Page 62 of Hard to Fake

I mumble something.

“Didn’t catch that.”

I huff out a sigh. “I said I already have your jersey.”

Miles’s smug smile fades. His usual playfulness twists into a new intensity. “Where exactly is this jersey of mine that you own?”

“In my closet. Where the clothes live.”

“Interesting.” He draws out the word.

“There were hundreds—probably thousands—of women wearing your jersey tonight,” I say, pretending I’m not fascinated by the predatory way he stalks toward me.

“Only one I care about right now, Princess.”

My body responds to his closeness, my skin erupting in goosebumps. When his hand grabs my waist, my nipples harden.

“I’m going to need to see you in that.”

His thumb rubs a slow circle against my hip that makes me ache.

“You’re better at this than I thought,” I manage.

“At what?”

I slant him a look from under my lashes. “Pretending.”

His eyes are blue fire. “You have no idea how good I can be.”

Nova’s two dozen feet away, chatting with her husband, but it feels like just Miles and me here.

Damn, it would be so easy to admit how affected I am by his electric blue eyes, the humor he wears like a hoodie, the edge underneath that always seems to come out when I’m around.

“I’m glad I chose you for this,” I hear myself say.

Miles rubs a hand over his jaw. “You chose me, huh?”

“Yeah. Instead of one of the other guys I could have invited to this Kappa reunion.” I smile. “Because then it would’ve been more like an actual date,” I explain, “and it’s hard to find someone you can spend the weekend with who’ll act like a gentleman in front of your sorority sisters, and who you also want to fuck—or you don’t want to fuck, and they’re cool with that…”

Nova returns, saving me from whatever Miles’s reaction was. “Clay’s coming in ten. I have time for a few more, if you want?”

“I think we have lots,” I say at the same time Miles says, “What about dialing up the PDA?”

We both turn to him, surprised.

Nova’s tapping a finger against her chin. “I like it. Brooke?”

I lift a shoulder, as if the idea of us turning this up a notch doesn’t affect me.

“You were the one who wanted pics to prove we’re for real,” he says. “Let’s leave no question in their minds.”

But as Miles leans in, inching closer, my heart hammers. Nova says something, but I don’t hear her.

We’re so close. We’ve been a breath apart before, we’ve even touched in a casual way, but this is different.

He’s completely locked in. If my pulse skipped and my palms got sweaty—kind of like they’re doing now—I swear he’d notice.

His lips brush mine.

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