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“I was a state champion wrestler in high school,” he pointed to a scar in his brow, “got this from a wineglass my mom threw, intending to hit my dad, and I have another scar from a bullet.”
I gaped at him, really hoping he’d forgotten the rules and had given two lies. “Jesus, Miles. I don’t know which one I want to be the lie more.” I puffed up my cheeks and slowly let the air out. “I’m going to guess the bullet is the lie. Right?”
He shook his head. “Nope. I was shot about a year ago.”
“No you weren’t. I don’t believe you.”
“I was. Want to see?”
“The scar you made up? Sure, show me.”
He hopped up and turned away from me. Then he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his athletic shorts and lowered one side, exposing most of his ass cheek. There, right in the middle of his smooth, golden skin, was a round, puckered dent.
My mouth went dry, my head fuzzy. I said the first thing that popped into my mind. “How is your ass so tan?”
Chuckling, he pulled up his shorts and turned to rest his elbows on the railing behind him.
“That’s my natural glow, Cupcake.”
“You can’t just show me your bullet wound and expect a sensical reaction.” I rubbed the throb between my eyebrows. “I mean…are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m all good now. I’ll have a gnarly scar for the rest of my life, but no other lasting side effects.”
I dropped my hand to glare at him. I couldn’t explain it, but I was suddenly incredibly pissed off at him.
“How in the hell did you get shot, Miles Aldrich?” He opened his mouth, but I waved him off. “Wait, let me guess. Were you caught running out of some rich, married lady’s bedroom by her angry husband?”
His eyelids lowered over sparkling hazel eyes. He was amused while I was all out of sorts.
“Not quite so harrowing. There was an incident last year at the grand opening of my friend Elliot's building. A crazy old man was waving his gun around, and I put myself between him and my friends to distract him. It had worked. The guy got tackled by security, and I thought it was over, so I turned around.”
He clucked his tongue. “Old man got a shot off before they got the gun away from him. Hit me right in the ass.”
My throat was tight. I did not like this game anymore. “Did it hurt?”
“It didn’t feel like angel kisses, that’s for damn sure.”
I couldn’t explain my urge to strangle this man. My fingers curled around the wooden arms of my Adirondack chair, wishing it were his neck. This wasn’t something you just dropped on someone during a game.
Miles took a step closer, worry furrowing his brow. “You doing okay?”
“I’m—” I focused on the rip in the knee of my jeans. “You’re just so…casual about being shot. It’s hard for me to wrap my head around.”
“It’s been over a year for me. I didn’t feel great about it when it happened. I had to sit on a donut for a solid month after I got out of the hospital.” He huffed a laugh. “But I’d go through it again, no question. If I hadn’t been there to take the bullet, it would have hit Elliot, or his wife, Kit. Might’ve hit my brother or his girl. Much better it was me.”
I lifted my chin, pissed at the people he’d named for no discernible reason. “I hope they’d take a bullet for you too.”
“Eh.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter what they’d do in the same situation. I did what I thought was right.”
“Of course it matters.” I climbed to my feet to pace. If I didn’t walk some of this fizzing anger off, I’d scream. “Surely your brother would have taken a bullet for you…?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said softly. “No one can say what they’d do in a situation like that.”
“Except you.” I tugged on my hoodie strings. “You can.”
“And I’m kind of banking on never having to go through that again.” He nodded at my glass. “Drink some pink lemonade and chill, Daisy-daze. Everything’s fine. My ass isn’t as perfect as it once was, but I’m told women are into scars, so…”
Groaning, I whirled around and guzzled my lemonade. I was annoyed with Miles for being so nonchalant, but more annoyed with myself for reacting this way. We barely knew each other, yet my gut was churning at the possibilities of what could have happened to him. Add the fact he wasn’t sure his friends, let alone his brother, would have done the same for him, and I was feeling like a crazy person.
