I want to. I really do.
But I’m also scared.
What if I get hurt? I’ve had my heart crushed enough in my short life. I don’t want it obliterated again.
Also, if I’m not out living life and trying new things, how am I ever going to really be able to write a book about an epic romance? I mean, sure, there’s my imagination and all that, but sometimes that real-life epic experience makes it all that much more believable. I follow all of my favorite romance authors on social media, and they’re always posting about how funny or hot or charming their husbands are, how they met in the sweetest ways, how they’re soulmates.
I want that and I want the career.
I love baking and making donuts, but I love love just a little more, especially after witnessing what my dads had together.
“I know,” I mutter. “I know. I’ll work on it.”
“And if by chance at the end of your date he asks you on another, you’ll say yes?” She bats her lashes at me.
I laugh. Like legit laugh out loud.
Miller being interested in me? Yeah right.
“That’s not going to happen.”
“It could.”
“It won’t, Stevie. You’re nuts.”
“Am not! In fact, I’m so sure it will happen because I have eyes, and I’ve seen the way that boy looks at you. I want you to pinky swear that if he asks you out, you’ll say yes.”
“Fine.” I cross the room, hooking my little finger with her outstretched one. “I pinky swear. But I’m only doing this because I know for a fact it’ll never happen.”
“Uh-huh.” She smiles smugly. “We’ll see about that.”
I refused to give Miller my address.
Not because I don’t trust him, but because I didn’t want him to see my apartment. He’s a multi-millionaire, for crying out loud. The last thing he needs to see is that I live with my sister and her daughter.
So, I made him meet me at the donut truck.
He’s already waiting for me when I pull my trusty old Toyota into the lot. It’s almost comical when I park it next to his very expensive, very luxurious car.
I do one last mirror check to make sure I didn’t sweat off all my makeup on the drive over, then shut off my car and hop out.
“Hi, friend,” he says, pushing off the back of his vehicle.
“Miller,” I respond coolly.
He chuckles. “You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
I’m shocked when he follows me to the passenger side and pulls my door open for me.
“What?” he asks when I peek up at him. “I’m a gentleman.”
“That is not a word I would use to describe you.”
“Which word would you use, then?”
“Annoying. Irritating. Obnoxious. An absolute pain in my ass.”
“That’s six words.”
“Huh?”
“An absolute pain in my ass—that’s six words.”
“Point proven,” I say, sliding past him and into the car.
The minute I settle in, I’m assaulted by the scent that’s all Miller. It’s woodsy with just a hint of something else I can’t quite place. It’s intoxicating.
“Are you sniffing my car?”
I startle, because I didn’t even realize he’d already gotten in.
“Uh…yes?”
His lips twitch, but he lets it go. “You okay with stopping and grabbing some coffee? I’m exhausted after practice.”
“Oh, I could run into the truck and get us some if you want.” I grab the handle, but he wraps his hand around my other wrist, stopping me. His touch is like a warm blanket on a cool autumn night, and I swear I feel it down to my toes.
“No,” he says. “Today is your day off. Enjoy it.”
“It’s just coffee…”
He shakes his head. “Nope. You need to get out of that truck. No working today, got it?”
I find myself nodding, agreeing to the demand he has no business making. “Okay.”
“Good.” He removes his hand, and I instantly feel cold.
Then he smiles, and that same heat is back.
No—it’s worse than before. I don’t feel it in my toes; I feel it between my legs.
I swallow down the lump forming in my throat and force a smile of my own. “So, where to?”
“Figured we’d stop by Cup of Joe’s and then hit up Julia’s?”
“That shop downtown?” He nods, and I laugh. “Yeah, no. They are not going to have my size there.”
His brows squeeze together. “Why not?”
I wave a hand over my body. “Because I’m not exactly small, Miller. I have big hips. I have an even bigger ass. I have stomach rolls that aren’t so keen on being squeezed into tight dresses. I’m not a walk-into-any-store-and-find-a-dress kind of girl, and we don’t have time to order something.”
“Yeah, but—”
I shake my head, cutting him off. “No. I know a place where we can go.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yup.” I clap my hands together. “Chop-chop. We don’t have all the time in the world. We have a deadline with this.”
He sends me one last long glance but puts the car into drive.
If I thought Miller’s driving was erratic as a bystander, it’s nothing compared to being a passenger in this thing. He whips around like a maniac, taking corners sharply and changing lanes without warning. He’s zinging and zipping around like he’s driving a damn go-kart, and by the time we grab coffees and make it to the dress shop, I’m about three seconds away from having a massive panic attack.
“Oh lord!” I cry out when he parallel parks like a pro. I’m pretty sure even after ten tries, I’d still be attempting to fit my tiny car into the spot. Despite his protests for me to wait, I exit the vehicle on shaky legs, needing to get out before I freak out.
“You could have waited, you know,” he says once he catches up to me. I don’t miss how he tugs his baseball cap down on his head, and I want to tell him it’s no use. He’s a six-foot-three giant with the build of a damn Greek statue. Famous athlete or not, he’s going to be noticed anywhere he goes.
“And you could have driven a lot less like you were Lewis Hamilton.”
“You know who Lewis Hamilton is?”
“Um, have you seen him? Of course I know who he is.”
Miller scoffs, then places his hand on my lower back and leads me toward the shop. I spend the entire thirty-second walk trying not to pass out from the feel of his fingers grazing my skin because I have no rational reactions when it comes to Miller.
We stop in front of the door, and he peers down at me, those barley colored eyes of his boring down into me. “You ready?”
To shop with Grady Miller? To have him witness the absolute monster I turn into whenever I’m trying on clothes because I get irritated and hot and dislike everything I put on my body?
Not a chance in hell.
As much as I want to, I don’t say that.
Instead, I mutter, “As I’ll ever be.”
7
MILLER