Page 7

Call the Butler

The drive from Phoenix to San Diego is six hours, and we pass the time with the kind of music that was popular when we were in high school. I plug my phone in and start the playlist on random, and it's no surprise when Miller knows every word to every song.

These are the songs of our formative years, the ones we danced to at homecoming and the ones we still listen to today because they’re classics to us.

It’s a lot of boy bands…and I’m not ashamed of that. There’s some country in the mix, too, and some alternative. Our tastes are eclectic, but they’re similar, and boy bands will forever hold a special place in my heart.

We laugh as we talk about our memories with each song, and we reminisce as neither of us can believe we’ve been out of high school twelve years already.

He hasn’t said a word about the fake engagement.

Neither have I.

We haven’t spoken about the pact my mom brought up.

Maybe it won’t come up.

Maybe it will .

I can’t believe that whole thing slipped out of my mouth, but I had to come up with something to tell my mother, and the truth just seemed too far-fetched.

This seemed more believable than telling her I broke up with Tyler, who exposed my secret romance pen name to my students, and I quit my job this morning because of it.

Besides, will it really be so bad playing house with Miller? We can put on the act, and it’s not that big of a deal since we’re moving to San Diego while my parents will be back here.

We stop halfway at a gas station to grab snacks and stretch our legs, and I forgot how much fun it is to spend time with Miller.

It's been a while since we've had six hours uninterrupted together. Between my controlling ex and Miller’s busy schedule, it's rare that we get to share this sort of time.

The six hours seem to pass in a flash. Suddenly we’re stopped in southern California traffic, which is worlds apart from the kind of traffic we see at home.

Miller handles it like a pro, calmly and easily weaving in and out when he needs to, careful and polite as he never cuts anyone off even though everyone else seems to drive like a maniac.

I'm in the passenger seat, pressing on my invisible brake pedal and swearing at everyone around us.

Miller just keeps glancing over at me and laughing.

“What?” I ask after I yell, “Fuck you!” to the Tesla that just cut us off.

He laughs. “I forgot about your road rage.”

“Me?” I ask dramatically. “I don't have road rage.” I toss up a middle finger at the car next to us as I yell, “Asshole!”

“Be careful with that shit here. You'll meet your match when it comes to road rage, and they don’t play here.”

I take the warning to heart. We stop and go a little longer before we turn off and start climbing into the hills of San Diego. The views are beautiful from here as traffic starts to thin, and I look out in the distance and see the ocean.

“I can't believe you opted for a house in the hills and not on the beach,” I say.

“There are surprisingly few houses on the market directly located on a beach in this area. This was closer to the stadium and still offered gorgeous views, so Tanner and I agreed on it when we moved here.”

“How far is it to the closest beach?” I ask.

“Fifteen or twenty minutes, depending on traffic. Or if I’m driving, closer to twenty. If you’re driving, ten.”

I giggle. “Where’s the lie?”

He pulls into the driveway of a gorgeous mansion and opens his garage from some app on his phone, and I can't believe I haven’t been out here to see him since he moved to the area.

“This is gorgeous, Miller,” I say.

He pulls my car into the roomy garage with a Ford F-150 Raptor parked in it, and he pulls to a stop and hands me my keys.

“New truck?” I ask, nodding toward the army green truck.

He nods. “I treated myself with my new paycheck.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and I laugh. He always had a truck—his first vehicle was a used Ford Ranger. Mine was a Camry, and we just made the trip here in my little Honda SUV.

I follow him inside. We walk in through a laundry room, and that room alone should be my first hint that this house is a little nicer than the apartment I shared with Tyler.

Even the countertops in the laundry room are quartz, while the laundry room at the apartment was down in the basement and shared with all the other tenants in the building.

From there, we walk into a gourmet kitchen that looks out over a family room with a beautiful couch and entertainment setup.

I gaze at the kitchen table, which is where I seem to do the majority of my writing, and I can already see the seat that will be the one where I spend time dreaming up my next bestseller.

I walk over to the slider doors to study the pool that’s shimmering in the sunlight.

Just beyond the pool, there’s a view of the gorgeous valley peppered with beautiful homes, all looking out over a similar yet different view.

It's totally dreamy.

I glance over at Miller and see his blue eyes are lit with the natural light streaming in from the slider doors.

My breath catches in my throat for a second as I realize yet again how hot he is.

I am pretty damn lucky to have him in my life—not because he's hot, but because he's been such a good friend to me.

There's nobody else who literally would have left his birthday party in Vegas to be by my side during one of the worst moments of my life, but he did. And then on top of it, he bailed me out of that situation and offered me a chance to start over.

I feel tears pinching behind my eyes at the thought of what a wonderful friend I have.

He glances over at me. “What's wrong?” he asks.

He knows. He just always somehow knows. He can read me like a book, which is one of the many things I'm so grateful for in our friendship.

“I was just thinking about how grateful I am that you're in my life. You're such a good friend, Miller, and I don't know what I would do without you.”

He tilts his head with a bit of sympathy and offers a small smile. “I feel the same way.” He slings his arm around my shoulder and pulls me into a side squeeze, and I slip my arm around his waist.

Has he always smelled this good? Warm and clean and masculine all at the same time, and it makes me want to stay here a little while longer .

He shows me around the rest of the house, including the primary suite, which used to be Tanner’s room, the same room Miller never moved into once Tanner moved out.

“Do you want this room?” he asks.

I glance around at the ginormous room. There’s a built-in bench beneath one window where I can sit and look out the window over the view with my laptop perched on my lap and a blanket over my legs.

The room is absolutely luxurious, and I think it might be exactly what I need as I move here temporarily to try to start my life over.

“This will do, I guess.” I smirk at him.

“Yeah, I guess my job comes with a decent paycheck, so if you need anything at all—”

“Call the butler?” I interrupt, and he laughs.

“No, nothing like that, but I have considered hiring a personal chef to prepare my meals.”

I raise my hand. “Let me earn my keep. I can be your personal chef.”

“And my fiancée?” he teases.

I blush as I scrunch my nose up in apology, and I’m about to tell him how sorry I am about that whole mess when he narrows his eyes at me.

“Since when can you cook?”

“I'll learn for you.”

“I think you have yourself a deal, but If I need to prepare my last will and testament, just let me know.”

“Shut up.” I smack him in the arm as we both laugh.

He helps me unpack the car and once again offers to get me anything I could possibly need. I really only took the essentials from the apartment I shared with Tyler, and maybe someday I'll go back to collect the rest, but I'm not worried about it right now .

All I’m worried about now is getting back into my manuscript so I can finish the book I’ve been working on since this is my full-time job now.