7

Cleo

Barely Fit Inside

We wove back and forth through the games while the employees played beer pong in the corner. It was the best date I'd ever had, but at the foosball table, I couldn't let the question slip my mind. "Does your family know how…?"

"No," Miles said quickly. "I wouldn't lie to them—but they talk. I wouldn't tell anybody I couldn't trust not to do that."

The comment slipped by as Miles turned to a basketball hoop, swishing another ball into the basket, but I gazed at him, at this beautiful man who liked to keep things just as private as I did. The way he said trust struck me the most. Because as dumb as it was, I felt the exact same way. I'd known the man for less than a week and I already felt like I'd known him for years.

"What about you?" Miles made another basket and gestured for me to make the next shot. "Does your boss know you practically scrub floors for everybody?"

"I don't do—"

"Yesterday, didn't you have a phone conversation with Adam Russell, the Marrs linebacker? Because he was locked in a supply closet at the training center?"

Damn. I had told him about that. "I mean, one of his…girls was chasing him and security hadn't caught her yet."

"You're a PR intern. How is that your job?"

"Well…"

"You do too much for them," Miles finished.

I stepped in front of the hoop and lined it up. "Three years with Marrs, Miles. That's what that is. I'm becoming head intern if I've got to drag every football player out of a supply closet. And if this is what I've got to do, this is what I've got to do."

With a snap of my wrists, the basketball flew up in a nice arc and curved into the basket.

Three points with the little neon numbers.

"Damn." Miles grinned, gazing down at me. " And you can do that? The perfect woman."

I flushed with pleasure. "It's the tense shoulders. That's my secret."

"I know the perfect thing for tense shoulders."

"Ibuprofen?"

"That's a close second." Miles leaned down to pick up the tickets, and when he stood up again, he was only a couple of inches away from me. His eyes searched my face. Whatever he saw, he must've liked, because his words flowed out slow and smooth. "I give the best massages."

The idea of Miles Locke putting his hands on me like that…running his hands over me like that…drawing out my gasps like that…

Heat pooled between my legs.

"Really?" I managed. "Mechanic boys give the best massages?"

"If you don't believe me, you could always try it out. Free of charge."

In that little space of quiet between us, with him gazing down at me, with all his intentions laid out, something caught his eye behind me. A warm glow lit his eyes. "Pictures?"

"Pictures?"

For an instant, I had concerns. I did. Even if Miles didn't have goals to head to Marrs, meeting with him would've raised some eyebrows. No matter how much he made my thighs squeeze together just being around him. But when he said pictures, I didn't expect the little photo booth in the middle of the arcade.

Except he could barely fit inside.

"Is this on purpose?" I tried to squeeze in while he slipped in the coins.

In an instant, Miles had his arm around my waist and tugged me on his lap. In the cool, dark photo booth, he was there, everywhere . Filling up every space.

Miles grinned up at me, a wolfish, delicious grin that told me exactly what he thought about our predicament.

"It has its perks," he murmured. "I have a great view."

The flash burst from the camera and my eyesight left me. "Shit!"

"I didn't think—"

A laugh burst out of me. "That was quick—wait, it's counting down!" The numbers flashed over the tiny screen, and I shook my head. "What're we doing?"

The flash went off again, but the only thing I could think of was to stick out my tongue. Miles didn't even get the message. The picture developed over the screen, and there was the football player, laughing, at me, the complete dork on his lap.

"That's not even fair," I groaned. "You didn't even do anything."

"I'll do better next time," he promised, but the next time was seconds away.

"What're we going to do?"

"Don't you know?" Miles's breath tickled my neck as he pulled me closer. "Next one, I'm going to kiss you."

A bright blush crossed my face.

His breathing slowed while mine picked up. I could feel his heartbeat pressed against him.

The seconds ticked closer to zero.

"You're going to kiss me?" I swallowed.

"I am."

His hand swept through my hair, brushing it away from the side of my face. He didn't need to do it, nothing was covered, he just wanted to touch me. Everywhere we made skin-to-skin contact, my heart beat even faster. He was good. He was too good.

His lips met mine.

It was soft, it was sweet, and took away all the cautiousness I'd had about the date. He knotted his fingers through my hair and tilted my head to the side. His tongue swept my bottom lip, and he deepened the kiss, squeezing my hair between his fingers until my breath caught in my throat.

Oh, goodness.

A noise rumbled from deep in his throat. Nothing I could put a name to. It was that deep, primal urge that told me there was nowhere else he wanted to be. And I felt the exact same. Especially when I could have Miles Locke doing everything he could to feel me up in the photo booth, completely stiff.

"Need to take care of something?" I teased him, breathless.

Miles chuckled and placed a hand on my hip. We weren't two adults on a night out, we were two desperate teenagers on an unsupervised visit. I rolled my hips against him, just feeling him hard underneath me.

"You don't have a boyfriend, right?" Miles murmured along my collarbone.

"No boyfriend," I confirmed.

"Fiancé? Husband? Hookup that's stuck in your messages?"

I rocked against him. "My schedule's been too busy. There's no one."

"Doesn't really matter, vixen." He kissed me again. "I'll throw a bastard down if I need to."

"There's no—no—nobody—oh, fuck ." The words slipped out of my mouth as he ran his tongue along the side of my neck.

It wasn't just sexual attraction. It wasn't. It couldn't be. I'd experienced that before. Sitting on Miles's lap while he figured out how to please me, that wasn't sexual attraction. Miles did everything he could, testing out the waters to please me, and it sent my heart pounding harder than anything else before.

"Cleo." Miles breathed out my name. "I think you were wrong."

My voice hitched up a notch when he sucked on my earlobe. "Wrong?"

"You said I'm trouble."

Ever so slowly, Miles held on to my hips and moved me against him, leaving both of us flushed and panting.

" You're trouble," he breathed out. "Fuck. You're lightning."