Page 96 of The Kiss of Deception

I squint, inching intentionally too close to his face in inspection. “It is glowing obscenely, lately. Here I thought it was the sunshine that seems to follow you around.” My wide smile widens. “Or is it you that chases it? Vitamin D and all.”

Nicholas stares and keeps staring. “Do you have a pen?”

The lines between my brows crease in question. Predictably, he doesn’t elaborate until I rummage through four drawers to unearth a pen.

Pen in hand, he asks in the same tone. “Paper?”

“Are you fucking serious?”

Another round of stare-off. I have no chance of victory. Throwing my hands in the air, I restart the search, spotting one of hundreds of empty notebooks Zoe has scattered around the house—and pray she doesn’t murder me for touching it.

Nicholas scribbles something on a random page, punctuating it with a final click of the pen. He separates it from the notebook with a rip and leaves me to read.

In clear calligraphy, the note says IOU: dental reconstruction.

I gape at his back, jaw dropped to the balloon on the floor. Not due to the implied threat that he’ll break my teet, though. “You know what an IOU is? That’s like my grandfather knowing what an IOU is!”

“You don’t have a grandfather, Blackstein,” he throws over his shoulder.

I pick my jaw up to scowl properly at him. “Rude.”

And right, once—a long time ago. Not anymore.

“Miiiiiles!” I turn toward Camila’s obnoxiously elongated call. “Your present!”

“Oh. Thank you.” I blink at the mess of wrapping paper and tape, stunned she noticed my love for literature. “You got me a book?”

“I’m proud to promote literacy. And boys that read are very sexy.”

“I’m a man,” I retort, not in the slightest offended, just as her name comes in a commanding voice.

“Camila.”

She snorts, at which of us I don’t know. “Open it when you’re alone. Or alone with your girlfriend.” She winks.

Then she follows my best friend’s voice.

With the giddiness of a kid on Christmas morning, I immediately tear through the wrapping paper that fully covers it.

Behind the paper, the book isn’t fit for children.

Kama Sutra.

Fucking Kama Sutra.

That’s Camila’s gift.

Against my will, I bark out a laugh. What else could I expect from that ball of chaos and craziness?

This book is a fire hazard on this floor, so, two steps at a time, I climb the stairs to drop it off in my room. The door shuts behind me as I drop the paperback on my nightstand with a dull thump.

Then, a knock, knock, knock on the door. My thoughts are answered by the low tone of someone who’s worked in a library for thirty years.

My mother comes in, keen gaze floating around, examining what’s supposed to be the space I share with my girlfriend.

I wait with bated breath, watching her, worried. Watching for signs that she can see through our façade. Watching the room through her eyes.

A small stack of books on my bedside table, the new addition fortunately covered by the wrapping paper. A laptop and charger on Zoe’s supposed side, her bees neatly folded at the end of the bed.

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