“Miles.”
“Just come and look inside. The outside needs fixed up a bit, but the inside is just your typical late-nineties, dated, over-decorated, wallpapered home, okay?”
I looked back over at the cabin. It was either this or the pull-out couch. Or Mom and Russ. “Fine.”
We climbed the rickety stairs to the porch. Miles unlocked the door, and it squeaked open, revealing a cozy, butternut-yellow-painted room with a plaid wallpapered border. Mismatched couches and loveseats of browns and plaids filled the small living room.
“Wow,” I said.
“Told ya.”
For some reason, I had to bite back a smile. Though the outside left much to the imagination, instantly the home inside felt so warm to me. My parents had had a similar plaid wallpaper in our downstairs living room when I was in grade school, and memories of our home came flooding back. The cabin was small and tidy but cluttered with pictures of moose and bears, and there were knick-knacks everywhere. I took a step inside. Against the back wall was a small oak kitchen with an island covered in a brown, marbled Formica sitting between the two rooms. A hallway jetted to the left and looked like it housed a couple of bedrooms and a bathroom.
“Change your mind?”
“Yeah.”
He walked in behind me, set the luggage down, and closed the door. Immediately, he began tinkering with the wood fireplace. There was a small fire already going, but he removed the gate and tossed more sticks inside. A minute later, the fire had cast a cozy orange glow about the room. He stood up, brushed his hands off, and turned around to meet my gaze.
“Thanks,” I said, suddenly feeling shy. The cabin felt so small with him inside, much like how my classroom did whenever he felt the need to torture me with a visit. Which reminded me that I had a few things to discuss with him about our whole arrangement.
“Alright,” I started. “We obviously need to set some ground rules.”
“For what?”
“Fake dating.”
“Why?”
He had a small smile on his face, which meant he was very much trying to goad me.
“Because I’d hate for you to fall in love with me.”
“Such a cliche.” He moved toward the island in the kitchen and leapt backward to sit on top. His legs dangled from the side as he leaned back on his hands casually. “I can’t wait to hear your terms.”
I walked a few steps forward, closer to him, but not too close, and leaned against a wall. For some reason, I needed to feel tall with him in the room, which was why I didn’t choose to sit just yet.
“Number one. No unnecessary touching. Obviously.” I ticked the rule off with my finger, ready to add another when his voice stopped me.
“Nope.”
My startled eyes flew to his. “What?”
A tiny smile quirked at the side of his mouth. “Veto. I disagree.”
My brow furrowed in confusion. “No…that’s…not up for debate. No unnecessary touching.”
He leaned forward and met my gaze unabashed. “If I’m going to be dating you this week—"
“Fake dating,” I broke in.
He went on, unfazed, “I can’t work under those kinds of restraints.”
I shook my head, irritated that he always had to find a way to get under my skin. This wasn’t even a hard rule. This was an obvious rule.
“No. Any good book or movie worth its salt will tell you that fake dating always has rules. It’s the only way it can work. We touch only in public, and it’s super platonic.”
“So…what book have you read where fake dating worked as planned? Should I take a quick peek into your Kindle?” He cocked his head to the side, a smile playing on his lips, his brown eyes diving into mine.
I shifted uncomfortably. “They don’t work because people stop following the rules, and things get confusing. We need rules.”
“What do you mean by confusing?” he asked, his wide eyes the picture of innocence. The rate of my heartbeat kicked up a notch.
Maybe it was a good thing he moved to the island in the kitchen. If he was standing by me, I would have kicked him in the shins by now. “You know what I mean.”
“And what does ‘unnecessary’ mean?” He gave quotation marks to the word. “When do you deem touching necessary?” He leaned back on the island as if he had all the time in the world.
I clenched my fists, eyeing him warily. “If we’re around my family, then…you can…touch my shoulder or something.”
“The shoulder, huh? Wow.” He rubbed his face with his hand. “Both of them?”
“Shut up.”
He shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Nope. If we’re dating this week—”
“Fake dating.”
“Then I’m gonna act normal.”
“What’s normal for you? Making out on the top of a class-five rapid?”
“I’d never make out during a class five, Celery Stick. You need two hands to do both of those things.” He regarded me for a long moment. “I’m going to treat you just like any other girl I’d be dating. If I’m having fun with you and getting the vibe you’re into it, I’ll make a move.”
“Well, that’s just fine then. I don’t plan on giving off that vibe.” My smile was crisp, and I stood up tall, away from the wall, about to ask him where the bathroom was, before he continued as though I hadn’t said a word.
“I’ll start with holding your hand.”
A scoff escaped my lips as I brushed nonchalantly at a piece of lint on my sweater.
“And then when that pretty smile of yours starts to feel real, I might pull you in for a hug.”
I stilled. My eyes flicked over to him.
“And if your big eyes keep dropping me hints, begging for more, then maybe I’ll hug you again.”
To my utter horror, the mood between us began to shift. I wanted to look away, but my eyes were locked onto his, trying to decide what he was about. He was just messing with me. He had to be. But the words were infiltrating my mind and wreaking havoc on my central nervous system.
His eyes never left mine. “After the second hug, you’d be more used to the close proximity—and you’d like it, by the way. I’d probably kiss your cheek next.”
I drew in a soft breath, about to tell him to stop when he spoke again.
“And then, I’d move up and down your jawline right about here.” He reached up and drew a long finger across the base of his jaw. Goosebumps scattered all around my skin. My eyes betrayed me and followed his every movement from the bottom of his ear to the point of his chin.
“Kissing every little freckle.”
The sound of the grandfather clock struck loudly, thundering into the room. I jumped, clutching my chest at the sound, before I looked back at Miles. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced away. When he turned back to me, a smile was on his lips. He had been playing me. That was all. Which was a relief. A RELIEF. Dang you, Miles Taylor.
“And then I’d throw up on you,” I said. I was trying to save face, to get him back for what he just did to me and my body. So, why did that statement send a pang of traitorous remorse into my gut?
He jumped down from the counter with the grace of a jungle cat and slowly began walking toward me. I lurched backward into the wall in search of an escape, or at least a little space, but he was nearly upon me before I could move. He stopped a few inches away from touching me, but the heat radiated from him.