Page 74 of The Girlfriend Zone

He scoffs. “Do you like shiny things?”

I gasp, mock affronted. “Miles Falcon! How dare you!”

“How dare I figure you out already?” He smirks, moving closer. Lifting a hand, he lightly brushes my flower earrings, then my bracelets, and finally glances down at the anklet he gave me. I shiver from the dusting of his fingertips.

I feel almost…marked by his touch. It’s a heady sensation.

“Yes,” I say, primly.

“Get used to it,friend. I’m very observant,” he says, queuing up rainfall sounds on his phone. The gentle patter fills the room, soft and private.

“Is this bickering new for them?” he asks, nodding toward the door.

“They’ve always been…talky. But yeah, this public therapy phase is new.”

He raises an eyebrow. “And it’s still going on.”

Oh. “I hadn’t realized,” I say, swallowing, my cheeks warming with some embarrassment. “Sorry you have to hear it.”

His smile is soft, full of understanding. “It’s all good. The rain covers it up. Another reason I like rain.”

And I appreciate so much that he didn’t try to makeme feel better about missing what they’re saying. I appreciate that he’s not making a thing out of it. “Agreed.” I grab a fitted sheet to toss onto the futon, then wrinkle my nose. “Does my room smell like beard oil? Like tobacco and pepper?”

Miles sniffs the air. “A little, now that you say that. Also, that’s specific.”

“I have a good nose,” I say, offhand.

“I’m impressed.”

“Eagle eyes and a bloodhound nose to make up for what I lack,” I say.

He gives me a soft smile. “I’ll have to make sure I smell extra good around you.”

I lift a playful brow. “News flash: you do.” But so I don’t get caught up in flirting, I quickly add, “Anyway, when I was at Maeve’s place, they sublet to a guy who made small-batch beard oil.”

“Of course they did.”

“Same circles,” I say.

He smirks. “Figured as much.”

Miles shifts to help me pull the sheet tighter on one corner of the futon. As we make the bed, it strikes me—he’s already done so much for me today. I don’t want him to feel obligated to hang around.

“You don’t have to stay,” I say, catching his gaze across the bed.

He shoots me a look, his hands still resting on the edge of the futon. “Have you met me?”

I laugh. “Yes, Mister Determination. Do you always get what you want?”

“When it’s important,” he says, straightening up, his voice soft but firm. “Besides, if memory serves, we’re having pizza. Artichoke hearts, right?”

I laugh harder. “I thought your Lyft services were your housewarming gift.”

“Turns out I’m giving you two housewarming gifts.”

“Fine. But I’m paying.”

“Not a chance. It’s a housewarming gift, Leighton.”

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