“I don't want to play this game anymore," I say. "I don't want you to say things you don't mean and do things you don't want to do. It's confusing."
"Who says I did anything I don't want to do?" he asks.
"You did," I fire back. "You're the one who told me you don't want anything to happen between us–"
"I never said that," he argues, stepping closer.
"–and I don't want to be a prop to make your ex jealous, and I know I started it–"
"You're not a prop," he says, looking hurt.
"That's exactly what I just was," I counter. "You only want to kiss me when they're there to see it. And I know I started it, but things are different now."
Miles's gaze drops on a hoarse laugh, a shake of his head. He steps in closer, our hips brushing.
Then he looks back up, takes my face in both hands, and kisses me again.
Rough, deep, messy, breathless.
With no on to see it.
Nothing to stop us.”