Page 13 of The Kiss of Deception

Of him.

I’ve noticed before, reluctantly, how delicious he smells, but we’ve never been close like this. In the darkness, in the silence, in the privacy of his home, without others to taint or tame it—or to distract me from it—I find an heady undertone of earthiness just under the oceans.

It enters my lungs, poisoning my bloodstream.

A yawn, long and loud, sneaks up on my entire body. I rest a shoulder against the glass, letting it support some of my weight. I don’t have to wonder if it’s possible to fall asleep while standing.

Tonight, I know I could.

“You’re tired.” His fingers tear through his damp hair, slicking it back. A few rebellious strands jump back to his forehead, eager to caress his face. “Let’s talk more tomorrow. Over dinner.”

“Let’s not.” My head tilts and rests against the window, too. “I do not intend to spend more time together than strictly necessary.”

A sigh rushes out of him as he mimics my stance, stuffing his hands inside the sweatpants pockets, crossing his legs at the ankles.

I think he’s tired too, if the shadows under his eyes and his attitude—or lack thereof—are any indication

“How do you want to do this?”

Raising the glass, I wet my lips, consider my answer.

The blatant truth is, I have no idea.

In my haste, I hadn't given second thought to how we’d navigate this… peculiar situation. I’m also severely unprepared. I wouldn’t know how to navigate a real relationship, let alone convincingly sell a fake one.

Love and relationships have always seemed inconsequential. I’m aware they exist, but I haven’t paid much attention.

“That’s a question for you. You came up with this genius idea, so you tell me.” I throw the ball back to his court, tipping the glass in his direction. “What do you suggest?”

“Okay.” His head bobs, pleased with my answer—and my question. “The answer is simple.” He shrugs, pinning me with a serious gaze. “We date.”

My very unladylike snort almost makes my head bang against the glass. “There’s literally nothing simple about that.”

I’d give it fifteen minutes until the need for an appointment with Annalise Keating arises.

Miles shushes me with the arch of an eyebrow. I comply, reminding myself that the sooner we wrap up this mad agreement the sooner I can leave.

“We go out on dates, post pictures on social media, you come to my games.” I track his fingers brushing his lips in a pensive manner. “My manager and my agent are a little… displeased with this turn of events.”

“Oh? Do they veto all the people you date? Do they line up the contestants and—”

When his lips purse, I wave my hand in the air like I’m erasing my words, and water sloshes in the glass. I don’t have the mental battery to start an argument right now, and I really just want to leave. “Back to the logistics of this shitshow. Where do you propose we start?”

Miles glances out the window.

I wonder what he finds in the river.

If the same precise thing can be different to different eyes.

If two radically different people can look at something and see the same.

The fridge buzzes in the kitchen, humming as Miles straightens with some kind of resolution.

“Well, uh—” He scratches the nape of his neck, bringing his gaze back to me. “I was thinking maybe we could get to know each other?”

“Oh, I think I know more than enough already.” I’m quick to reply. “And everything I know I learned against my will.”

“Yeah.” He deflates a little, revealing the moon, barely curtained by the clouds just above his head. “But do you, Zoe? Do you know me?”

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