Page 17 of Resisting the Running Back

I call the restaurant to reserve a table while she changes. She appears in the kitchen fifteen minutes later, and she looks…

Well, gorgeous.

She’s wearing a simple black dress paired with black flat shoes, and her dark hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders. Her brown eyes seem bigger somehow, like she didsome makeup to make them brighter. Her cheeks are pink and her lips are shiny, andfuck, I can’t stop staring at them.

I can’t stop thinking about that kiss in her mom’s kitchen.

Pull it together, Banks.

I feel like I’m telling myself that a lot around her.

We climb into the truck and head toward the restaurant, and nerves climb up my spine. There’s nothing to be nervous about, obviously. I’m just taking my best friend—my new roommate—out to dinner.

I just wish it were a date.

I force myself to shake it off, weaving easily through traffic as we make our way toward our destination. She turns up a song by Pink that comes on the radio, and we both sing along.

The restaurant is busy at dinnertime every night of the week, but I manage to find a tiny spot for my huge truck at the back of the lot. We walk toward the restaurant, and some dude in the parking lot does a double take when he sees her. Maybe it’s for me—I don’t know. I’m usually recognized around these parts since I play for the local pro football team, but it feels like he’s looking at her.

I have the strongest urge to grab her hand. To mark my territory. To let everyone know she’s here with me.

And physically, yes, that’s true. But walking into a restaurant together isn’t the same asbeingtogether.

I think back to a conversation I had with my brother just a few months ago. He told me he was going to shoot my shot for me because I did it for him.

I didn’t, really. I just told the woman he loved that he needed her, and the rest is history. She showed up when he needed her most, just like I did for Sophie.

I know Tanner never really would do that, though. It’s different with Soph and me, with our history and our friendship.But sometimes I think the only way I’d ever take the shot is to let someone else take it for me.

We both order the shrimp tacos, and she orders a margarita, so I get one, too.

It’s been years since I’ve had a margarita. Tequila is more my brother’s drink of choice, while I usually lean toward whiskey or beer, but tonight we’re celebrating Sophie. Her new job, her new home, her new city. Her new roommate.

And, lest we forget, her new engagement.

I did forget. Sort of.

I didn’t forget that kiss. It’s been right there at the forefront of my head since it happened. But like everything where she’s concerned, I’m locking it into a little box and throwing away the key.

Except it doesn’t really go quite that way.

We both just ordered a second round of margaritas when I hear a woman’s voice. “Oh my God, is that Miller Banks?”

My head whips up at the sound of my name, which happens to be my first mistake since it’s essentially admitting that yes, it’s me.

“ItisMiller Banks!” another woman beside her says.

I offer a small wave and a sheepish smile.

“Can we get a pic?” the first one asks, and I smile politely and glance at Sophie.

She holds up both hands. “Don’t say no on my account.”

I chuckle and nod, and the first one takes her friend’s phone as the second one moves in beside me.

The first one holds up the phone and says, “Smile, San Diego’s most eligible bachelor!”

“Oh, God, Chelsea, he’s on a date!” the one who’s currently leaning into my side for a picture says.

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