Page 67 of The Kiss Connection

He smiles.

Myles is the one in control.

Shit.

My breathing is thick and ragged; my heart is hammering in my chest. I reach for my drink, and the margarita doesn’t feel nearly cold enough to cool me off after that kiss.

Kissing Myles Dax isn’t supposed to be something I like.

It’s not supposed to be a good experience.

He’s a jerk.

An asshole.

He stood me up and pretended to be someone else.

I know I should forgive him; I’m going to have to deal with him if I’m pretending to be his girlfriend, but I can’t let what he did disappear from memory. He hurt me, intentionally.

I never intended to hurt him when Rowan sent that message in the app. She’d done it to protect me.

“Are you hungry?” Myles asks, glancing at the small menu in a stand on the table. “Their food here is okay, but their pretzels are divine.”

“You girls have to try their beer battered onion rings,” Conrad says. “They make them in-house. They’re better than the pretzels.”

“That’s not true.”

“You really only love the pretzels because of the honey mustard,” Conrad deadpans, staring at Myles. “Tell her you’d eat a tub of that honey mustard if it wouldn’t destroy your physique.”

“That’s not—shut up.” Myles glares at Conrad.

Myles has his arm around my chair once again. He pulls my chair closer, our legs bumping together. “See anything you like?” he asks, nodding toward the menu, but it definitely feels like an innuendo.

Like he wants me to flirt with him in front of his teammates.

That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? To convince everyone that this thing between us is real.

“Order the pretzel bites and the onion rings. I’ll feed them to you,” I say, staring at him, and he raises an eyebrow.

I don’t know what the hell he’s thinking, but a smile crosses his face. I can’t quite tell if it’s genuine, but it looks real.

His mouth is on mine again, stealing another kiss, and his thumb is on my jaw, tilting my head, directing me the way that he wants me to kiss him.

My insides tingle and my pussy flutters.

Shit.

Myles is one hell of an actor because he easily makes me feel things that I shouldn’t, the way he stares at me, the way he kisses me, it seems so damn real, but it can’t be, because he doesn’t like me.

He barely even tolerates me.

All of this is nothing more than a means to an end, for both of us.

Seventeen

Myles

“We’re actually doing this,” she says, and there’s a hint of nervousness and excitement in her tone.