Milo closed his eyes, counting. “Seven grandkids just between my brothers. Can’t even count the cousins.”
“Aw,” she said, running her finger over the edge of the shot glass. “Uncle Milo.”
“Mi-wo to most of them. Alright. You ever had the nectar of the gods before?”
She shook her head.
“Close your eyes.”
Hanna glared. “Why?”
“Ouzo is meant to be sipped slowly on a patio over the Mediterranean. Not in my shitty bachelor pad. We’ll have to do some visualization. Close ‘em.”
Hanna squeezed her eyes shut, feeling vulnerable in front of him in a way she didn’t completely dislike.
Milo spoke softly, in a sing-songy tone. “You’re on your third course of feta-stuffed olives, the tzatziki is flowing, the sun is setting over the cliffs. A gorgeous Greek god is sitting across from you, feeding you grapes. His name is Milo,” he whispered.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Concentrate.” He moved closer, the heat buzzing against her chest. “You there in your head?”
“Yes, Milo,” she sighed.
“Great, take a sip.”
Hanna lifted the shot glass to her lips, letting it roll over them slowly. The flavor was intense, herbal—incredibly complex. She opened her eyes as he shot his back, clearly more accustomed to the flavor profile.
“What do you think?”
“It’s interesting,” she said, taking a second sip. “Not at all what I expected.”
“The gods will sneak up on you like that,” he said, just inches from her.
Since meeting him, he’d teased her relentlessly—the suggestive comments, the long stares. In one month, she'd blushed more on account of him than she had over every other man she'd ever met combined. But the way he looked at her then—like she wasn’t some project to work on, or a fawn left in the woods—did her in.
She could feel it in the way his fingers twitched against the countertop. Something had shifted. She wondered if he’d taste like ouzo, complex and bitter, but only for a moment before he’d warm her head to toe.
“I think it’s time, Arizona,” he whispered.
“What?” Her heart beat faster.
Milo’s grin widened, and she worried he could hear it.
“It’s time to destroy you,” he said, tilting his head to the living room. “We’re doing it. We’re watching A Walk to Remember.”
Hanna wanted to fight him, but she saw it, swimming in the mossy green of his eyes. He was well-therapized. He was as healed as he could be. But he was not invincible.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Whatever you need.”
Milo moved to his living room, leaving her breathless as he dropped to his knees in front of his bookshelf.
“Ah, ha,” he exclaimed as he pulled a pink DVD case from the fray.
“Who in the hell still has a DVD player?” Hanna groaned.
“There’s popcorn in the pantry,” Milo mumbled.
“It’s ten in the morning.”
