Page 87 of Fighting Fate

Her laughter rings out, genuine and full, echoing warmly through the cab of the truck. "Only you, Sunshine," she manages between hearty chuckles. Then, almost as quickly as her laughter came, the atmosphere shifts. The heat of desire darkens her eyes, her hand reaching for me, but I gently stop her. This was about her, about seeing her uninhibited.

But she's insistent. "Let me," she says firmly, pushing me to the other side of the truck. She crawls toward me, hair tousled, her clothes and underwear askew, every bit of her a vision of desire.

I struggle to restrain myself, wanting her in every way possible. She teasingly wags a finger at me, fully aware of my thoughts. Then she's unzipping my pants, her hand wrapping around my cock, a squeeze from her, sending a groan ripping from my throat. The first touch of her tongue is almost too much, bringing me to the brink in an instant.

"Is this really what personal fantasies are like?" I murmur, locking eyes with Miles while sprawled across his lap in his truck. His smirk ignites a flurry of butterflies inside me.

Will this thrill ever dim, even after all that's happened?

It's surreal, like I'm waiting for the universe to pull some prank. That's me right now, teetering between disbelief and this new reality.

This is real, Milli. Embrace it. Find joy in this moment.

Joy encapsulates what I feel, but if I were to pinpoint it, it's utter contentment. He tenderly lifts my chin, closing the distance between us, and my heart accelerates. What kind of spell is this man casting on me? He halts, his smirk morphing into a smug, confident smile, as if he hadn't just turned my world on its head.

"Jerk," I say, my voice laced with laughter as I smack his chest. But he quickly catches my wrist, drawing himself closer, his breath a whisper away from my lips, sparking a wave of anticipation inside me.

He wiggles his brows. "Does it feel like a dream? Like I've flipped your world upside down?"

I pull away, giving him another light smack, even though he isn't entirely off base. It's hard to describe this whirlwind inside me. Like I am floating, untouchable, invincible, not even grounded by the thought of leaving his truck later.

"You mean you've never had a fantasy come true?" I ask, curiosity lacing my voice.

He shrugs casually. "Perhaps I just did."

Wait, does he mean . . . ?

Is he talking about me, or . . . ?

He raises an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye. "And I'm not talking about the truck or this empty lot."

So, he means me.

What does this mean for us?

For him?

Or is he looking for something casual? I'm not sure I could handle just being friends with benefits.

But, before I can spiral further, his fingers gently cradle my chin, his gaze soft and reassuring. "Mills, stop overthinking," he whispers gently.

Me, overthinking? Please, that's definitely not what I was doing.

He looks at my arm on the passenger seat, our fingers touching, then intertwining. "Let's just let this be. No overanalyzing. Just be, baby." A smile breaks through my apprehensions, warmth flooding me at the idea of him calling me "baby" in such an intimate moment. It feels like my entire being has been anticipating that word, ready to ignite at his touch.

I clear my throat, steadying my voice. "I can handle that." I really think I can. Mulling over everything never does anyone any good. Looking to shift the topic, I ask, "Why are all these photos in your truck?" I sneak a quick look at them. I barely got a chance to see them earlier, but his kiss kinda made my world go blurry. It's pretty dark now, but their outlines are still visible.

As he runs his fingers through my hair, he shrugs lightly and says, "I guess I like keeping bits of my life close by—the people who mean the most, the ones who've stuck by me through everything."

There's a subtle change in his expression, a depth I haven't seen before. Is he even aware of it? Or perhaps I'm just lost in a blissful post orgasm and am seeing things differently.

My eyes wander across his truck, pausing at photographs of his family, nostalgic moments with his grandpa, a younger him. A smile naturally finds its way to my face. Among these memories are pictures of Luke, other friends, and, to my surprise, several of me. My heart flutters, touched by the thought that he's kept these snapshots close.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I pick up a photo. It's Miles and Luke at Emerald Shores, shirtless, fishing rods in hand, smiles wide, living life to the fullest.

I reach for another picture. This time, it's me and Miles. We're lounging on a beach blanket, the serene Emerald Shores in the backdrop, surrounded by a clutter of books—obviously my doing. My hair, a wild cascade of strawberry blonde, is tousled by the wind. Miles' arm is wrapped snugly around my waist, drawing me close as we both beam at the camera. The memory tugs at my heart.

I remember that day vividly. It was part of our "summer's eve" ritual. Since Miles and Luke graduated, we'd promised to make the last day before college start special. That year, after

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