Page 26 of Hard to Fake

"Fuck, it's freezing out here.” He glances at his vest, but I hold it away.

"Explain first. Fur vest second."

He wraps his arms around himself, every muscle in his shoulders, pecs, and arms seeming to flex at once. Miles pulls the door shut behind him and turns back to face me.

“He’s a junior guy on the team. There are rules, some of ‘em formal and some of ‘em you just know.”

“And you know better than to tell me I’m one of those rules.” I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms.

“You know what I mean.” He joins me in leaning against the railing.

Jay’s house has a view of the mountains. Nature is a sure-fire way to make you feel small.

“It’s not only about the Kodiaks,” Miles adds. “I don’t trust him. He’s young and inexperienced.”

“I’m a big girl, Miles. Not some helpless damsel in distress.”

I take a deep breath of the cool night air and wince, going over on my ankle.

A stream of curses escapes my lips.

“I broke a heel,” I explain at Miles’s look.

“Sure thing, Princess.” His lips twitch.

I bristle. Oh, no. That’s not a nickname I’m letting slide. “I’m not a princess.”

“Look like one to me. Got the shoes. The dress. The hair. The sidekick.” He nods to Waffles. “You need backup shoes. Never show up to a game with just one pair.”

I open the clip on my bag and wave my cheap slipper flats. “I came prepared, but the Louboutins look better with my costume.”

He crooks a finger at me.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I glance around us, suddenly feeling as if I’m about to be caught on camera for a massive prank.

I typically associate light-headedness with nights in college after too much flavored vodka. Or the time I played a high school basketball tournament and got so competitive and focused on watching the other teams’ games in between ours that I forgot to eat for an entire day.

But as Miles sinks to one knee at my feet, the blood is rushing to places that are not my head.

His fingers brush my skin as he takes my ankle in his hand. A not-unpleasant shiver runs up my spine.

What the fuck.

He slides off my heel, setting it on the deck where Waffles is huffing excitedly.

Music drifts from the other side of the glass doors. Inside, familiar and unfamiliar people dressed as pop stars and ghouls and superheroes laugh and drink and dance.

Out here, we’re alone.

Miles takes a slipper from my grip.

I’m so surprised I don’t think to resist when he slides it onto my foot.

“There.”

He switches to the other side. Heat spreads through my body. Sparks light me up. The feel of him touching me is strangely intimate.

Suddenly, I’m wondering what would happen if his hands traveled up my calf to my thigh and…

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