Page 45 of My Favorite Bad Decision

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“What are we watching tonight?” he asks, sliding into the sleeping bag beside mine.

I blink at him. “Didn’t Leah ask you to share her tent?” I sound embarrassingly bitter rather than nonchalant.

There’s a glimmer of something in his eyes—a smile he is trying to hide. “Yes, she asked. I told her I was happy with the tentmate I have. I guess you told her the same thing.”

“I don’t know that I said I washappynecessarily,” I mutter.

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He grins, and that dimple of his makes my stomach spin and swirl in the most delicious way. “Well, we’re both here,” he says, “so I’ll ask you again: what are we watching?”

I smile back at him, weirdly grateful that he has chosen me over her when I shouldn’t be. It feels as if I’ve spent a great deal of my life waiting for Miller to choose me, and tonight, he finally has.

* * *

For some reason,the camp is entirely deserted. The tents are ruffled by the wind, which whispers through the brush. It’s just me and Miller, standing ten feet apart. His dimple tucks into his cheek, and he looks both cocky and shy at once, such an unexpected combination in a man like him. When the smile fades out, I miss it.

I close the distance between us and press my thumb to the place where that dimple will exist when he smiles for me again. All his emotion now rests in his eyes, entirely focused on mine. He grabs my hand before I can pull it back, and then his mouth lowers.

There is nothing tentative about the kiss on my end or his. It is hungry and certain, something I know has existed inside me all along. It’s waited feverishly for a decade, and it’s not about to stop now.

He makes this sound low in his chest—a growl, a grumble—and then he is pulling me closer, and I need more and more of all of this. I need to feel his skin beneath this mountain of clothing that separates us. I want to be spread around him, glued to him, until I can’t tell where he ends and I begin.

The clothes, though. All these fucking clothes.I am twisted and tangled and kissing him, and he is kissing me and?—

“Fuck,” I gasp.

I’m in the tent, still in my sleeping bag, but half on top of Miller, who I have apparently molested, though with the way his hand is wrapped around the back of my neck and tangled in my hair, he seems to have participated fairly willingly himself. His eyes open, and he looks as astonished as I feel.

“Sorry,” he says. “Fuck, sorry.”

I roll off of him as if I am on fire.

“Don’t,” I say, winded with shock…and other things. “I’m clearly the one responsible for that. I was just having this dream and…God. Never mind. I’m incredibly sorry. Can we forget that happened?”

He exhales heavily, running a hand through his hair. Even through two sleeping bags and our thermals, I definitely felt how badlyhewanted it.

“That must’ve been quite a dream,” he finally says.

Not if my life depended upon it would I admit that the dream was about him. “Yeah. I’m not even sure what it was about. Something from college. What were you dreaming?”