watches me. “Just… don’t fuck with him, okay? He’s been through a lot.”
I open my mouth without knowing how to respond, but I don’t get the chance, because Miles materializes at my side, shaking what’s left of a small bag of french fries.
“Want some? I saved you a couple.”
“No, thanks.” I cast a glance over at Jude, who’s busy snagging a fry from Olena’s little paper bag. “I’m not hungry.”
“Okay.” He gives me a funny look, then polishes off the last of the fries before tossing the bag into a nearby trash can. “You ready to fuck shit up, Skee-Ball style?” He pumps his eyebrows in invitation, then grabs my hand, nearly bouncing with excitement as he drags me away from Jude and Olena.
“Uh, I don’t have the best aim, but… sure?” I can’t help but mirror his broad grin, although the shadow of my conversation with Jude hangs over me.
Don’t fuck with him.
His warning is like a pinball bouncing around my head, and I cling tighter to Miles as we wind our way through the arcade.
Jude’s right. I can’t put Miles at risk—can’t pursue anything with him beyond what we’ve agreed to. I won’t compromise his job or his sobriety. If I hurt him, I’d never forgive myself. And he’d never forgive me, either.
I’m so lost in thought that I almost crash into Miles when he stops and turns to me in front of the Skee-Ball machines. “Shoot, sorry.”
He steadies me by the arms. “You good, fancy girl?”
“Yeah, I’m…” I trail off when he lifts a hand to cradle my jaw, tilting my head up, and a little involuntary sound escapes my throat at the look in his eyes.
With a crooked smile, he spins his hat backward and stoops down to kiss me, everything inside me turning to warm honey when our lips meet.
Dear God. That spin-the-hat move should be illegal.
I kiss him back, not even thinking to question it, because the truth is, I’ve been craving this all night and it’s soothing the twisting sensation in my chest to finally be in his arms like this. It’s only when he breaks the kiss that my mind catches up. “What was that for?”
“I uh…”—he swallows, then shakes his head like he’s coming back to his senses—“just uh… thought I saw a guy watching us.”
“Oh. Right. Yeah.” I school my features to hide how disappointment grips my stomach.
He was just acting.
But, as we set up to play, I can’t shake the feeling that nothing about that kiss was fake. I try to let go of the idea. Maybe Miles is simply a great actor; he said he was a ham, after all. Maybe he missed his calling in the theater.
All it takes is a few rolls to see that Miles did, in fact, miss his calling—as a Skee-Ball shark.
Being lost in my head probably isn’t helping my hand-eye coordination but, my distraction aside, his aim is incredible and he trounces me easily.
Several times over. Pride glitters in his expression, though he looks like he’s trying to suppress grinning too hard.
“You know you can openly gloat about this, right?” I ask, lifting a brow. “You’re wildly good at it, and I’m”—I roll my next ball and it doesn’t even think about cooperating—“lousy.” Deflating, I watch as it slips out of view at the bottom of the rings.
He moves to kiss my cheek, but I pull away without thinking—Jude’s warning and the fake kiss still too close to the surface. Regret lands like a brick to my sternum when I catch the sting of rejection in his eyes.
Damn it.
The uncomfortable reality is I want him to kiss me more than anything right now.
I just don’t want it to be a lie for the cameras.
What I told him before about not wanting to date anyone after Fletcher was true enough, but that was when my idea of a relationship was being treated like an afterthought by a man who never truly cared about me—and who I’d never really loved in return.
Before Miles, I’d never experienced wild chemistry like this. Never felt this kind of connection. Never been treated like I should be someone’s priority—in bed or otherwise. It’s all so new that it has me reeling. And it’s making me question what I want.
I must look as conflicted as I feel, because he hands me my next ball with a frown. “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing.” I can’t tell him the truth—that I’m starting to wish this thing between us wasn’t an act. Wasn’t only temporary.
“Bullshit. What’d I miss?” When I hesitate, he tries again. “C’mon, you know I can sense when something’s up. And you’ve been all quiet ever since I left to get—” Realization smooths his features and he steps closer. “Wait, did my brother say something to you?”
“Uh, sort of?” His eyes widen, and I rush to add, “He just reminded me you’ve been through a lot, and he said I shouldn’t…” I take a breath, not sure how this will land.
“Shouldn’t what?”
“Mess with you?” I may have softened Jude’s sentiment in both tone and choice of words, but Miles’ features harden all the same.
“Fucking Jude.”
I touch his arm. “He’s just looking out for you.”
“Yeah, yeah, he does a lot of that.” Miles furrows his brow. “Needs to learn how to turn it off, though. And keep his nose out of my business. Jesus.”
“But be real, though,” I press. “Am I already messing with you? Maybe we’re playing with fire with this whole thing. I really don’t want you to get off track because of me, Miles.”
“Caroline, you aren’t messing with me. We made this plan together, right?”
“Yeah, but—”
“And I’m having fun. I wanna do this with you.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “It’s not too complicated? With my list? That’s not, like, blurring the line a bit?”
I keep the rest locked in my chest—the admission that I’m feeling plenty blurry myself here. Between acting like a couple in public and the mind-altering orgasms in private last night, the roles of boyfriend and girlfriend aren’t feeling too far-fetched.
Acting, I remind myself, though I can’t help the doubt niggling at me.
He must feel this too.
No. I’m getting ridiculous ideas in my head. He’s not ready.
Miles shakes his head. “You’re overthinking this. And trust me, I overthink shit all the time, so if I’m telling you to relax… Listen, I’m here ’cause I wanna be, okay?”
“Okay, but you’re sure it’s not confusing? Because I can’t stand the thought of you risking your sobriety. Or your job. Everything you’ve worked so hard for. I could never forgive myself if—” My throat closes up as tears well in my eyes.
“Hey.” His stern tone is at odds with the gentle way he pulls me into his arms. “I’m not confused.”
I bury my face in his warm hoodie, inhaling the earthy, clean scent of his soap and hoping this looks more like a loving embrace than me trying to fight off tears at an arcade like a teenager.
Mom might be right about me being dramatic.
“It’s sweet that you’re worried about me,” Miles says. “But let me worry about me, alright?”
I nod, nuzzling closer.
“Here’s how I see it.” His voice rumbles low against my temple. “It’s like we’re two friends—two sexy friends…”
I grin against his T-shirt, hugging him tighter.
“… who landed this really cool gig where we have to hang out and have fun together a whole bunch and—super cool bonus—we get to boink while we’re at it.”
I lift my head, peering up at him. “Did you just say boink?”
“Yeah,” he chuckles. “It’s like being forced to go to Disneyland and ride all the rides. Like, oh no.” He fakes a weak protest, adding, “Don’t make me go.”
A tendril of heat winds low in my belly. “Yeah? And which ride did you wanna try tonight?”
His lips tick up at the corner. “Aren’t you the one with the list of things to try?”
“Yeah, so choose something from my list, then,” I say, playing coy. “If you can remember what was on it.”
“Is that a challenge?” When I shrug, he makes a pfft sound. “What, you think I’m all forgetty spaghetti over here? I got that shit memorized.”
“Oh, you do, huh?”
“Locked in.”
“Then pick something.”
He thinks for a moment, then holds my gaze when he says, “Splash Mountain.”
I raise my brows, catching his meaning right away. “You’re saying you wanna get… wet?”
He leans close and his lips graze my cheek. “Soaked.”
With a slow nod, I hum, pretending to ponder this—pretending the way he said that word didn’t just get me soaked.
“I’m not sure if that ride is… operational.”
“I think we can get it working.” He lifts a brow, all cocky confidence, and his gaze slips to my mouth. “Plus,” he adds, “I said I’d help you with those, uh, tender spots of yours?”
I slide my hands over his chest. “I think I’m feeling all better, actually.”
“Oh?” The scarred corner of his lips twitches. “Well, I’m sure we can find somewhere that still needs a little attention.”
“I do have one spot that’s been… not hurting, exactly. More like… aching?” The innuendo is shameless, but I can’t resist liquefying his brain while we’re in public.
Maybe he’s right; Maybe I am a brat.
He almost groans, but doesn’t kiss me. “Can we get outta here? I suddenly couldn’t give two shits about Skee-Ball.”