“Oh, really?” The corner of his mouth curls. “How can you be so sure?”
His voice is gravelly from sleep, and the quiet rumble goes straight to my ovaries. Which, it turns out, can short-circuit your brain. That’s the only rational explanation for what I say next.
“Because you’re smooth. And sexy. And we both know you didn’t earn your Hartthrob reputation by spending your Friday nights home alone, binging Netflix rom-coms and fantasizing about the one person you couldn’t have.”
Because he can have any gorgeous woman he wants.
It’s the law of attraction. One ridiculously hot person will always attract another ridiculously hot person, and then they’ll make ridiculously hot babies who will one day repeat the cycle ad nauseam.
Miles quirks a brow, and coherent thought evacuates my brain. “Spent some time thinking about this, have you?”
“Yes.” Heat floods my cheeks, and I want to melt into the floor. “No. I mean, I managed your schedule for two years, so…”
Ay, cabrón.This was so much easier when our conversations revolved around meeting schedules and laundry pickup.
Miles says nothing, just stares at me intently, his clear blue eyes locked on mine.
So, naturally I keep going, word vomit spewing from my mouth like lava from a volcano.
“I’m sure my panties are plain and boring compared to the ones you’ve seen.”
The ones he’s probably removed with his teeth.
Just the thought has blood rushing to my core.
“Lucy.” He smirks, and I swear to God my heart stops beating as he hooks a finger in the delicate white lace blocking his path to the bathroom. “Boring is the last word I’d use to describe your panties.”
Is it getting hot in here?
Nope. That’s just Miles. Flirting. With me.
And touching my panties with a ravenous look in his eyes.
Which makes no sense. Unless…
I discreetly pinch my wrist.
Ouch!
So, not a dream, then.
Could it be an alternate universe? If so, the creator has a twisted sense of humor, because the Airstream is rocking the same putrid seventies decor.
Giiiiirl.
Right. I need to get it together.
I clear my throat, but really, what is there to say?
“I’m going to take a quick shower so we can head out,” Miles says, flashing me a knowing grin as he ducks under the clothesline and steps into the bathroom. “Rumor has it we’re running late, and I know you’ve got a big day planned for us.”
Us.
He says it like we’re a unit. A team. A couple.
Which we very much are not.
The whole point of this trip is to put an end tousonce and for all, a fact I’d do well to remember if I don’t want to lose the bet.
