Page 33 of The Kiss of Deception

Who is she?

The heavenly food no longer sits well on my stomach. In fact, it jumps, jives, pirouettes with the wine.

I have to get away.

Nausea jumbles my senses. I bury my face in his chest, breathing deep like he’s the antidote to my sickness rather than the very cause.

I must have hit my recommended daily dose of Miles. And this sudden indisposition is the effect.

“I’ll see you around,” he says, making me draw back disconcertingly fast.

“Of course.” Lucy nods once, reverently.

She looks back as she walks away, waving with a smile that Miles returns.

As soon as she steps out of sight, I unwind myself from him like he burned me and I stomp away.

I don’t look back.

I don’t smile.

Chapter Nine

Zoe

Our second public outing as a couple arrives only three days later on the occasion of Miles’s best friend’s birthday.

I would rather be anywhere else, like stuck in traffic during rush hour without my playlists, but at least there’s free cake to look forward to. Hopefully. With professional athletes and their rigorous diets, one can’t be sure.

Nicholas Hale is the captain of Boston FC, my fake-boyfriend’s rivals—currently, anyway—and, apparently, the owner of a corner brownstone beauty in historic Beacon Hill.

It’s a little hard to reconcile the stoic man with the welcoming house before me. In my misconceptions, he lived somewhere off in the woods, secluded to the world to appease his allergies to humans and friendly faces.

Impressive, the way our minds fabricate entire stories based on something so shallow as a first impression.

Seven weathered stairs end at a bright-red door. The vivid greenery of a tall potted plant greets visitors on each side of the door, looking as healthy as the rainbow of flower boxes cascading from every window. I keep my distance, afraid I might murder them with my mere aura.

A girl I don’t recognize stands right in the middle of the sidewalk, all white clothes and the messiest messy braid—if it can be called that. With the way she scowls at the pots, I suspect she might share my black thumb.

Miles bypasses her, climbing the steps two at a time to tap on the door once, twice. Without hesitation—or answer—he trudges inside.

“Honey, daddy’s home!”

Mystery Girl—a guest, I suppose—redirects her scowl to my fake-boyfriend’s retreating back. Before I can argue we shouldn’t invade the place, Nicholas’s bark rings through the air, propelling the three of us forward. I’m the last to enter, just as Mystery Girl unexpectedly hits the brakes.

I try and avoid colliding with her, but I barrel right into her back with an oof. Before I can mumble an apology, an actual bark denounces the culprit behind the traffic accident in the hall.

“I thought you were coming over early to help me, not to hang out with my dog, honey,” Nicholas says dryly at Miles, who sits on his haunches cooing over a dog, from somewhere actually inside his home.

“You have a dog?” the brunette shrieks. “You have a dog!”

One second later, Nicholas’ blue stone gaze appears under the door frame on the left, bouncing to the dog briefly before taking root on Mystery Girl.

“I have a dog,” he says. “Nala.”

“I love your dog,” she cries.

She hasn’t even seen the dog yet—she hasn’t looked away from Nicholas, as a matter of fact. It could be a ugly dog or a mean dog or a… bad dog, for all she knows.

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