Page 45 of The Kiss Connection

“Giving them a story,” he says, his head dipping in my direction, and I nearly jump out of my skin when his hand finds the back of my neck.

“I swear if you’re going to kiss me right now, Dax, you’re going to end up with a fist to your face.”

“Point taken,” he says and straightens his shoulders, pulling back slightly as to not invade my personal space but still look charming to the cameras. He keeps his hand planted on the back of my chair. “And, Dax? Since when are we on a last name basis, Juniper?”

“You don’t know my last name.” A huge grin that I can’t hide spreads across my face.

“That’s the one.” He chuckles as more cameras fire off shots, the flashes reflecting off the light. I don’t know how they’re even able to get a decent picture, but I also don’t care. Maybe they’ll all be shitty photos that are worthless. “Snow.”

I open my mouth, but he answers before I can.

“Juniper Snow. I know who you are, I just wanted to see that natural smile for the camera.”

“You’re something else. Are you always like this on dates?”

Myles clears his throat and it looks like I struck a nerve. What did I say?

“No.” He forces a smile, and his hand falls from my chair to his lemonade. He takes a sip, and I can see it’s less about need and more about distraction. If he’s drinking something, he’s not talking or being scrutinized.

“How do you do it? Handle the media, the press? I’ve seen you take interviews; you’re really good.”

“It’s not much of a big deal. They usually shoot me questions about hockey, which I love. Makes it easy. Most of the time. Coach benched me recently, and those press questions were a bit tougher. The guys covered for me, especially Conrad.”

“And what about your brother?”

He glances from his lemonade to me. “What about him?” There’s a shortness in his tone, a coldness that he exudes the moment I mention Archer.

“Don’t forget the cameras are watching,” I say, forcing him to fake a smile.

“They’re always watching,” he tells me. “I’m learning that.” It’s almost like a slip-up, confessing something to me about himself. Another forced smile, and the appetizers arrive.

“That’s a lot of food,” I say, realizing how much we ordered.

“Nah, anything you can’t eat, I’ll finish.”

“We haven’t even ordered yet,” I say, although I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat a meal after the appetizers.

Myles nods. “I know. Did you think I was taking you out for dinner? No wine. No entre. Just appetizers tonight, Pint Size.”

I kick him under the table.

His eyes flinch, but he doesn’t show any other sign of discomfort. “What was that for?” he asks. Grabbing a fork, he stabs the bacon-wrapped shrimp covered in barbeque sauce into his mouth.

I really want to make him talk, do something to humiliate him. “You being a jerk.”

He smirks and eats his appetizers while I glare at him. I grab a fork, trying a taste of the crab cake, which is divine. It also helps relieve my sour mood.

He’s incredibly careful not to make a mess, which seems impossible for me, as I keep dripping sauce onto the plate. I shove the shrimp into my mouth; it’s an overload of flavor.

My palate can’t seem to get enough of the zing of the sauce and the bacon that is coated in pepper.

It’s practically orgasmic.

“Did you just moan?” Myles asks, raising an eyebrow, his fork half in the air, paused as he studies me.

“I did nothing of the sort.” I glare at him.

“Oh, you most definitely moaned. I know what it sounds like when a woman moans.”