Page 76 of Fighting Fate

The tension was palpable.

Those lingering gazes said it all.

The heated touches sent shivers down my spine.

Good god, those touches—his hand on my breasts felt like a page ripped right out of my own novel. It's etched in my memory, so much so it's almost replaced the steamy scenes in my books when it comes to my personal fantasies.

Is it wrong that my mind constantly wanders to Miles, that those moments in the locker room leave me flushed and breathless? Maybe. Logic says we should have been embarrassed, standing there, stripped of all pretenses as well as our clothes. But embarrassment? That emotion was foreign to us. Instead, there was only the electric connection as our gazes met, unflinching, across the bare space between us.

In fact, it was one of the most scorching moments of my life.

Until it wasn't . . .

I try to dismiss the image of Miles abruptly exiting the locker room, a text message transforming his intense, fiery gaze into one clouded with worry. How swiftly emotions can shift—a testament, perhaps, to some unsettling news? The sudden change in his expression, that familiar sinking feeling in my gut, just like whenever I sensed something amiss with Miles. That's what's been gnawing at me this entire week. The unspoken truth of what transpired between us lingers, acknowledged by both, yet addressed by none. Our interactions have resumed to casual smiles on the field, friendly waves across the campus, as if we're attempting to reset the clock. But how do you rewind life, erase moments charged with such intensity?

I missed him, for his touch again, the way his hands felt on my body. But it seems like we have moved past that, or at least, he has. I can't stop replaying those memories, convincing myself we are just friends. This is something more, something deeper.

Just friends, Milli.

Please, do friends actually make out naked?

"Did you get to...you know...touch it?" Payson asks, her voice teasing as she finishes her leg stretches in the luminous dance studio of our campus. I offer a nonchalant shrug, concealing my burning wish to have felt his muscular, tantalizing cock. Those moments when he was achingly close, when our mutual desire was palpable in every tense muscle and each quickened breath, linger in my mind.

Payson and Brooke groan together, a shared moment of playful exasperation. Payson's smirk grows wider. "I bet that guy is packing like a horse."

If only she knew just how well-endowed he is; he probably outperforms all the guys she's been with. I shake my head once more, deciding to keep certain details of that night to myself. This memory, it's sacred, too intimate to share. It's that bittersweet mix of wanting to spill your heart out to friends but holding back the most precious details. Plus, I dread thinking about how Miles would react if he knew I'd shared our secret. I can almost hear Payson's unfiltered comments the next time we're all together. And just that has me pointing a finger at her, saying, "Don't even." She knows exactly what I am referring to because she pretends to zip her mouth shut, tossing the invisible key to the side.

I rise, my gaze sweeping over the studio—my haven. It's a stark contrast to the one from high school, with its sleek modernity, its walls adorned with colorful costumes and posters, and its dark, polished floors reflecting the streaming sunlight. The familiar hum of music fills the space, wrapping around me like a warm embrace. It was love at first sight, not with a person, but with this place of art and expression.

Some may call it odd, others may not, but as a dancer, most would understand that finding a studio you feel comfortable in and can call home for the next four years is just as important as finding a place to live. And for me, this studio is my sanctuary.

"Well, if you won't spill the beans, maybe I should do some digging?" Payson's words, tinged with mischief, jolt me back to the present.

I turn sharply, my eyes narrowing. She laughs, her eyes sparkling with humor as she steps closer. A flash of jealousy stirs within me, even though I know she's jesting. "Your face says it all," she teases, giving me a friendly nudge.

Before I can even protest, she announces, "Ready for tonight?" I roll my eyes, already anticipating her next words before they even leave her lips. "Not that you really have a say in this—you're coming to the Halloween party tonight."

I release a low groan, despite having assured her earlier in the week that I'd attend—not out of duty, but because it's been forever since I truly last relaxed and enjoyed a party. Given the recent whirlwind of events, especially the complexities involving Miles, a change of scenery seems more crucial than ever.

The thought of dressing up, looking my best, and just forgetting everything for one night is surprisingly appealing.

I nod in agreement, and her face lights up with a radiant smile, probably relieved she didn't have to convince me this time. She's always been the more outgoing one, seizing any chance to go out when she's not tied down with RA duties, which seems like almost every other weekend. She scoops up her bag from where she tossed it on the floor upon entering with Brooke, still buzzing about the SOS message I sent in our group chat last night. She waves goodbye, a casual three-finger salute, and heads out of the dance studio.

"Just ignore her. I'm really excited to see your costume tonight," Brooke says, standing up, her eyebrows dancing with curiosity.

Truth be told, I haven't given my costume much thought, but an idea is forming in my mind. I reply with a half-smile and reach over to switch off the stereo. "Well, I need to focus now. The Hanmann sisters will be here for their dance routine in..." I glance at my gold watch, "exactly five minutes."

Brooke pauses, stepping in for a quick hug, her eyes meeting mine with a knowing look. "Just let whatever Payson said roll off your back," she suggests. "She's probably just envious she doesn't have as much drama in her life right now."

I laugh. "You sure about that? She seems to find drama wherever she goes, like a magnet."

"Hey, I know you're talking about me," Payson's voice, half-teasing, half-accusatory, floats back into the studio as she pokes her head through the door, pointing at us.

Brooke and I exchange a knowing glance and walk over to her, laughter bubbling up between us. As we wrap Payson in a group hug, a sense of relief washes over me, easing the knots of worry and tension that had been building up.

"We're always talking about you, Pay," I quip, my lips twisting into a smirk.

She releases her trademark exaggerated sigh, yet her eyes twinkle with mirth. "As long as you're talking about my finer qualities," she shoots back, easing out of our hug.