behind the camera - fake dating sports romance (wlw)

Chapter Four

MILLIE

My forehead hits the back of the door with a soft thud. I don't even wince-maybe I deserve worse. I close my eyes and let the weight of it settle on me. That came out so much harsher than I meant it to. I didn't want to snap. Not really.

The entire drive home, I kept rehearsing some version of a polite welcome. Something halfway decent. Something that wouldn't make me sound like a complete jerk. My mom always says that when the world pisses you off, you don't throw that anger at the first person who breathes wrong.
And I tried. I really tried. I planned it in my head: walk in, say hi, maybe even smile a little, then point her toward the first room on the right-the one I cleared out on purpose. Because I know she's a photographer. I figured the lighting would be good, and I thought... I don't know. That maybe it'd help. That maybe she'd see I wasn't completely heartless.

But then I walked in. And there she was-standing in my space like she belonged there. Hoodie too big, light brown hair short over her shoulders, her soft grey eyes scanning my books like she was trying to read something about me. She looked smaller than I remembered. Not weak, just... quieter. And tired, maybe.

And then my brain short-circuited. All that rehearsed crap flew out the window and what came out of my mouth was the worst version of myself.

I wanted to say something soft. I did.

But all night, I'd been at some glittery, fake-ass city event where men twice my age still think it's fine to comment on my body instead of my stats. Couldn't swing a champagne flute without hearing a sexist joke in my direction. I smiled through all of it. Swallowed it like I always do.
And by the time I got home, I was simmering. And she was just... there. She didn't deserve that.

My teammates haven't stopped talking about her since they found out she was moving in. I thought they remembered her because she insulted me to my face in the most accidental, awkward way possible. But no, apparently the lasting memory was "Millie, that girl is stupid hot."

I rolled my eyes at the time. Told them they were imagining things. But they weren't. Of course they weren't.

She's annoyingly beautiful.

Soft brown hair that looks like it smells like honey or whatever girls in romantic comedies always smell like. Full pink lips that part like she's holding back ten thousand things she's too polite to say. And those grey eyes... I don't even know how to describe them. They're quiet. But not empty. Like she's seeing more than she lets on.

And she's shy. Polite. Still managed a smile even after I snapped at her like a feral cat with a sore paw.

Fuck this.

I push off the bed, irritation crawling up my spine like static. I can't afford to be distracted-not now. Not by someone's big gray eyes or the stupid ache of guilt sitting at the bottom of my stomach like a rock. Harper's here because Audrey asked me to help. That's it. We're just sharing a roof, nothing more. I don't owe her softness.

I step out onto the balcony, hoping the night air will cool the fire under my skin. The city sprawls in front of me-quiet, glittering, a thousand windows lit like stars. Usually, this view calms me. Reminds me I've made it further than most expected. But right now? I feel like I'm slipping.

My phone buzzes in the pocket of my sweats, and when I pull it out, the name flashing across the screen makes me roll my eyes.

Elena.

I swipe to answer, already bracing for whatever she's about to throw at me. "Hey."

"Millie," she says, all brisk efficiency and tight-lipped concern. "Sorry to call so late, but we need to go over tomorrow."