Page 44 of Sweet Caroline
“Hey, whoa,” he starts, standing to get a step ahead of me before I can get too far. His hands slip to my arms, holding me in place. “Where are you going?”
“Miles,” I start, looking anywhere but into those magnetic eyes. “This is too much. It’s late and you’ve done more than enough to help me out. I’ll— I’ll figure something out with my dad. I should go.”
He doesn’t let go or move aside. “Hey, look at me.”
I can barely meet his gaze. When I finally do, there’s an openness in his expression that Icould get lost in.
“I didn’t say no.” He dips his head. “We could do this.”
I start to protest, but the words catch in my throat.
“I mean, hey,” he adds, letting go of my arms, “We did alright tonight. The photographer seemed pretty happy. Maybe the press will, uh… want more?”
More.
His eyes slip to my mouth, and the memory of his lips brushing against mine sends a tingling sensation straight to my core.
“Anyway, I’m up for it. If you are.” I must not look convinced, because he adds, “And if you wanna leave”—he holds up his hands and steps back to give me a clear path—“I’m not gonna stop you. But I’ll give you a ride, alright? We can talk more in the truck. Just… lemme take you home.”
This man? At my house?
I swallow and nod, shoving away visions of being pinned to my bed under his tattooed chest.
When he disappears into his room to change, I drift toward the front door, kicking myself anew for pushing my way into his life like this. Miles is newly sober; the last thing he needs is to be dragged into political drama or forced to live under my controlling father’s thumb. He should be taking care ofhimself, not my tarnished public image.
It’s a good thing I’ve got a therapy session booked on Monday morning; I’ll have more than enough material to talk about after this week.
My attention snags on movement in my peripheral vision. Miles’ bedroom door is open a crack, and a soft yellow glow spills out, casting a strip of light on the floor of the dark front hall. I stare through the narrow opening as a sliver of muscle and tattooed skin disappears under a snug gray T-shirt. My gaze falls and, when I catch him tugging on a pair of jeans, I hold my breath.
No sooner have I registered the sound of his zipper than he’spulling open the door and stepping out, buckling his belt. A slow smirk plays at his lips when he realizes what I could see—what I was so obviouslywatching.
My cheeks flush hot, and that smirk splits into a full grin.
“Let’s go…”
When he doesn’t call me out, I exhale with relief.
He grabs a hoodie from a hook on the wall as he opens the front door, motioning for me to go first. I’m just stepping past him when?—
“… ya bigperv.”
I groan out a mortified laugh as he locks up and we head to his truck.
Miles managesto talk me down from my anxious state as he drives me home, and we hash out a few details of what fake dating could look like: being seen together out in public at least once a week until the election, doing whatever we can to present an image of committed stability, and avoiding anything that could compromise the Pete Brennan campaign. We brainstorm sober-friendly dates: restaurants without bars, activities that don’t involve drinking, and family-friendly community events where we could be seen together, like Halloween Fest at Sonora Farm—a Lennox Valley tradition. Then we’d call the whole thing off after Election Day. Whether or not my father wins, there will be far less at stake for him after the votes are counted.
“There’d be no need to carry on with the ruse past then.” I glance at Miles’ shadowed figure in the driver’s seat.
“Right.” His grip twists on the steering wheel. “So we’d what, just… cut contact and go back to normal?”
“Yeah. I’d go back to my life, and you’d go back to yours,” I add. “Unless… you wanted to stay friends?”
Miles flicks his eyes my way, his expression inscrutable as he returns his gaze to the road. “Is that what we are now? Friends?”
I open my mouth to answer, but I don’t know what to say.
Arewe friends?
The question hangs unanswered as we pull into my grandfather’s driveway. Miles cuts the engine and quickly jumps out into the night, rounds the front of the truck, and opens my door.
