Page 19 of Deception & Daylight (Oak Ridge #3)

Mags

? Please Please Please - Sabrina Carpenter

W ith the Blossom Festival fast approaching, a reluctant Patty sent over a full itinerary and breakdown of my obligations.

I think she was hoping she’d find a more suitable replacement before then, but she’s stuck with me.

It’s a much bigger undertaking than I anticipated for a small town gazette, but I’m eager for the much-needed distraction.

I had hoped to avoid most of the bachelor auction, providing only a concise overview for the article, but I’m being thrust into the deep end with a full page spread about the event since it benefits Ruby’s Cause, the charity fund that Evie runs.

Throughout the year, Evelyn Hayes raises funds for mental health services in conjunction with the local elementary school.

According to Paige, they chose the bachelor auction for their event because it usually brings in the largest donations.

I can’t say I’m surprised. For a small town, Oak Ridge is rife with eye candy.

So what ex actly does one wear to an event where their fake boyfriend is being auctioned off like the prize pig at the county fair?

A sun dress? Jeans? A shirt that says Miles Barlow’s girlfriend?

I smirk. He might want to murder me for that last one, so naturally it’s the best option.

Unless I want to put my meager artistic abilities to the test, I might need to call in reinforcements.

Mags: Do you know where I can get a custom shirt made on short notice?

Paige: Do I want to know why?

Mags: Probably best if you don’t know.

Paige: There’s a woman I’ve done family photos for who does that kind of thing. I’ll send over her contact.

Mags: You’re the best.

Paige: Don’t do anything stupid.

Mags: I make no promises.

Following a quick chat with the enthusiastic owner of a small business called Tally’s Tees, I have the perfect t-shirt on order and set to arrive just in time for the festival. Miles is going to hate this — it’s perfect.

I’m just settling into the window seat in the sitting room with a steaming mug of tea and my favorite typewriter, when the man in question appears.

It’s like the universe keeps throwing him at me, and one of these days I’m going to slip up and let karma take me along for the ride.

After our near miss at the bar last night, I can say with utter c ertainty it would be the ride of my fucking life.

“Goddamn mother fucking shit balls,” Miles curses, throwing a set of gardening gloves down on the front desk, his flowery words floating through the open pocket doors.

“What crawled up your ass, sweet cheeks?” I tease, stepping into the foyer.

“Now there’s a nickname I can get behind.” His face breaks out into that panty melting grin of his, and I have to resist the urge to throw myself at him.

“You’re such a dumbass.”

“But I’m your dumbass,” he says, brushing a stray lock of hair off my forehead.

I scoff. “In your dreams, Barlow.”

His tone instantly sobers. “You have no idea, baby.” Our playful banter evaporates as the seemingly genuine nickname hits me square in the chest. Our eyes lock, and everything slows. His hand stills in my hair. It would only take one slight movement for our lips to touch.

“Get a room.” Lucy’s voice slices through the thick tension as she strolls into the foyer with a tea tray in hand.

Her gaze lands on where my fingers have inadvertently made their way to Miles’ belt loops, pulling our bodies inextricably close.

Suddenly, the proximity feels stifling and I take several steps back, putting a good three feet of distance between us.

He sweeps a hand through his hair, clearing his throat. “Hey Ma, our little friend is back,” he says. “Looks like he got into the flowerbeds again.”

“Motherfucker.” The curse rolling off her tongue catches me by surprise, an involuntary snort escaping me. “I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to me cursing, Maggie. It’s an unfortunate side effect of my upbringing made worse by single-handedly raising two rowdy boys.”

I raise my hands in a gesture of surrender. “Don’t let me stop you. I’m all for it. In fact, there ’s nothing more satisfying than a well-timed fuck.”

Miles leans into me, his lips a breath away from my ear. “I’ll —”

I rush to cut him off, anticipating his double entendre. “Nope.”

He nips at the pad of my finger resting on his lips. “Party pooper.”

“So what do we do about the little menace?” Lucy asks, passively ignoring the exchange as she bypasses us into the sitting room.

“We could set a trap,” Miles suggests, following swiftly behind her. “Not sure if it’ll work, but it’s worth a shot.”

I have no idea what the hell they’re talking about, but I’m nothing if not nosey.

I had a lot of time on my hands growing up.

Eavesdropping and investigating were my norm.

Some days, it was the only way to stay in the loop.

It’s how I found out dad’s second wife was cheating on him with the chef.

It’s probably why I went on to major in journalism.

“What exactly are you trapping?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

Lucy places the tea tray on the coffee table, taking a seat on the sofa adjacent. “We haven’t really gotten a good look at it, but I think it’s a raccoon. Seems it’s taken a liking to my garbage bins and flower beds as of late. Tea?”

“I’d love some.” I head over to the window seat to grab my now empty mug.

Miles follows my movements, his eyes landing on my sage green vintage typewriter. There’s something in his expression I can’t quite place. “What are you writing over there?” he asks.

“Just working on some stuff for the Blossom Festival.” Deflecting, I quickly pull the paper from the platen so he can’t call my bluff.

If he knew the salacious contents, I’d never hear the end of it.

I fold it into quarters and stuff it in my back pocket for safekeeping.

Upon returning to the sofa with my mug in hand, Lucy fills it with my favorite lavender tea.

“Miles?”

“I’m good, Ma. I’ll look into trapping the raccoon. In the meantime, I need to get in touch with the nursery to get some more flowers ordered to replace the disaster it left behind.”

“Whatever you need, dear. Call up Mike and have him add it to the account.”

He nods, pulling out his phone. “See you later, boo thang.”

“Definitely not that one either,” I snort.

His hand rests on my lower back and he places a chaste kiss against my cheek like we’ve been doing this for years.

I know it’s all for show — his mom thinks we’re together and it would be weird if he left without a goodbye.

But tell my bitch of a body that. I’m fairly certain I’ve melted into a puddle with that one simple touch.

If I don’t have an orgasm soon, I’m going to combust.

Miles

Distracting Mags with a stupid nickname and a kiss on the cheek was a stroke of genius. I quickly head out to the truck with my phone to my ear, nobody on the other line, as I pretend to call Mike. I’m going to hell for this.

I glance out the passenger window, making sure Mags is preoccupied before I pull the folded up paper from my shirtsleeve. Eyes trained on my lap, I unfold the document and scan the pages.

Max’s hand finds her waist, teasing along the waistband of her skirt as they sway on the dance floor.

His touch is like a brand, each graze of his fingertips — a claiming.

His lips glide over Madeline’s collarbone, a sigh escaping her lips at the feel of his mouth on her flesh.

She tilts her head, begging for more. “What do you want, kitten?” he whispers, tugging at her earlobe with his teeth.

Her words are stuck in her throat, but he doesn’t wait for a response as he laces their fingers and pulls her out the back door of the club.

Her back hits the side of his truck, his arms bracketing her body as his soft lips tease her skin.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” He kisses along her chest and shoulders, her body vibrating with need. “You. I need you,” she pleads.

Holy. Fuck. This shit is hot as hell, and the picture it paints is oddly familiar.

I fold up the illicit writing, tucking it into my glove box as I adjust my erection.

The idea that Maggie would be writing about us, recounting the details of our encounter at the bar, has my dick straining against my jeans.

What I wouldn’t give for an encore performance — in a better location without interruption.

I tuck away the knowledge for a rainy day, hoping Maggie forgets about the paper she attempted to hide in her back pocket.

If she wants material for her writing, I’m more than happy to provide it.

She has no idea what she’s getting herself into.