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I start to slide off the couch but he sticks out his foot to block me. I’m so caught off guard by it that I don’t even have the ability to glare at him as I shove it away from me. “Don’t touch me with your feet!"
Little does he need to know that my reaction has very little to do with not liking feet.
An amused laugh flies out of him, and I don’t get what’s funny.
“I have clean socks on. You’re more than welcome to check.”
“I’ve never wanted to do something less in my life.”
I go to stand again but he puts his foot out again.
“Can I say one thing about your book?”
I think about it.
“Is it going to make me cry?”
“Possibly.”
“Ugh.” But I don’t say no, and he catches it.
“This is really fucking good.”
I gape at him.
“What?” he asks, as if that’s not ridiculous.
It takes a few seconds for me to pick my jaw up off the floor.
“You’re just saying that,” I say while shaking my head. “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”
“I’m not,” he insists. “I’ve never read romance before, so I don’t have anything to compare it to… but I know I really don’t want to put it down right now.”
“I never thought I’d hear a grown man say that.”
“I’m happy to be the grown man that said it. You know what else?”
I fix him with a look that implores him to get it over with.
“I’m soeagerto find out more about this guy.” He points at the brunette on the front of the cartoon cover. “He seems great, makes me wonder what inspired you to write him.”
I groan as I throw my head back against the couch. “Shut up, Miles. I’ll take the book away.”
He grabs his phone from the nearby table and waves it at me. “Two day shipping, and you’d never even know.”
“Something tells me I would, I doubt you’d be able to keep your mouth shut about it.”
“Do you think he looks like me?” he questions, looking back down at it. “I think he kinda looks like me.”
He’s baiting me, waiting for me to admit what he’s already figured out. Maybe knowing that I know that he knows that I know isn’t good enough for him.
But it’s more than enough for me.
“Miles.”
It’s a good thing I love his laugh, because it isn’t annoying me as much as it should be right now. I might actually find it a little reassuring that he’s pressing my buttons, instead of bolting for the door. He still could at any point, but a glance down at where the book is open tells me that he’s pretty far past all the incriminating details and introductions.
“My idea for this book came to me when I was still a teenager.” I point a thumb over my shoulder, gesturing to the past. “She thought of it, I just wrote it. Okay?” I divulge that much with the hope it’ll be enough to dismiss the topic.
