Page 9

Cooling the Heat with Margaritas

After the two fans walk away with their pictures and gossip, we’re left alone.

I try cooling the sudden heat I’m feeling with the margarita, but part of me thinks that’s what’s making me hot in the first place. The other part of me thinks it might be the kiss.

His hand came up to cup my chin, and it was such a chivalrous move. It was possessive and masculine, which are not two words I’ve ever associated with Miller, but here we are.

He’s just leaning into playing the part of my fiancé, and I have to admit…I kind of like it.

Still, as we get back to our drinks, I can’t help but wonder how Page Six picked up on our engagement when there was literally only one person we told.

How does the world suddenly know?

As I open my mouth to voice my thoughts, Miller’s phone starts to ring. He glances at his watch, and his brows crinkle as he says, “I’m sorry, I better take this.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and answers. “Mom? Everything okay? ”

I watch as his eyes widen a little. “Oh, um…yeah. I’m sorry.” He listens to whatever his mom is saying, and I’m dying of curiosity over here. “She’s living with me. We, uh…well, yes. We are. But it’s new. We haven’t had a chance to—”

He pulls the phone away from his ear a little as if she’s yelling or something, and then he says, “I’m actually out to dinner with her right now, so can I call you back?”

He mumbles a little more, and then he hangs up. “Well, it’s out there. Page Six official or whatever.”

I gasp. “But how?”

He raises a brow and presses his lips together. “Your mother.”

“My mother?”

He nods slowly. “Apparently she contacted the paper in Phoenix to have our engagement printed this weekend, to which they informed her that couples mainly do that via social media this century. She mentioned our names, and whoever she spoke with sold the story.”

“I’m gonna kill her,” I mutter under my breath.

Except…truth be told, I didn’t hate the attention he gave me when those ladies asked if we were engaged. I didn’t hate that his eyes moved off them and over to me.

And I certainly didn’t hate that kiss. That’s for damn sure.

She’s just being my mom. It’s what she does.

She did the same thing when my older brother got engaged.

She doesn’t think about how she’s announcing it to the world before we ever got the chance, but it was different with Chris and Marie.

Chris isn’t a football player. She asked them first before the notice ran, and I’m sure she would’ve asked me first as well, but she didn’t stop to think that Miller’s status as a celebrity might mean this situation is a little different.

She means well, and she’s my mom. I love her no matter what—even if sometimes I want to metaphorically strangle her .

“What did your mom say?” I ask.

He smirks a little. “She wanted to know why she found out about our engagement from a headline on the internet and not from me.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t be. We’ll roll with it as it comes, right?”

Our shrimp tacos arrive, and we order another round of margaritas with them. I’m not used to drinking three margaritas in one night, and even with the food heavy in my stomach, I’m definitely tipsy by the time the meal is over.

And apparently, so is my fiancé. He calls an Uber so we don’t have to worry about driving home, and he puts on a bit of a show while we wait for our ride out front, tossing his arm around me. I lean my head on his shoulder and reach up to link my fingers through his, giving into the show with him.

The weird thing about it is how natural it feels. I guess that’s what happens when you’re with someone you’ve been friends with for half your life. It’s easy and comfortable, and we just fit together.

Which is why these weird new thoughts I’m having about him have to be kept at bay.

I’ve never had a friend like him. Who else in the entire universe would leave their thirtieth birthday party in Las Vegas to be with an old friend?

Nobody. The answer is nobody. Nobody has ever been so thoughtful and kind the way he simply always has been.

He doesn’t forget birthdays, or favorite songs, or the little things, and it’s one of the many things I treasure about him.

So why suddenly am I breathing in his cologne? Why suddenly am I looking at him a little differently?

Because he’s serving up my dreams on a silver platter, that’s why.

I’m misplacing my feelings of appreciation and gratitude as something more.

He’s comfort in the storm where I find myself, that’s all.

He’s calming and reliable when my life has been thrown into utter chaos, and he believes in me in a way nobody else ever has.

I straighten and push off his shoulder so I’m not leaning into him so much. It feels a little dangerous as I start to lose myself there, and I’m trying not to let the romance author side of my personality interfere with my actual personal life.

Although…

If it’s a book boyfriend I’m looking for, Miller Banks is a solid choice.

He’s a pro football player.

He’s strong and protective.

He’s dependable and reliable.

He’s kind and smart.

He’s charismatic and funny.

He’s hot as hell. Like hot hot. Hot.

He smells good.

When he looks at me, he makes me feel like I’m the only person in the room.

If my love language is acts of service, he delivers on that front.

We have a history together that gives us so much to reminisce over.

Oh…right. That last one.

Our history. It means so much to me, and the thought of losing that because I’m having weird feelings I’ve never felt before is so overwhelming that tears actually pinch behind my eyes.

It has to be the margaritas. It’s definitely the tequila fucking with my emotions. Between that and the breakup and losing my job…it’s definitely been an intense twenty-four hours.

I draw in a breath, and we slide into the Uber that stops in front of us. I keep my gaze turned out the window .

“So we’re really doing this, huh?” he whispers as we make our way back to his place.

I turn back toward him with my brows pinched together in a silent question.

“The engagement,” he clarifies.

Oh, right.

I offer a half-hearted smile. “I don’t want to mess up your life, Millby.”

He reaches over and grabs my hand. “You’re not, Summers.”

I blow out a breath. “I am, though.” I glance up at the driver, and I lower my voice to make sure he can’t hear us. “Those two girls back there, they would’ve gone home with you. But they saw you there with your fiancée, and they backed off.”

He squeezes my hand. “I’d rather go home with you any day of the week.”

My eyes find his, and I swear a heated moment passes between us.

It has to be my imagination. He’d rather go home with an old friend than some random stranger, and I can’t really begrudge him that.

I flip my hand over and link my fingers through his. “You’re a good friend.”

He blinks, and the heat from his gaze seems to dissipate. He glances away from me and out the front of the car. “You are, too, Soph.”

Whatever intense moment that coursed between us seems to have passed. I turn my gaze back out the window, too, sure I’m making a huge mistake by letting the world think we’re engaged but, at the same time, incredibly grateful for the man by my side.

My fiancé.