Just One Kiss - J. Saman Page 0,20

want me here.

I blow out a sigh of disappointment at that.

I haven’t had a boyfriend in a while. I’m what you call in the city a serial dater and that’s not because that’s what I enjoy. It’s because dating in New York City is the equivalent of working in a health center. You’re always screening for the mentally unstable ones, STIs, and people who have the potential to hurt you or run out without paying.

I didn’t come up with that pearl, my friend Rina did and since she’s a nurse in a health center, she’s allowed to say things like that. But I think it’s kind of true. Dating in the city is all about apps that show faces and bodies and are a mechanism for hooking up and not connecting.

I can’t remember the last time I connected with anyone.

Last night wasn’t a date, but it was the best first date I’ve had in a while if for no other reason than the guy didn’t talk about himself all night and only care about how fast he could get into my pants.

I make my appearance known as I step noisily onto the stairs. Miles comes around the corner and looks up at me, his eyes full of concern as they do a sweep of my body. But his gaze starts to drag. Starts to linger. Starts to grow a little heated as he takes in my full appearance instead of just focusing on my injuries and physical limitations.

“Good morning,” I say to him, taking him in much the way he did me. He’s wearing another thermal shirt that is just as affectionate with his body as my jeans are with me. This time it’s navy blue and it makes his eyes glow bright. His hair is brushed back off his face, and his jeans are low-slung, clinging on for dear life to his trim waist.

His is a sight a girl could grow very used to.

“Morning,” he drawls in return, a little something extra in his voice as his gaze finally finds its way back up to mine. “How are you feeling? You certainly look good.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

He chuckles, glancing away and running a hand through his hair and mussing it all up. Now it’s a hot mess and I’m dying to fix it with my fingers. He’s not wearing his glasses today, I note, and I can’t remember if he was wearing them when he found me yesterday either.

“It seems I am.” He shakes his head and then turns back to me, his smile gone as he returns to his stoic self. “Are you hungry? And yes, that’s me changing the subject.”

I smile down at him. My good smile. The one I use when I meet people I want to charm. But it also feels like I’ve got a secret, my dirty dream front and center in my mind. “I’m starving and if it tastes half as good as it smells, I might have to fight Betsy for that bacon.”

He mutters something I can’t hear under his breath. “Do you need help down?”

“Naw. I’m good.”

And I am. I mean, it still hurts to walk, especially down the stairs where I constantly have to bend and then straighten my knee, but I can’t use that as an excuse to fawn all over him.

I make it to the bottom and he’s there, waiting on me.

His eyes are still on mine and mine are still on his, and I watch as his face inches closer. As his eyes darken ever so subtly. His lips nearly brush my cheek as they reach my ear, whispering, “You’re a terrible liar. You limped the whole way down.”

My breath catches as his warm breath fans across my skin, his body so close as his heat and masculine scent envelop me. But just as quickly as he was there, he draws back, our eyes clashing as he shifts his position, coming to stand beside me.

“I did not limp.”

“You did. Humor me and put your arm around my shoulder. Like we did it last night.” And those words after all the dirty places my mind was going is not helping anything. I silently do as he instructs while he helps me over to the breakfast bar. “Put your leg up. I’m thinking your knee could use some more ice and I’ll make you a plate.”

The second he gets me into my chair and steps away, I hear him expel a breath, see him unclenching his fists that