Page 69 of Fighting Fate

My breath catches; no, my heart skips a beat at his words, spoken so effortlessly. As if he's always seen me this way? Our gazes lock, and in that moment, the world around us fades away. His eyes are filled with a desire, mirroring my own.

God, I want him so damn bad it's almost unbearable. And there have been countless hints, haven't there? The party, the bonfire, those tutoring sessions—the signs are unmistakable. I'm certain he feels it, too. So, why the hesitation?

You're best friends, my mind chides me.

His throat clearing snaps me out of my daydreams. Miles begins, then his words taper off into a sigh. As he speaks, a faint blush colors his cheeks, and even the tips of his ears turn a telltale shade of pink. "I was scared to tell you about the stuff with my dad again. I didn't want to be a downer. That day, I almost didn't come over, but my damn cleat got caught in that old fence between our yards."

I bit back a laugh, picturing a younger, more vulnerable Miles caught in such a comical yet telling moment.

"Don't even think about laughing," he half-threatens, but the mischief sparkling in his eyes betrays him. My attempt to stifle it fails miserably; laughter escapes, resonating around the tavern. A few curious glances come our way, but I couldn't care less. I'm thoroughly enjoying this.

I mock salute him, encouraging him to continue. "Carry on, soldier," I say with a grin.

He rolls his eyes but chuckles. "You sound like Cam at football practice, always with that Boy Scout salute."

I tease him further with a bitten lip and another mock salute, but then, suddenly, his hand shoots out, gripping my wrist. Our shared laughter evaporates, leaving a thick silence buzzing between us. His thumb traces gentle circles around my wrist, undoubtedly feeling the rapid beat of my heart. He strokes a particular spot softly, his gaze locked on mine, deep and probing. "You feel that too?" he whispers, the line blurring between a question for me and a question for himself.

Time freezes around us. I'm acutely aware of every spark of electricity that zips through the space between us, but to confess that aloud? It's a hurdle too high, especially amidst the backdrop of the tavern's bustling energy.

Then, his fingers find their way to my fingers, gently intertwining with mine, setting off a storm of emotions and questions within me. Can this be happening? In the past, holding hands with Miles was a gesture of pure innocence, but now, it's heavy with the weight of unspoken promises. The intensity in his gaze, the firm set of his jaw—both betray a struggle within him as profound as the one I'm facing.

I am tempted, so tempted, to lean in closer, to claim this moment and him in a way I've never dared before.

To pull our joined hands into his lap.

To cradle his face, to trace the lines of his lips with my fingers.

To kiss him, right here, in front of everyone, declaring silently but unmistakably that he is mine.

But reality snaps back as he clears his throat once again, and I withdraw my hand, pressing it to my chest in a silent reprimand to my racing heart.

Not now, Milli, I scold myself inwardly, feeling the heat in my cheeks.

I take a hurried gulp of my Shirley Temple, seeking the brief respite it promises from the overwhelming flood of emotions.

Miles momentarily collects himself, diving back into his story. "So there I was, caught, remember? My foot snagged, and I'm wrestling to break free; felt like an eternity. And then, down I went, and you caught every embarrassing moment of it."

I nod, playfully mimicking my younger self's high-pitched, confused voice. "What the heck are you doing, Miles?" I scrunch up my nose, imitating my eleven-year-old self's bewildered expression.

His gentle nudge against my shoulder pulls my attention down, where I notice his shoe brushing against my calf with a delicate motion. Jeez Louise, is he unusually touchy tonight, or is it just my imagination playing tricks on me?

You wouldn't guess he's laid a finger on me by the way my body flips out around him. It's like every time, even if it's just a harmless hand grab, my heart does a little cha-cha, my skin gets all tingly, and I've gotta squeeze my legs together.

Focus, Milli.

I take in the tavern's buzz, the other patrons and staff moving in their own worlds, unaware of the spark flying between us. Meanwhile, Miles maintains that impish smile, his gaze never leaving mine. The slightest touch from him sets off tremors along my skin, amplifying the charge in the air between us.

Leaning back with ease, I place my hand behind my head in a relaxed gesture. My voice morphs into a light, teasing mimicry of a younger Miles, infused with a hint of roguish charm. "Oh, hey Milli, didn't see you there," I quip, embodying a nonchalant coolness.

He responds with a chuckle, nudging my shoulder. "Come on, you know that's not how it went down," he says, his eyes sparkling with humor.

I roll my eyes, a light-hearted dance in our banter. "Remember, Miles? That night, you were so lost, and I...I helped you see your dad's pressure differently. Not as hate, but his odd way of showing love." My eyes drift to our feet, tangled in a light-hearted shuffle, wrapping us in a cozy bubble. "I told you to get up, and I'd help with those catches before you hit the books."

His grin is contagious. "Yeah, something like that," he replies. Our eyes lock, and the unspoken tension since entering the tavern thickens with every silent moment.

Leaning in, his whisper sends a thrill through me. "Mills, I never really thanked you for pulling me back from the edge that night."

His intense blue gaze locks with mine briefly before drifting to my lips. My eyelids droop slightly, every fiber of my being suddenly hyperaware. Breath becomes a luxury I can't seem to afford, a dizzying sensation overtakes me, and I'm consumed by a desperate yearning that's been simmering since we entered this space.

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