Page 85 of The Kiss of Deception

“I’ve driven her around,” I point out instead.

“You’re not anyone, are you?”

“Yeah.” I tap the box with the tip of my sneakers. “I’ve been told I’m a reckless driver.”

“With those witchy eyes, you would either scare the devil away or strike a deal with him. She’s safe with you. She likes you.”

“She has impeccable taste.” I raise my chin, but it soon tilts in thought. “She came here with Hale, though.”

And she likes him, too, though I can’t tell if it’s reciprocated. With Nicholas, it’s a fifty-fifty chance, and I don’t know which outcome I should hope for, for her own sake—but she likes him.

Rodrigo seems to follow the same trail of thought, nose scrunching in a way that can only be described as adorable. “Let’s not go there.”

Camila Castro is a ball of sunshine, blinding everyone with her light. I wonder what else she's blinding us from seeing underneath unmarred skin.

Rodrigo is not as skilled at hiding. He says, “She’s the only person I have in the world.”

Again, there’s no distinct inflection to his voice that would give away the magnitude of the matter. To anyone else, we could be discussing the weather or the deforestation of the Amazon.

“Not anymore,” I say.

The muscle in his jaw jumps, drawing in a slow steady inhale.

I don’t falter from his stare, his silence. I give him all the time to make peace with the fact that I’m here, I’m his friend, and I’m insufferable.

“Why did you look like you were about to puke?” he asks after a moment.

For a moment, I consider what to reply—what to reveal. With a sigh, I kick the box away and plop down next to him, staring at the modern dresser.

“I think I like him.” My voice isn’t loud but remains even. We’re two of a kind. “I think I really like him.”

A beat of utter nothing as he listens to my words and hears them.

Then Rodrigo looks around to see, noticing all the many card boxes are labeled as Miles’s something. He won’t find any with my name—all my things are packed into three huge suitcases in my Jeep.

He does the math in his head, arriving at the correct conclusion. I’m barely in, and one foot is out of the door, already.

He lands on his ass next to me, folding his legs weirdly since he can’t sprawl them next to mine in the mess of boxes. “Well, shit, little Z.” Yeah. Shit. “Sounds like you’re fucked. And not the nice kind of fucked.”

“Your eloquence is entirely enlightening,” I deadpan with another roll of my eyes that only the ceiling sees.

“Girl, shorten your words. English isn’t my first language.”

I snort. “I can tell.”

“You’re making fun of my accent? How many languages do you speak?”

What an effective way to sober me into silence.

“Exactly what I thought.” Rodri pinches my arm. It isn’t meant to bruise, but I slap him away all the same. “I won’t pretend I have any good advice for you. I don’t know shit about love or relationships, so it’d just be a waste of my time.”

Not really offended, I reciprocate the pinch of his muscle. It’s made of stone, but I manage to do some damage because he quickly yelps, shying away.

“And yours! But,” he says as he rubs his bicep. “I’ll teach you all the painful ways to kick his ass if he ever hurts you. And I’ll kick it again, after you do.”

I don’t know what I hoped for or what I expected. Somehow, his promise of pain is more than all of that.

“As long as it doesn’t get blood on my nails.”

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