Page 101 of Fighting Fate

Again and again.

Over and over.

Sweat mingling with bathwater, I am so turned on that I can't see straight. I tug at his hair, begging for more. And that is when he slips his tongue inside of me, his thumb circling my clit. The sensation is too much. I buck against him as the brightest lights explode before me and a cry escapes my lips. I rock against him as I ride out every last bit of pleasure.

And he stays right there.

My arms are tingling.

My legs are tingling.

My head is spinning.

When my breathing calms, he lifts his head; mouth glossy with my desire. His lips turn up the tiniest bit, and he just watches me as if I am the only woman to ever exist. As I finally catch my breath, Miles' expression is a mix of satisfaction and awe.

"If anything ever happens to me, I just want you to know I'm the fucking luckiest guy in the world," he says, his voice a tender murmur.

He pulls me into his arms, and in that embrace, I feel like the luckiest person alive, wrapped in the warmth of a moment that feels like this thing between us could last forever.

"Okay, what do you think of this one?" Payson twirls in her gala dress, seeking approval while I'm half-lost in a romance novel. "Milli, are you even paying attention?" she huffs, her impatience clear.

I glance up, masking my indifference. Dress shopping isn't high on my list, but I'm intrigued by the idea of visiting Whimsical Words & Pages downtown. Last weekend at Glasshouse, my mom and Mrs. Chasen had their picks for me, but I'm set on making my own choice. I informed my mom recently that I'd be selecting my dress solo, a small assertion of my growing independence.

This gala at NorthRidge University feels different for me this year. It's not just an event for the inner circle of Coach Kreft anymore; I'm part of it, an equal, not a tag-along.

Payson's reflection catches my eye, and I offer a noncommittal, "I like it," noticing her frustration.

She's been changing outfits for a while now, and Brooke, draped in an olive green gown, chimes in, "Why the fuss over the perfect dress?"

I exchange a knowing look with Brooke as Payson deflects with talk of fixing her nails for the gala. She bites her lower lip as Payson casually shrugs, then turns toward me, her back to the mirror, waving her hand vaguely. "No, no. No reason, none at all."

She's not being entirely honest. For one, she's avoiding eye contact with me and Brooke. Two, she's nervously fiddling with her fingers, as if she's examining her chipped nails. Then she adds, "I should really get these fixed before the gala, right? It is a black-tie event, so I need to be in tip-top shape."

Brooke, now with her hand on her hip, raises an eyebrow in Payson's direction. She's clearly trying to mimic Payson's stance to grab her attention. "Out with it," Brooke demands, and Payson lets out another little huff as her eyes dart between mine and Brooke's.

"Seriously, I'm going solo," Payson finally admits, and I roll my eyes. That's such a Payson response—always into fashion and the dating scene, much like Luke with his flings. They're both a little crazy but have no intentions of getting serious in the future.

I contemplate the fleeting nature of such interactions. They lack the depth and excitement of something more meaningful—like what I have with Miles. Speaking of him, my phone pings with a text from him.

Miles

Mills, you gonna show me your gala dress or what?

As Payson and Brooke continue their discussion, I reply to Miles, curious about how he knew of our shopping plans.

Miles

Saw Payson leaving the locker room. She mentioned it.

I shake my head, amused yet not surprised. Payson's a cheerleader at heart, but hardly a football strategist.

Milli

Do you think the coach caught her eyeing some of your teammates?

In that moment, it's as if I can hear his hearty laugh as he responds.

Miles

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