“I just threw some shit together.”
Hanna arched a brow.
“I never said I was a good bartender. Now pay attention. This movie is sad as fuck, but the soundtrack is easily in the top ten early aughts rom-com soundtracks. Maybe top five.”
Hanna tucked her feet beneath her as the movie rolled along, the angst a constant reminder of the conversation Milo had just so easily abandoned a moment earlier.
She tilted her head when things started to get interesting.
“God, Shane West was really something, huh?”
“Why am I not surprised you’re into sad, brooding bad boys?” Milo teased.
“Don’t flatter yourself.” She set her glass on the coffee table and readjusted the blanket. “You’re not even that good at brooding. Fire one of your therapists, and then maybe we can talk.”
“I was talking about you,” he said. “But noted.”
“I don’t brood!” she protested.
“You are actively brooding all over my couch.”
“I’ll leave,” she threatened.
“Shh! You’re going to miss a really good part. Real tear-jerker. Ugly-cry territory.”
Hanna sank down beneath the blanket, mumbling without looking at him, “Watched pot.”
He only chuckled, finally peeling his eyes off her. He checked back in every few minutes, the disappointment that she hadn’t fallen apart visible as the movie progressed. It wasn’t until they made it well past the twist, the arguing, and the admittedly hot kissing despite how chaste it all was that he looked over and frowned.
“Nothing?”
Hanna swallowed. “Nothing.”
“She died!”
“People die all the time, Milo!” They both winced. “I told you. I’m fine.”
“You are so far from fine it’s diagnosable,” Milo muttered, grabbing the empty popcorn bowl and glasses and taking them to the kitchen. She followed, setting her phone on the counter. “The star? The state line? The ring still on his finger at the end? Are you made of stone, woman?”
Hanna laughed, but her eyes didn’t quite catch the light.
“I can’t, okay?”
“Hanna—”
“Just, drop it, Milo.” Her phone buzzed against the counter. DO NOT ANSWER. Milo glanced at the screen and raised his brows. She sighed. As if she needed to add another grief to the plate. Milo stood in her path, dropping those green eyes to hers.
“No one is this ironclad. If you let it go now, it won’t sneak up on you later.”
She held his gaze, ignoring the second call coming in.
“What if I start and never stop?” she asked, her voice wobbling. “I feel like I’ll drown.”
Milo nodded, moving closer to her, taking up space she hadn’t filled in a year. She twisted her fingers into the hem of her shirt, trying to think of a clever way to escape him, but the burn at the back of her throat was relentless.
“Don’t they teach you how to swim out there in the desert, Arizona?”
Her phone buzzed a third time, both their eyes landing on the screen. She ignored it, his hand hovering close to her hip. There, in the space between his fingers and her jeans, a truth lingered she hadn’t seen before. He didn’t just want to sleep with her. He might have told himself that, but he was genuinely concerned about her, and that was exponentially worse. Milo leaned into her, the amber of his cologne swirling around her head. It was hypnotizing.
