Page 24 of The Kiss of Deception

We’re leaving the press hall, a small corner tucked in the opposite side of the locker rooms, to preserve the teams and club’s privacy.

“Stop inserting the word ‘orifice’ into every sentence,” I instruct, aware it’ll fall on deaf ears.

“I know it freaks you out.” Liam manages to shrug as he carries all his equipment.

“It does not freak me out. It conjures mental images I don’t appreciate.”

The navy-blue walls have recently been adorned with a film of the international odyssey. A shot of the starting eleven followed by the highlights of the match such as a picture of Miles and the net, fans faded in the background. His left leg prepares the shot that would score the winning goal, name shining with immortality above the famous number 9. He looks carved by the hands of the Gods; the Discobolus in blood, bone, and beauty.

The film climaxes with the award ceremony, the trophy enveloped in white and blue confetti.

“Oh, look!” Liam’s voice—and pointy nails—grab my attention. “Speaking of orifices…” he enunciates each letter of the last word, mouth shaping and reshaping in exaggerated motions as he inclines his head in the opposite direction.

Warily, and just as unsubtly, I spin in search of whatever he’s referring to.

The press and private halls are on opposite sides of the floor, coming face-to-face in a perfect intersection intercepted by the wide lobby that sprouts from the main entrance and stretches to the tunnel that ends in the turf.

From the private premises emerges an unusually stoic-faced Miles.

Many people mill around in the foyer, press, club employees, families… I feel their gaze like a pendulum, swinging between us and scorching my cheeks.

Unlike me, Miles doesn't seem surprised to find me here. His strides, long and purposeful, don’t erase the distance; they consume it entirely, in less time than I needed to prepare myself for what’s coming.

Because, next thing I know, he’s on me—his body glued to mine like that’s where it always belonged.

He gently lifts the long curls that curtain the sides of my face, letting it fall on my back instead, on its way to drape the weight of his arm on my shoulders and pull me close to flush our bodies together. And then his mouth brushes the crown of my head in the softest kiss I’ve ever been given.

I’m still staring at him, my mouth agape in contrast to his serene smile, when I feel his hand travel down my side. It lands, possessively sprawled from rib to hip. Warmth seeps and spreads over the spot that’s tender from my colleague’s nails.

I should order him to move away, but my focus is stuck in that hand—and how massive it is. Like if he splayed it over my stomach, the base of his palm just above my panties, the tips of his fingers would reach the curve of my breasts.

“Hi, love.” The nickname drips with intimacy from his charming dimples, tearing me out of my haze.

Goddamn, he’s a good actor. For a second, I almost believed his act.

“Hey,” he addresses Liam, extending his free hand. But his smile takes an edge. “I’m Miles. The boyfriend.”

“Liam. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

My fists flex around the straps of my bag, ready to smack his throat until he chokes on the innuendo. At least, it’s highly effective in killing the weird palpitations that had been just making my belly quiver.

Miles wears his smile like a weapon. Not a blatant warning of violence. A subtle will make you drop your panties for me promise.

But it’s not his traditional smile. This one is as sharp as a dagger pointed directly at my work-partner.

“Thanks for looking after my girl, out there.”

My burgundy nails dig deeper into the straps, and Miles tilts his face down as though he heard the crack of faux-leather straps.

“I know you don’t need anyone else to take care of you. That you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, love. But it’s nice to know you’ve got someone watching your back.”

“Aw.”

I don’t have to look at Liam to know he’s pouting.

“Adorable. But let’s be honest, she takes care of me. Like, I’m pretty sure if we ever need to kick someone’s ass, she’d be the one doing all the kicking. Not just figuratively.”

Miles’s smile hasn’t wavered from me, softening further and further into the one I know until he declares, just for me. “That’s my girl.”

---