Page 63 of Hard to Fake

All I see are stars. Not the ones overhead, but the ones behind my closed eyes.

He’s firm and confident, his mouth parting mine like he’s done it a thousand times before.

As if he couldn’t care less about the camera angle or who’s watching.

Electricity sings along my nerves, lighting me up everywhere.

I knew we had chemistry, but this is something else. It’s physics, a damned gravitational pull dragging us together, insisting that his mouth on mine is the natural order of things.

All I hear is the buzzing in my ears, Miles’s rough intake of breath the moment before his fingers sink into my hair. My hips are flush against his through our clothes—probably because he’s got a hand on my waist, holding me in place under his mouth, his thumb stroking right above my hipbone.

This better look good, I think hazily, because it feels fucking fantastic.

Honking from somewhere down at street level makes me pull away.

Nova hands back the phone, fanning herself. “Clay’s here. Excuse me while I go jump my husband.” She wiggles her fingers and shoots me a look before heading toward the stairs.

I watch her disappear and feel Miles’s eyes on my back.

“Think we got enough to convince your Kappas?” he asks lightly.

His phone rings, splitting the silence.

“Shit. It's my grandma.” He answers, turning away.

A moment later he returns, pocketing the phone.

"I need to see her. I can drop you off first."

It sounds urgent. I don’t want him to lose time on my account.

“Take me with you?”

15

MILES

"Hey, Grams," I say after knocking and pushing open the door a crack.

She’s not in her chair in the living room.

I cross her suite, heading for the light in her bedroom.

Grams is in bed, fully dressed, blankets tugged up around her waist, with a pen in hand and a crossword book in her lap.

"Miles." She lifts her gaze to me, her expression sharp as she sets the book down.

When I was growing up, she was active and strong. Always looking out for me and bandaging my scraped knees and tsking over bruises I picked up on the court. She looks small.

“Tip-off was early. Thought I’d stop by.” I hug her carefully. “You want to tell me what happened?"

"I was practicing my dancing and lost my balance."

“The staff said they found you on the floor.”

Her snort is delicate. “They certainly did not.”

I pull a chair up to her bed. “Is your walker around?”

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