Page 63 of Hooked On Them

The change in Miles was instant; his shoulders squared, and his jaw tightened. “What happened to letting her breathe? To giving her space?”

“I gave her space. Now I’m giving her options.” I leaned closer, dropping the casual act. “Look, I’m not interested in watching from the sidelines while you play house. If you want her, man up and tell her. Otherwise, step aside.”

“We have an arrangement,” Miles hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “A delicate one. You go stirring shit up now, you could blow everything.”

“An arrangement,” I repeated, unable to keep the edge from my voice. “Is that what you call this little charade? Pretending to be her boyfriend, pretending to be the father of her child?”

“It’s to protect her. To protect Dominic.” Miles’s knuckles went white around his cue. “Some of us think about consequences before we act.”

“And some of us know that life’s too short for pretending.” I set my cue down with deliberate care. “I want her. I’ve wanted her since I first saw her. I don’t give a fuck about optics or team politics or whatever game Wilson’s playing by walking out that door instead of staking his claim.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m honest.” I straightened up. “You’re welcome to come along tonight, watch how it’s done. Hell, join in. We both know that works well for all parties involved.”

A muscle in Miles’s jaw twitched, and I knew I’d hit a nerve. Good. Maybe it would finally force his hand.

“This isn’t just about getting laid,” Miles growled, stepping closer. “You’re being reckless. You don’t care what happens to her if this all implodes.”

“I trust Nora to make her own decisions,” I fired back, my voice quiet but sharp. “Unlike some people, I don’t think she needs a knight in shining hockey pads to protect her from reality.”

Miles’s eyes flashed. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. No idea what’s at stake for her.”

“I know exactly what’s at stake.” I leaned in. “Her happiness. Her right to choose who she wants. Or hell, she doesn’t even have to choose at all. I’m done playing by everyone else’s rules, and I think she is too.”

“Because you’ve never had to follow rules your whole privileged life, have you, Campbell?”

Well, that stung more than I’d let him see. “Careful, Captain. Your perfect boy-next-door mask is slipping.”

For a moment, I thought he might throw a punch. Instead, his eyes darted past me, and his entire demeanor shifted. I didn’t need to turn to know Nora was returning.

“Everything okay?” Her voice carried that note of wariness that made me want to sweep her up and carry her away from all this bullshit.

“Peachy.” I flashed her my most disarming smile, the one that usually got me out of trouble. “Was discussing the merits of my cheesecake with the captain here.”

Miles snorted but forced his features into something resembling relaxation. “Just two emotionally well-adjusted men having a calm, rational debate.”

Nora’s eyes narrowed like she wasn’t buying what we were selling, but she let it slide. “So, about the cheesecake... are we really doing this?”

“Absolutely. I never joke about dessert.” I did actually have a cheesecake in my fridge.

“I meant all three of us going to your place.” She wasn’t talking about the dessert now.

“I’m in if you are.” My gaze held hers, letting her see past the joking to the sincerity underneath. “No pressure either way.”

As we headed for the door, I caught a glimpse of our reflection in the dark window: the three of us walking in sync, Nora in the middle. It looked right.

* * *

The car came to a stop outside my house, and I fought the urge to check Miles’s reaction in my peripheral vision. I’d seen the look a hundred times before, that momentary recalibration when people realized I didn’t live in some sterile glass tower filled with motivational posters and ergonomic furniture.

Miles unfolded his tall frame from the back seat, eyes traveling up the weathered brick and steel-framed windows of my converted warehouse. “This is... not what I expected.”

“Let me guess, you pictured me living in a penthouse with robot butlers and toilet seats made of solid gold?” I couldn’t resist needling him a little.

“Something like that.” He was still scanning the building like he was memorizing entry points. Ever the captain, always assessing.

We stepped into my studio space on the bottom floor. Canvases in various stages of completion leaned against the exposed brick walls, and my workbenches were scattered with tools, brushes, and the scraps of half-finished projects.

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