Page 95 of The Girlfriend Zone

It’s not the first time I’ve seen Miles in a suit—I’ve photographed him and the other guys on game days enough to know he cleans up well. Those shots always blow up online, and for good reason.

But this is different.

He’s standing in front of me in a tan suit that looks like it was made to worship his body. The crisp fabric stretches just right over his broad shoulders, and his tie hangs undone at the collar, leaving him looking effortlessly sexy. His travel bag is slung over one shoulder, and the jacket rests casually on his elbow.

My throat goes dry, and my skin hums, every nerve ending sparking like a live wire.

“Hi,” I manage to say, though it comes out soft and breathy—so not me.

His lips quirk, and he gives me a look that’s warm and just a little too knowing. “Hey.” His tone is lower than usual, like he’s reading the shift in the air between us and leaning into it. Or maybe causing it. Intentionally. The man does everything with so much intention.

I stand, brushing invisible wrinkles from my jeans, as if that’ll make me less underdressed next to him. My black zip-up hoodie is covered in dog hair, and he looks like he’s arrived for a photo shoot for a luxury watch ad. As I tuck my phone into my back pocket, my gaze sails to the gold watch on hiswrist. I don’t even know why wristwatches are so sexy, but there’s something about them. So strong and masculine. But it’s also…personal. I haven’t seen him wear it yet this season.

“You have on your watch,” I say, pointing to it, like it holds the key to this charge between us.

“You noticed,” he says, amused, maybe touched, definitely calling back my comment from the night at Sticks and Stones.

The tip of my tongue darts out, wetting my lips as I weigh my response. “It’s a nice watch. Once upon a time you left it behind at the studio,” I say softly.

A faint noise seems to rumble from his chest. “You remember.”

“I do,” I say, a smile teasing at my lips as we dance around our memories of the day we spent together.

He looks down at the gold band, runs his thumb across it. “It’s a reminder…of that day.”

A whimper threatens to escape my lips. But I swallow it down, instead gesturing toward him—the whole ensemble. “You look…” I start, but the words are lodged in my mind and don’t make it past my lips.

His dark gaze travels up and down me. “You always look…”

He can’t seem to finish either.

We’re both at a loss for words as my pulse thunders in my ears. The charged silence stretches, and I fight the urge to look away.

He shifts the bag higher on his shoulder, the casual movement breaking the spell just enough to let me breathe again. “I should get going, but I need to tell you—” he says.

“What about your tie?”

He looks down like he’s just noticed it’s undone. “I guess I should do something about that.”

“Let me,” I say. The command—or is it a plea?—comes out unbidden and full of unchecked desire. A desire that’s stronger than my restraint and all my reasons to resist him.

“Do it,” he says, his voice both raspy and urgent.

I close the distance between us, checking behind me to make sure the dogs don’t need anything, but they seem transfixed too, staring at us like they’ve stumbled onto a show they can’t stop watching. I can’t stop either.

Miles sets down his bag.

I reach for his tie—it’s blue, a deep, dark shade like the color of a lake under a clear morning sky. The silky fabric is soft against my fingers as I run them up to his collar. “Nice tie. I like the color,” I say. “It looks good on you.”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He parts his lips but doesn’t say anything at first. His arms hang at his sides, but his fists are clenched. I fiddle with the fabric, but the scent of him—soap mixed with sandalwood—hits me with such force, I can’t, for the life of me, remember how to tie a Windsor knot.

I look up, and at last, he says, “Your eyes.”

I’m…lost. “What?” I’ve heard him, but I’m not sure what he’s saying.

“It’s the color of your eyes. The tie,” he says, reaching for one end of the fabric, showing it to me.

My chest rises and falls as the full meaning registers. “You got it because it?—”

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