Page 46 of Deception & Daylight
? Back to You - Selena Gomez
Silence fills the cab as I pull up outside the inn. Movement in the shadows snags my attention, and I throw out an arm, stopping Mags from getting out. “Wait. Something’s not right.”
She scoffs and unbuckles her seatbelt but then she hears it, too — a crack of a branch and a strange rustling floating in through the open window. “For once in your life, stop being fucking stubborn, Mags.”
She sinks back into her seat, arms crossed over her chest. “By all means. Better you than me.”
“Your confidence is inspiring, Sugar Tits.”
“Never call me that ever again.”
I mime striking it off a list on the palm of my hand, catching a hint of a smile tugging at her lips, but she quickly reels it back in. Feeling around behind my seat, my hand closes around the narrow end of a baseball bat before carefully stepping out of my truck. Not the best weapon, I’ll admit, but it’s all I’ve got to work with. I keep my footsteps light as I make my way towards where I spotted movement. Shadows pass over the side of the inn and my pulse ratchets up.
“I have a weapon.” I cringe at the stupidity of my proclamation, but it’s too late to take it back. There’s another rustling before I see it — a raccoon with a massive slice of pizza in its tiny humanoid hands. The open box sits behind one of Ma’s rose bushes, crumbs and crust littering the flowerbed.
It jerks back then stills as I lock eyes with the creature. It’s small, likely still a baby. Laughter drifts from behind me and it startles, scurrying off behind the gazebo. The truck door slams and I turn to find Maggie doubled over in laughter. Between gasps she says, “Were you really about to go all Babe Ruth on that poor baby?”
“It could’ve been a stalker or something.”
Mags places her palms over her chest. “My hero. What would I ever do without you?”
I step into her space, leaning down so we’re nearly nose to nose. Her breath hitches and her facial expression sobers. Tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, I murmur, “Good thing we don’t have to find out.” She raises onto her toes, her lips ghosting over mine as her arms wrap around my neck. The baseball bat falls to the sidewalk with a crack and I slam our lips together, devouring her mouth in a punishing kiss. I’ll never get enough of this woman; not in a million lifetimes. My hands slide over her ribs as her fingers rake through my hair.
The sound of a screen door cracking against a doorframe startles us apart. “Get a room,” Ma says, staring at us with a bemused smile. “Oh wait. You already have one. Nice shirt, Mags.”
I glance down at the graphic tee that says “Miles Barlow’s girlfriend” and a wave of possessiveness washes over me. She has no idea her little stunt has backfired — she’s never getting rid of me now. I’d tattoo “Property of Maggie Watson” on my fucking forehead if I wasn’t bound and determined to change her last name someday.
Maggie clears her throat. “I better…” she gestures over her shoulder towards the inn where my mother is still watching us. “Goodnight, Miles.”
I palm her hip and pull her to me. “Not so fast.” My breath fans over her ear and she shivers. “She’s watching. We need to put on a show.” It’s a lie, but I’ll milk this excuse for all it’s worth. I kiss her neck and her nails dig into my chest.
“Miles,” she breathes. As if on instinct, my cock hardens at the sound of my name on her lips. I repeat the action, kissing along every bit of exposed skin I can find. She mewls and sighs with every brush of my lips until I hear the door open and shut again. She attempts to push me away, but not before I place one last gentle kiss behind her ear, eliciting a soft intake of air.
“Goodnight, Wildcat.”
I stare up at the ceiling in my all too quiet house, watching the blades of the ceiling fan circle overhead, wondering, not for the first time, how I’m going to convince Maggie to stay with me. I’ve always loved this house — it was one of my first flips after my apprenticeship. It’s not perfect, but it’s always been home. Lately, though, it feels like something is missing. Turning onto my side, I snag my phone off the nightstand.
Miles: Pick you up on Friday 7pm for our date.
Mags: I don’t remember agreeing to a date.
Miles: It was implied when you bought me at auction like some kind of prized cattle.
Mags: It was a pity purchase.
Miles: Didn’t feel like pity when you came on my cock tonight. I can almost still feel you clenching around me.
I’m treading dangerous waters, but I couldn’t care less if I drown. I’d rather let the tide pull me under than walk away from the only woman who’s ever made me feel seen and understood. Maggie Watson is a risk I’d take every time.
Mags: Women are really good at faking it. Shame you can’t tell the difference.
Miles: Nothing about what we did was fake, baby. I bet you’re still fucking soaked for me.
Three little bubbles dance once, then twice, before they disappear entirely. Not willing to let the conversation die, I tap out another text.
Miles: Am I turning you on, Mags?
Mags: In your dreams.
