Page 15 of Nothing Left to Lose

Not just any man.

To Miller.

The one solid thing in my life.

“Brody,” Miller mumbled, his eyes telling me to pay attention.

I realized then that Carina had stopped talking, the room was waiting expectantly, the photographer was in front of our table, camera aimed and ready.

What the hell had I missed?

“They want us to kiss for a photo,” Miller said.

“Kiss like newlyweds,” someone hollered from the back.

“Kiss him like you mean it,” someone else added.

People whooped and cheered, and lord almighty, this was embarrassing.

But Miller took my face in his hands and kissed me. Hard and open lips, our mouths melding for one long and perfect moment. My heart knocked so hard against my ribs that it hurt, and my everything felt electric.

But his mouth . . .

Warm, soft lips. No tongue.

I wanted his tongue.

I moved to deepen the kiss, just about to taste him, when someone cleared their throat.

Miller pulled back first, ducking his head, resting his forehead on my shoulder. “Sorry,” he said.

What? He was sorry? I wasn’t. I was only sorry I didn’t get to put my tongue in his mouth. But then he raised his head and looked right at Carina, not me. “Sorry,” he said again. “Forgot where we were.”

Oh. He wasn’t talking to me.

People cheered, and as if that wasn’t terrible and weird enough, we sat in our seats and food was put in front of us. Like I could stomach food right now.

I was dazed and confused, somewhat turned on, and embarrassed, and Miller was digging into his meal.

He stabbed some chicken and gave me a quick glance. “Chicken’s good. You’ll like it.”

I looked at my plate. Right. Food. Yes, I should probably eat.

“You know,” he added quietly as he ate, as if it were an errant thought, “I think we should practice kissing more. So you don’t freeze up again.”

My gaze shot to his. Well, to the side of his head. He wasn’t looking at me. “I didn’t freeze up. I zoned out. There’s a difference.”

He shrugged as he chewed another mouthful and swallowed. “Doesn’t matter.” He looked at me then, with a smirk, and he leaned in slowly so he could hide his mouth and whisper. “If you want to look bad, fine. This was your idea, so if it goes sideways, you’re taking the rap for it.”

Well, shit.

Could I practice kissing him?

Maybe it’d be good to get this new fascination out of my head. But mostly it’d be good training so I didn’t try to give him tongue.

He stabbed a piece of chicken from my plate and put it to my lips. “Open wide,” he murmured, voice low, eyes dark.

Was that . . . ?

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