Page 1 of Fighting Fate
SIX MONTHS AGO . . .
Ever had that weird mix of annoyance and attraction toward someone? Like, one second they're under your skin, and the next, you're daydreaming about them in a way that's, well, not exactly PG-rated?
So, yeah, that's me with Miles Chasen. It's been Miles-this and Miles-that since forever. And there he is, looking like a walking temptation, while I'm here trying not to drool like a lovesick puppy. Awkward much?
Who's Miles Chasen, you're wondering?
He's the guy who could make those old ladies at the park drop their knitting. Those deep blue eyes? Hypnotic. And when he's warming up for a game, let's just say his legs alone could start a scandal.
But, hey, it's not weird to think this way about your best friend, right? No rules against having a major crush on him, I hope. Because if there were, I'd be six feet under, completely buried. No chance of escaping them, anyway.
Get it together, Milli. We're here for Luke, your brother, remember?
Dodging thoughts of Miles? Might as well try to ignore the blazing sun overhead. Our roots tangle back to the sandbox era, our dads' bonds forged in college and solidified on NFL fields. Miles—there's something about him, a confidence, a charm that's indescribably magnetic. It's just so...Miles.
He's the epitome of "sexy" without even trying, and believe me, it hasn't slipped past me. But I'm keeping that card close to my chest.
So here I am, sinking into our usual front-row seats at the game. The day's perfect for football—sun's shining, sky's crystal clear, and there's that intoxicating smell of spring and fresh grass in the air.
The stadium's alive, vibrating with chants of "Let's Go Panthers," and it's hard not to get swept up in the fervor. The dancers are killing it on the sidelines, and part of me is just a tad envious of their front-row view to the action...and naturally, to Miles.
Graduation's just around the corner, and I'm still figuring out my next step. But part of me imagines attending here, cheering on Miles every weekend. Those little glances he throws my way during games, and watching him—Mr. Greek God in Cleats—from the sidelines would be something else.
Just a daydream, right, Milli?
Just as my mind drifts away, a familiar deep voice pierces through. "Didn't expect you'd show up for the game." And there he is, leaning against the fence, looking infuriatingly handsome. Just his smirk alone should be illegal.
Maintaining a casual demeanor, I respond, "You know how it goes—family always comes first. Luke's on the field, so naturally, here I am."
"And when did you start playing by the rules?" he teases, those eyes twinkling with mischief.
Rules? They're not just in my playbook; they're etched into my very core, a part of who I am. I don't just adhere to order because it's expected—I revel in it; it energizes me. Yet, if he could only see how being here, observing him in his moment, is anything but a chore for me. Witnessing Miles fully embrace who he is sends an exhilarating charge through me every time, making my heart leap in ways I don't care to admit to those around me.
Would I rather be buried in a book? Usually, yes.
But watching Miles? That's a chapter of its own.
Picture this: a steamy romance novel, the kind with a cover that makes you blush. That's like the secret story of me and Miles. Only, he's clueless about our "involvement"—which, honestly, is mostly in my head. And me? Well, let's just say my knowledge of the more...intimate stuff is purely academic.
"Seriously, Milli, what's the real reason you're here?" Miles digs that sharp, probing look in his eyes.
I arch an eyebrow, throwing his question back at him. "And you? Chatting me up when there's a game on the line? Seems like a weird time for small talk," I retort, trying to sound nonchalant.
Miles flashes his confident grin. "Winning this game? Piece of cake," he boasts. "But, couldn't miss a chance to see you, Baby Sutton."
Every time I hear "Baby Sutton," it stirs something deep within me. What began as an adorable nickname has morphed into something far richer, something tender. Now, whenever it's uttered, it feels like a soft caress against my heart, sending waves of warmth through me and making my heart dance with an unspoken joy. It's not just a nickname anymore.
Our eyes lock, and I can't help myself—I take him in, every bit of him. There he is, all cool confidence and those sneaky smiles, like he knows something I don't. I'm usually on top of my game, keeping it chill, but this? Feels like he's egging my thoughts on, tempting them to jump into the deep end.
But who am I kidding? I never even try to fight off those thoughts.
Sure, I blame my overactive imagination and the romance novels I devour. But is that all there is to it? Especially when it comes to Miles? Did I mention those fantasies where I'm wearing his Panthers' jersey and...well, let's leave it at that. Maybe it's because we've known each other forever, or maybe it's just Miles being Miles—effortlessly attractive.
But I know, deep down, these are just fantasies, not real feelings. I mean, he's a college junior, and I'm a high school senior. To him, I'm just his nerdy bookworm friend, always lost in novels or dancing to Billie Eilish. Not to mention the college girls and...ugh, the cougars drooling over him. That's just...no.
Why would he look twice at "Baby Sutton" when he's got all that attention? Still, part of me hopes maybe one day, he'll see me as more than just a friend.
"Where are your parents?" he suddenly asks, scanning around.