Page 14 of Resisting the Running Back

Sophie’s eyes widen like she’s been caught, and I turn and raise my brows at her that she shared that news with her mother.

Sophie clears her throat nervously. “Oh, did we? Anyway, we just wanted to stop by to tell you the news.” Sophie hugs her mom. “But we really do need to get moving. I’ll call you later, okay?”

Her mom looks a little shaken, and I feel like I got hit by a bus, but we say our goodbyes and head out to the car.

I pull out of the driveway without a word since her mom is waving to us and Sophie has her window down—likely on purpose so she doesn’t have to answer any questions right away, and then we’re out of her mom’s sight as we turn the corner.

She rolls the window up, and I pull over to the curb.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“What am I doing?” I ask, putting a hand on my chest. “What areyoudoing?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Clearly.”

“Are you mad?” she asks, her nose wrinkling up again.

I sigh. “No, Soph. You know I could never be mad at you. You just…kind of blindsided me.”

“I know. And I’m sorry. I’ll figure out a way to get us out of this mess.”

I just don’t know how to tell her that I don’t really want her to get us out of this mess. I think I’m going to like being engaged to Sophie Summers.

CHAPTER 7: Sophie Summers

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 thefake 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 withsomethingto 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.

---