Page 103 of Fighting Fate

I roll my eyes, knowing Cam's penchant for stirring up drama. This is not the time or place for it, especially in this upscale boutique. I silently plead for a change of subject, wishing they'd focus on the gala instead of on me.

Miles responds, attempting to deflect, "Honestly, whenever Payson's around, I find myself asking, 'Where's Milli?' Those two are always together."

Payson's sigh echoes my own eye roll. Miles' cover might be smooth, but Payson and I are far from inseparable these days. We're both on our own paths at NorthRidge University, seeking our own discoveries.

"Suree . . . " Cam sarcastically says, only adding to the tension.

The conversation shifts, thanks to one of the freshmen that Miles mentors as he says, "Regardless of who anyone's looking for, I need to snag a damn suit before Coach Kreft gives me a hard time about it again."

"Take it easy, Gunner," Cam says.

Then, Miles chimes in, "Don't pay any attention to the dweeb, Gun. We're in the right place. Just follow my lead."

Letting Miles take charge seems like the best choice. If I were in their shoes, I'd follow Miles' lead without a second thought, every single time.

As I stand there, caught in my own thoughts, I notice Payson has slipped back into her fitting room, leaving Brooke engrossed in her phone. My eyes drift toward the men's section, where Miles and Gunner are browsing through an array of formal wear. Despite my intention to focus on my own dressing, I find myself inexplicably drawn to observing them, especially Miles.

He's effortlessly picking out shirts, handing selections to Gunner while choosing some for himself. Just as I'm about to pull back, Miles turns, catching my gaze. His eyes sparkle with mischief, and a familiar warmth floods my cheeks. His grin, coupled with a knowing wink, sends my heart into overdrive, leaving me slightly unsteady.

I chastise myself silently. Milli, focus. You're in a dressing room. My resolve wavers as a hand suddenly halts the door's closure.

"Shit," I mutter under my breath, fully aware of who it must be.

I let out a resigned sigh and peek out, immediately greeted by the sight of Miles' athletic frame. Those arms have been a source of both comfort and excitement for me, time and again. As he stands there, his presence is almost too much to take in. I'm drawn out of my shell, a side of me he's unknowingly nurtured.

"Can I help you?" I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.

Miles leans in, his voice a low murmur. "I want to see what my date is wearing."

I retort with a raised eyebrow, "Date? I thought Brooke was my date."

His laughter momentarily breaks the tension, a sound that always brings a smile to my face, making my toes involuntarily curl in delight. As quickly as the laughter comes, Miles shifts to a more intimate tone, leaning so close I feel the warmth of his breath on my ear. I risk a quick glance around; everyone is absorbed in their own world, oblivious to our hushed conversation.

"No, Milli, she's just your plus one," he whispers, his breath tickling my ear.

I ponder the distinction. Isn't a date and a plus one essentially the same?

Catching my uncertain gaze, Miles' eyes hold a depth of meaning. "There's a distinction," he says gently. "Choosing a plus one might conclude the evening with a void, a lingering question mark of 'what might have been,' echoing in the silence. But a date," he pauses, ensuring each word lands with precision, "a date is an adventure that leaves you with an insatiable desire, a thirst for the depths of connection we've just begun to explore. And baby, I promise, by the end of our evening together, you'll be wanting more."

My eyes momentarily widen. Did he really just say that? And so effortlessly? Goodness, talk about igniting a blaze within me and putting every romance novel I've ever read to utter shame.

With a final tap on the dressing room door frame, Miles leaves with a wink, his words resonating deep within me. My heart pounds like a relentless drum, its rhythm echoing through me for the rest of the day.

Taking a deep breath, I steady my nerves, whispering to myself, "You look stunning, Milli. Just breathe." Slowly, I open my eyes, and the reflection in the closet mirror makes my heart race with excitement. The image staring back is a bold, new version of myself, one I've never fully embraced until now.

Clad in the soft, pale pink dress from last week's boutique visit, complemented by delicate gold earrings and my hair in gentle curls, I have a surge of confidence. This look, so different from my usual style, embodies a new chapter—one where I feel irresistibly attractive and empowered.

I lift my dress, revealing my white Converse sneakers—my little act of rebellion hidden beneath the elegant fabric. They're a secret nod to my true self, comfortably tucked away from critical eyes. Glancing at the stack of books next to them, cherished gifts from my former tutor, I smile, feeling a perfect balance between the bold new Milli and the girl I've always been.

"Done admiring yourself?" Payson's voice snaps me back. She's ready to go, her tone lighthearted, yet impatient.

I suppress an eye roll.

Can't a girl savor a moment like this?

I remember the last time Payson had a hand in my look—it was a blend of trouble and thrill. Tonight, she's outdone herself with the finishing touches—hair, makeup, even my lingerie. It's a daring choice, but wearing it makes me feel liberated, as if it was made just for me.

"You look incredible," Brooke says, her hand on my shoulder, her reflection full of admiration in the mirror. I grab her hand, feeling the silent encouragement I need to embrace this new look fully.

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