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shy?” He grinned. I poked him in the ribs,
welcoming the opportunity to hide what was becoming a big hurt spot in the
center of me. I’d already said one goodbye today. I wasn’t looking forward to
this one, just because our time together had been shorter and a hell of a lot
more pleasant.
    Outside, the heat of midday had mellowed into something
tolerably warm, about the temperature of a marshmallow in a S’more. Miles
looked at the sparkly pavement in front of the theater. “Guess you got him back
for whatever he did.”
    “Who what?”
    “The situation guy.”
    “Is that what you think this was all about?” I demanded.
“There’s something about me you should know. I’m not above hitting a man who
insults me, or a man who insults himself. In terms of vengeance, all that fool
rated was me spitting on the sidewalk, and I didn’t even bother.” I took Miles’
square chin in my hand, daylight showing me a slight cleft where my thumb fit
nicely. “What happened in there was mine,” I said. Then my eyes narrowed. “Was
that about your ex?”
    “I don’t even know who you’re talking about,” Miles said,
putting my arms around his neck and his around my waist to pull our bodies
together. There was no rating high enough on an evaluation card for the kiss he
gave me.
    When we parted, he noticed the words written on my inner
forearm. He spoke them aloud in his dusky voice. “‘To thine own self be true.’”
Then he kissed each word. “Wish I’d had this with me before I took that stupid
movie,” he said.
    “Kept you from waiting tables, didn’t it?” I asked. He
admitted as much with a nod. “It’s a start,” I said. “You’ve got what it takes.
You can go somewhere, if you want.”
    “I know it,” he said, with confidence. Then he looked into
my eyes and smiled. “Doesn’t mean I couldn’t use some company along the way.
Maybe somebody to stick this tattoo in my face every now and again. And if you
got afraid of heights,” he said, kissing my forehead, “I’d hang on to you.
Tight.”
    I swallowed hard. I felt as though I were at the edge of the
balcony all over again. “Tempting.”
    Miles nodded. “Think you could stand watching that piece of
crap again?” I looked up at him and he continued. “The premiere’s next week, in
New York City. I need a date.” He leaned down and kissed me, soft and not long
enough. “A fierce date.” He brushed my lips. “A fierce redheaded date who wears
shit-kicking boots.”
    I couldn’t take his teasing anymore, or I had to shut him up
before I said yes, so I kissed him, hungry for him all over. We made out until
some passing yahoo muttered, “Get a room.”
    Miles laughed. “That’ll seem boring after today.” He wrapped
a section of my hair around his hand again and mused, “Or not.”
    Still hanging in the air was an answer I hadn’t given. “Next
Friday,” Miles prompted. “Think about it. I’ll be near, right over in Reynard
with my folks. They’re coming to the premiere with me. You could ride down with
all of us. Be fun.”
    “You’ve got it all scripted out, haven’t you?” I said.
    He nodded. “I do indeed. And your next line is, ‘Yes.’”
    “Well, that’s not very dramatic,” I told him. “Let me
improvise.” With that, I stood on the toes of my cowgirl boots, which were good
for stomping out of a bad situation, and possibly for taking a leap of faith,
and I kissed him.

About Erika Almond
     
    Erika Almond is the secret identity of a multi-published
author. A mild-mannered former rock journalist, Erika now uses her powers to
write super-sexy love stories. Visit her blog and follow her adventures on
Twitter.
     
    Erika welcomes comments from readers. You can find her
website and email addresses on her author
bio page at www.ellorascave.com .
     
     
     
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