Page 27 of Deception & Daylight
Our ill-advised fake relationship has left me questioning his motivations, and I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve opened myself up to his rejection a second time. I’ve spent years carefully concealing my vulnerability, but Miles has somehow broken through my defenses more than once. Rejection is a running theme in my life, and I’d rather be alone forever than let history repeat itself.
The path to forgiveness isn’t linear, and whether I’m even capable of it remains to be seen. Though I sometimes wish I could forget the past, those memories are deeply ingrained and impossible to erase.
Every time I see his face or hear his name, it’s like an arrow straight through my barely beating heart; a reminder of the one-sided affection I once believed to be reciprocated.
The Miles I know now is so different from the man I was once captivated by. It’s difficult to reconcile the two, and I fear this new version of him could do far more damage. I always believed we were two opposing forces pushing against one another; now I’m not so sure.
In a halfhearted attempt to distract myself, I approach my overstuffed suitcase. It’s finally time to unpack. I’m here for at least another week, and if the state of my wardrobe is any indication, I’m going to need a shopping trip soon. I packed in a hurry, the urgent need to get out of the city propelling me forward with no plan for what to do once I arrived. I’ve been rotating the same basic t-shirts and pants for days, but a date night at The Ridge calls for something a little moreme. It’s time for the real Maggie Watson to make an appearance.
I inhale a shaky breath, willing the nerves to settle.You’ve got this.
I give myself a once-over in the mirror, fidgeting with the knot in my tee before slipping into my favorite chucks. My cheeks are slightly hollowed out, and there’s still a bruise near my eye that I tried and failed to conceal. If I don’t see the damage, it’s almost like it never happened — or so I keep telling myself. I’ve done my best to block out what happened. Avoidance is one of my fatal flaws.
Sometime around the third or fourth bad bitch affirmation, my phone chimes on the nightstand.
Miles: See you tonight.
Miles: Prepare to be wooed.
Mags: Good luck with that.
Miles: Never doubt the Miles Barlow charm, Wildcat. It’ll grow on you.
Mags: Like a fungus.
Miles
When I pull up to the inn five minutes early, my hands are clammy against the steering wheel. I can’t remember the last time I was nervous for a date, and this isn’t even a real one — or so I’ve led Maggie to believe. For me, this is every bit the second chance I’ve been craving.
I’m just about to get out of my truck when Maggie steps onto the porch, the dim light of the lantern illuminating her stunning form. Fuck me sideways — she looks good enough to eat. Every rational thought leaves my brain as I look her up and down. Her brown hair is down in loose waves with two braids swept off her face. She’s wearing a flowy off-white skirt with a long slit up one side, a cropped band tee knotted at the front, and a pair of chucks. It’s not the typical, revealing bar outfit you’d normally see around here, but the small hints of skin have my dick rising to the occasion. Mags is effortlessly sexy, and just my type — actually, my typeisMaggie Watson specifically.
The wind rustles her hair as she walks, and it’s as if time stands still. I must look like a fucking stalker sitting here, staring at her as she approaches.Get it together, Barlow.Shaking myself out of whatever trance she has me in, I hop out of the truck and get to the passenger side just in time to open the door and usher her inside — I’m nothing if not a gentleman. Yeah, that’s a lie — but this girl has me completely mesmerized and I want to do things right this time around.
“Hey,” she breathes. Her exhale is ragged and I wonder if she’s nervous, too.
“Hey… girlfriend.” I lift a brow, exaggerating the last word, and she huffs out a laugh, the tension in her body easing slightly. Now that we’re within arm’s reach, I use the opportunity to lean over and kiss her cheek before taking her hand in mine to help her into the truck. Her hands are soft and I hate that I’ll inevitably have to let go. It’s a pretty big step up, so when she momentarily loses her footing, I catch her by the waist and she winces in pain. “Fuck. I’m sorry. Are you ok?”
She nods. “It’s just my ribs. They haven’t healed yet.” The thought of someone hurtingmy girlmakes my blood run cold, a furious rage bubbling just beneath the surface. I’d gladly fly to Toronto and find the motherfucker myself. I make a mental note to check in with Paige; if anybody would know what’s happening with the case besides Mags herself, it would be her best friend. I could ask Maggie directly, but I don’t think she’d tell me. We haven’t exactly gotten along until recently, and despite our fake dating arrangement, our relationship is still tenuous at best.
I pull out onto the street; navigating the short drive towards The Ridge is like muscle memory. The parking lot is packed, so I head around back, pulling into the employee lot beside Cade’s SUV. I put the truck in park, but I don’t make a move to get out, hesitating with my hand on the door.
“Are you good?” Maggie’s voice carries a teasing lilt as she meets my gaze. “Wait. Are you… nervous?” When I don’t respond, she bursts into a fit of laughter. “Oh my god, I make the great Miles Barlow nervous!”
I chuckle. “Not nervous, Wildcat. Just thinkin’. We should probably set some boundaries.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Shortcake, we have to walk in there like an actual couple —”
At the mention of yet another food related nickname, she snorts. “Definitely not that one, Beefcake.”
“Got it. Striking all cake references off the list.” I pretend to hold a notepad, checking an item off a list, and she rolls her eyes at the ridiculous action.
“So, boundaries…”
“Right. I… um… need to be able to touch you.” Her expression falters and she fiddles with her skirt, twisting the fabric in her fist. But just as quickly, she regains her composure, a playful spark lighting her eyes.
“Fine. I’ll allow it. But this isn’t an excuse to get handsy. You can hold my hand, put your arm around me, even lean in to whisper in my ear a bit since it’ll be loud in there, but so help me god Miles, if your hands touch my ass, I’ll cut them off.”
