Page 60 of Fighting Fate

She fixes me with a look of stern determination. "First, you've got to take this seriously. No slacking or goofing off. You want my help, you need to put in the work."

Yes, ma'am.

"Got it. What's next?"

She bites her lip, and I have to remind myself to stay focused.

"Second, no sexual innuendos."

I chuckle. "What if they're not sexual?"

She arches an eyebrow. "Miles, you know you can turn anything into that."

I bite back a smile. She's adorable when she's flustered. Fuck, I'm dying to kiss her.

No, you're not, Miles.

"Okay, okay. I'm a guy, it's kinda in my nature," I admit.

She sighs, becoming all serious again. "Miles, I don't want to become a joke. I'm here to help you, not for you to sexually torture me."

I chuckle. "You really think I'm capable of sexual torture?"

She gives me a look that says she remembers exactly what happened during our video call.

"Oh, I know you are, Sunshine," she says, shaking her head as if to clear the memory.

Good luck, Mills. I can't even erase that memory.

That video call was one of the hottest moments of my life, and there wasn't even a single orgasm in sight. "Okay, I'm on board with those. Anything else?" I ask, ready for more.

"Don't be late," she points out.

"Roger that," I salute her, playing along.

She flashes a brief smile before shifting into a focused mode. "Let's map out a strategy for you to ace this class."

I scratch my head, waiting for her to elaborate.

"Take out your notebook and calendar so we can go over that now," she instructs.

I raise a brow and ask, "What's that?"

With a chuckle, she nudges me gently. "Pull it out, Chasen."

As I reach for my things, I turn my head over my shoulder and let a smirk slip past my lips. "You realize you just made a sexual innuendo yourself, right?"

Her eyebrows wiggle. "I said you couldn't make them, not me."

My eyes widen before I burst into laughter. "Bossy, Baby Sutton, I dig it." Flashing me a smile, she gives my shoulder a playful shove and we dive into planning my path to acing statistics.

"Let's take a quick break, Milli." I cast a glance over to where Wyatt stands, his expression lined with concern.

I exhale a deep sigh and stretch over to grab my water bottle from the side of the dance studio. Beads of sweat trace a path down my back. Dancing used to be my haven, a place to lose myself away from the world, but lately, it's like my mind is a magnet for worries and they're sticking to me, even here.

My thoughts drift to the tutoring sessions I've lined up. Just the other day, right after class, I had to dash off to help William, one of my students. He was freaking out about his upcoming midterm essay—understandable, especially for someone like me who grapples with dyslexia. It took some reassurance, but I managed to calm him down, promising to help him prepare this Sunday.

Then, there's the relentless pace of my classes. Will they be as demanding as last week, especially with midterms looming? Will our professors pile on even more work? And there's Jen, our dance coach, with her penchant for impromptu two-a-days. Any slight misstep from one of us can mean grueling extra practice for the whole team. Not that Wyatt and I really need it—we've been nailing every routine. We're already primed for game day this week.