Page 81 of Fighting Fate

The way he talks, that effortless charm, he has—just enough to show off, but not too much. His little quirks, the way you can always tell what he's thinking if you look close enough. Those lips, and don't get me started on his cologne—that musky, sandalwood scent. And, of course, there's his body.

It's like my feet had their own plan, dragging me to this lake. I just need to see him with my own eyes, to make sure he is okay...

This whole silent treatment thing he's been pulling for a week? Can't stand it. Woke up this morning and thought, Today's the day, Milli. Time to do something about it. So, I finished up my stuff and headed over to his place. Figures he wasn't there. Asked Luke, and all he does is shrug and say, "Take a wild guess."

Lake Trout—where else?

Campus is just a half-hour drive, and we're only about ten minutes from where I grew up. I have the afternoon off, so I figured, why not? Might as well drop by my parents' place for dinner, too.

They'd love that.

Deciding to deal with that later, I look over at Miles. My heart's doing this crazy dance, seeing him cast his line, waiting for a bite. Every muscle, perfectly defined, moving so smoothly as he fishes.

Milli, get a grip.

Right, focus. I'm here to check on him. But it's Miles Chasen—Mr. Pickup Truck and Fishing when the going gets tough. I park my jeep, get out, and start walking over. I know, I know—probably not the best idea. Could mess things up even more. But something in me just has to be here, close to him. Maybe even touch him. Or hey, just being a good friend, right? Am I even being a friend now, or is it something more? Does he feel the same?

God, what if this is a huge mistake?

My head's all over the place. Last thing Miles needs is me showing up all emotional, thanks to these crazy hormones.

But here I am, walking closer to him. Heart's racing like mad. It's just us and some old couple walking by. The lake looks amazing—all those trees with their fall colors, and that smell of burning leaves in the air. I wrap my arms around myself, kinda loving the way the wind feels.

Stepping onto the dock, he still hasn't noticed me. I close my eyes for a sec, whispering a little prayer, hoping I'm not screwing this up. Then I open them, take a deep breath, and move closer, close enough to feel his warmth.

"Look who the cat dragged in," I whisper softly.

He turns, his eyes widening in surprise. A heavy silence falls between us, charged with unspoken words and emotions.

I chuckle nervously. "I guess, more like, look what the tide reeled in." The corners of his mouth turn up.

"What're you doing here, Mills?" he asks.

Our eyes meet, and I swear my knees almost give out. I step closer, the old wooden dock creaking under my feet. My heart's pounding, and I can barely catch my breath.

"Just needed some fishing therapy, you know, to unwind," I reply with a teasing smile.

He arches a brow.

"Like your fishing therapy," I add, trying to lighten the mood.

He keeps looking at me, an amused twinkle in his eyes.

"You know, your thing. Coming here when life gets too crazy," I say.

He laughs, that familiar grin spreading across his face, lighting up the moment. "You don't even like fishing," he says, his grin transforming into a panty-dropping smile.

"Thought I'd give it a shot," I reply, aiming for nonchalance.

Fishing isn't my jam, especially those slimy worms, but if it helps coax whatever's bothering Miles out of him, it's worth a shot. It's a pattern he's had since we were kids—retreating, sulking, trying to escape. But sometimes, there's a limit. He even skipped our tutoring session and, according to Luke, ditched football practice all week. That's just not like him.

Miles' eyes land on mine, and those blue eyes darken with an unabashed hunger, unmistakable. The air between us vibrates with an electric tension, undeniable and charged. His breath, now a warm whisper against my skin, draws nearer as he leans in. Our lips, barely a breath's distance apart.

"Miles," I breathe out, so quietly it's more for me than him.

"You even bring a pole?" he suddenly asks, breaking the spell.

What? It takes a second for his words to register. By the time they do, he's already off, fetching an extra fishing pole from the end of the dock. He hands it to me, our fingers brushing, sending this shockwave down my spine. After everything, all the skin, the heat, the heart-stopping moments we've shared, he still gets to me. Every. Single. Time.

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