Chapter 29
Miles
Two weeks until the competition, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous.
It settles low in my gut, the kind of nerves that hit hard when someone who really matters is watching.
Vivian will be there with her family, and, yeah, maybe that makes me soft, but I don’t give a damn. It matters that she’s coming.
That they’re all coming.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her or last night.
She’s addictive. I can’t get enough of her. The taste of her lips, the feel of her skin, the way my hands touched every part of her soft, smooth, beautiful body…and fuck, I just keep craving more.
It’s not even the way her body felt pressed against mine; though, god, her curves, her softness, made me lose my breath. It’s how she’s made me feel something real, like every part of me was tuned into her, desperate to touch, to feel, to make her see just how much I wanted her.
Still, it’s more than that. It always has been.
Every time she looks at me, every time she touches me, there’s this depth I can’t quite put into words.
It’s been a month and a week since she came crashing into my life, and somehow, she’s settled into every corner of my mind. I can’t think straight anymore.
But I don’t want to. I want her to be there, filling up the space where my thoughts used to be. I want to crave her like I’ve never craved anything before, because with her, nothing else matters.
I’m seated in Jill’s Diner, the kind of place that serves greasy burgers, crispy fries, and banana milkshakes so thick they could double as cement. My comfort zone.
After ordering my meal, I wait for today’s meeting with Mya to go over the last bits of prep. I spot her with her clipboard, her laptop, and the kind of military focus that scares the hell out of grown men.
She, on the other hand, walks in dressed like a Vogue ad with her bottle of lemon-infused water and that don’t you dare make a mess expression.
“Hey, Miles,” she says, sliding into the booth with that effortless grace of hers. She sets her things down on the table, her laptop opening with a soft click.
“Hey, you.” I grin, catching a glimpse of her, always put together. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in anything less than something baggy like sweatpants, even on lazy days at home. “Looking professional as always.”
She gives me a small amused smile but doesn’t look up from her screen. “Well, I have an image to uphold.”
The waiter approaches, setting down my double bacon cheeseburger, fries, and banana milkshake like a blessing. I thank him and slide him a ten-dollar bill without a second thought.
Mya eyes the spread, her lips quirking into a disapproving smile. “You, however, could give less of a crap.”
I take a huge bite of the burger, not even bothering with any pretense of manners. My stomach growls at me like it’s been starving for days. And, let’s be honest, post-sex hunger is a very real thing—definitely a thing when your mind’s been too busy to think about food.
Mya watches me with thinly veiled horror. “You eat like a pig.”
Mouth full, I grin. “And I love it.”
She ignores me, typing on her laptop. “We’ve got a meeting in three days. But you’re not gonna like who’s joining us.”
I freeze mid-bite. “Hit me.”
“Noah Montero.”
I groan. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Noah’s been a pain in my ass for years. Always chasing after the spotlight, trying to one-up me. Four years older, just enough charm to make girls swoon, and arrogant enough to think the whole circuit revolves around him.
“He better keep his hands off you,” I mutter, pointing a fry at her.
Mya rolls her eyes. “Please. I’d rather kiss a cactus.”
“Still. If he so much as looks at you the wrong way—”
“Then you can puff out your chest and play protector. It’s cute when you try but you need to stay out of trouble.”
I smirk, licking ketchup off my thumb. “What’s next?”
She scrolls through her file. “You’ve got charity work Saturday. The Fun Fair.”
“Charity work?” I narrow my eyes. “What kind of charity work?”
That smile spreads across her face. The one that spells trouble.
I point a fry at her. “Spill.”
“Well, it’s for foster kids. Raising money for toys, food, furniture they need, and even school intuition.”
“What’s the catch?” I ask, popping a fry into my mouth.
She’s way too smug when she replies. “Line dancing.”
I stare at her like she’s lost her damn mind.
“You can’t be serious,” I deadpan. “I can’t dance for shit.”
Mya doesn’t even blink. Just raises one perfectly groomed brow and smirks like she’s been waiting for this exact moment all day.
“It’s for charity, come on,” she says, stirring her water with a lemon slice like this is totally reasonable and not a full-on public execution of my dignity.
I groan and shovel another fry into my mouth, chewing with unnecessary aggression. But I was once in foster care, and even though I was only there for a couple of weeks, I can’t imagine the feeling of being there for months or even years.
“I’ll do it. But if I get paired with some seventy-year-old woman who doesn’t know the meaning of personal space, I’m dragging you in with me.”
She laughs, a full belly laugh, hand over her mouth to keep it classy, but I see the shake of her shoulders. “Let’s be honest,” she says through a grin. “That will happen. They’re all obsessed with you.”
I flick a fry at her.
She doesn’t even flinch, just brushes it off her skirt like it happens all the time and flashes me a smug smile.
“Can’t blame them, though. You do have that cowboy charm. It’s like catnip for old ladies.”
“I hate you,” I mutter, but I’m grinning too.
She flips through her notes, tapping something on her laptop. “I’m sure Vivian and Riley will be there. They’ll want to dance with you.”
My chest tightens a little at the thought. Vivian, flushed from the sun, laughing as I spin her around under string lights. Riley tugging on my hand, showing me how it’s done with way too much sass for someone that small.
“I still can’t dance,” I say, though there’s less bite in it now. It sounds more like a reminder to myself than a protest.
Mya just shrugs. “Then trip over your own boots. It’ll only make you more lovable.”
I roll my eyes and lean back in the booth. “I swear…this town lives to humiliate me.”
She grins. “And you love it.”
I toss the last fry into my mouth and point at her with my milkshake straw. “Only because of people like you.”
“Flattery won’t get you out of it.”
I sigh dramatically and drain the rest of my milkshake. “I’m going to need whiskey after this.”
“Or maybe just one good dance with a woman you like.”
That shuts me up.
Because she’s not wrong.
“You’re lucky,” I say, tossing back the last of my milkshake. “Because unlike Noah Montero, I actually give a shit about charity work.”
Mya raises a brow, unimpressed but amused. “And that’s why you’re the most loved bull rider in the state, Miles Sanchez.” She winks, sipping her lemon water like she just said something casual and not totally true.
I shake my head, but a smile tugs at my lips anyway.
As I turn toward the front of the diner, a small group of kids, maybe ten, eleven years old, walk toward me, each one trying not to look too excited. One of them, a brunette with glasses a little too big for his face, steps forward first.
“Hi…Miles Sanchez,” he says carefully, like he practiced it in the mirror a few times.
I crouch a little to his height, resting my forearms on my knees. “Hey, man. What can I do for ya?”
Behind him, a taller blond boy gives him a nudge, encouraging him to move forward. He’s holding a slightly crumpled poster from my latest sponsor shoot.
The brunette fumbles with it, shy now. “Could you…uh…”
“Want me to sign it?” I finish for him, and the way his whole face lights up hits me right in the chest.
“Yes, please!” he says quickly, handing it over.
I take the poster and ask, “What’s your name, bud?”
“Ethan.”
“To Ethan,” I say out loud as I write it, “From your friend Miles.”
I hand it back and he clutches it to his chest like it’s gold.
“Thank you, Miles!” He beams, and it’s so genuine it makes something in me ache in the best way.
The rest of the group swarms in behind him, and I sign three more posters, a baseball cap, and the back of one kid’s notebook. I take the time to ask each of their names, give them a fist bump, and ask what they’re into.
Mya’s off to the side, pretending to be on her phone but clearly snapping photos. I catch her smiling to herself.
Moments like this, these kids with their nervous smiles and starry eyes, remind me why I keep doing what I do. Not for the titles. Not for the money.
I stand, watching them run back to their parents, and hear one of the boys’ yell, “He was even cooler in real life!”
I laugh under my breath, glancing at Mya.
“Careful,” she says, arching a brow. “Your ego’s already hard to manage.”
“Yeah, well…” I shrug. “If I’m someone’s hero for five minutes, I’ll take the hit.”
She rolls her eyes, but I see it, the softness in hers. The respect.
Because for all the crap I get for being a cocky bull rider, the truth is, I give a damn.
Always have.
Always will.
After discussing plans for the Fun Fair and upcoming meetings, we step out of the diner, and the late afternoon sun is starting to dip low behind the rooftops.
Mya gives me one last rundown of the week, Thursday’s meeting, Saturday’s charity event, and I nod, pretending like I’m not already feeling the weight of it all pressing against my chest.
We say our goodbyes at the curb, and she walks off like she’s got the world on a string.
The second I slide into the truck and shut the door, the silence hits me like a punch. It’s the kind that creeps in under your skin when your thoughts are too loud and nothing feels steady.
I start the engine and do the only thing that makes sense in the moment, I put on “Every Breath You Take” by The Police.
Because it reminds me of her.
Vivian.
My fingers drum against the steering wheel as the music plays on, each lyric slicing a little too close to the bone.
Every breath you take.
Every move you make.
And I don’t know what scares me more, losing her before I ever really get to have her…or what it’ll do to me if I finally do.
As I start the engine I notice the weather is turning dark and gloomy, we rarely get bad weather in summer but when we do it turns into a huge storm.
And there’s one coming soon.