Page 28 of Fighting Fate

Brooke nods, understanding yet playful. "I get it. But remember, a little bit of exercise is good for the heart."

"Right," I laugh, giving her a friendly nudge. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for the advice, B."

As Brooke and I walk into our statistics class, I'm relieved that it's finally starting. The delay, courtesy of our professor's vacation followed by an illness, had put a pause on this course. Not that I minded the extra free time.

Brooke's gaze suddenly shifts, her eyes widening with what seems like surprise. Before I can ask what's up, an uncomfortable feeling settles over me. Scanning the room, my eyes inevitably land on Miles, just a couple of rows ahead, surrounded by a group of freshmen I recognize from the Alpha Rho Tau party. They're all engrossed in some joke, laughing and goofing around.

Miles in my statistics class? That's unexpected. There he was, effortlessly cool in a plain white Tommy John tee that hugged his athletic frame just right, making a simple statement that somehow amplified his charm. His outfit, understated yet striking, played up his casual allure. The backward cap, a faded baseball hat with hints of gold, sat on his head with that signature ease of his. It was obviously a well-loved piece, lending a laid-back vibe to his overall demeanor.

His familiar grin, confident and a bit smug, especially around girls, lights up his face. From the outside looking in, you'd never guess the battles he fought—the childhood cancer, the challenges he's overcome. He has this air of someone who's never been touched by worry or pain, but I know better.

Trying to avoid his gaze, I remind myself not to get caught up again in his orbit. The last thing I want is for him to think I'm still hung up on our recent, complicated interaction.

But deep down, I know I am.

Fate, however, seems to have a different plan, and our eyes meet. His smirk, that signature Miles expression, sends my stomach into a series of flips. He's always had this effect on me, but now, seeing him regularly instead of just during occasional breaks, it feels like a constant test of my self-control.

"What's up, Baby Sutton?" he calls out casually, as if we were just old friends catching up.

Brooke elbows me gently. "You good?" she whispers.

I roll my eyes to mask the turmoil inside.

Yeah, just internally freaking out. Pull it together, Milli.

Shrugging nonchalantly, I try to sound indifferent. "Just Miles."

Brooke's skepticism is clear as day, her grin accompanies a doubtful, "Mmhm, right."

Miles gives me another glance, his eyes briefly flicking to the empty seat beside him, as if inviting me over.

I swallowed hard, trying to appear unaffected.

Professor Huggins starts the lecture, and Brooke, naturally taking charge, ushers us to the front row seats. Fantastic, just what I needed. The spotlight seems to shine directly on me, vulnerable, an unease magnified by my dyslexia—a sensation I'm far from fond of. With a sense of reluctance, we take our places.

Throughout the lecture, I can feel Miles' gaze on me, making it hard to concentrate. I find myself sneaking peeks at him, drawn in by some invisible force. Each time our eyes meet, it feels like the world around us fades away, leaving just the two of us locked in this silent, intense connection.

"Milli, you heading to practice later?" Brooke's voice snaps me back to reality.

Caught off guard, I stammer, "Huh?"

She nudges me, whispering, "Please tell me you weren't just staring at Miles this whole time?"

Trying to brush it off, I mumble, "No, just zoning out."

Brooke's raised eyebrow tells me she isn't fooled.

I risk another glance at Miles. He is still looking at me, his expression intense and unreadable. As class ends and everyone packs up, Miles stands and nonchalantly makes his way toward us.

My heart pounds as he joins us outside Willowbrook Hall, his gaze never leaving me.

"Hey, Brooke," he greets casually, then turns to me. "Milli," he utters in that deep, husky tone that sends heat from my breasts straight to my core. "Where are you heading next? Mind if I tag along?"

I pause, thoughts swirling. Part of me knows I should refuse, label it a bad idea. Yet, it's only a walk, isn't it? A harmless trek to the campus dance studio with my best friend. Besides, there's something in his look that renders me utterly incapable of saying no.

God, did he always have that penetrating gaze? The one that seems to extract my words, my emotions, before I even manage to react.

Yeah, who am I fooling? He's always had that effect on me.