She could feel it in the threads of his muscles, tightening as he pulled her legs around his waist—he needed something from her, and she was happy to give it to him.
Hanna gasped for breath when he finally broke from her mouth, moving to her neck.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He didn’t answer, save for a brief glance, something pained in his eyes that she wished she hadn’t recognized.
She threaded her hands in his hair, matching his fervent movements, giving herself over to the strange mania. His shirt disappeared, along with hers. Milo blurred around her, hands everywhere, mouth everywhere, setting little fires along her body until the entire room filled with smoke.
“Milo?” she asked, somewhere between the bed and the door. He was so quiet. Too quiet. “Milo.”
“I’m fine,” he growled, breaking away from her. He wiped at his mouth, the ink of his tattoos stretching and twisting as he breathed. “I’m fine.”
“One more and I’ll buy it,” she whispered.
He hung his head back, the anger he’d been battling back simmering just under the surface.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay?—”
“It’s not. I’m sorry, Hanna. It’s just… it’s a bad day.”
She swept her shirt off the floor, snagging his and tossing it to him.
“I’m the queen of bad days, Milo.”
He perched his hands on his hips, glancing out into the hall as he drew another deep breath.
“It’s late,” she murmured, pulling her shirt on. “You should sleep.”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Milo nodded, exhaling. He stepped out of the guest room, but paused at the top of the stairs. “Are you coming?”
Hanna shook her head, trying to clear the thousands of thoughts taking hold. Her mind still swirled from the rush of him.
“Yeah,” she said. “Of course.”
Milo was gone before she woke up, but after her last call of the afternoon, her phone buzzed against the coffee table.
ALWAYS ANSWER
That Oakland distiller I told you about is bringing some new shit by the bar this afternoon. Want to come taste?
Hanna stared at the text. She’d been frustrated all day, unsure what to make of his behavior the night before. She held her breath and hit send on the kind of message she would have sent twenty-four hours prior.
HANNA
You or whiskey?
ALWAYS ANSWER
Both if you ask nicely.
She exhaled. Fine.
He was waiting at the door when she rounded the corner and slipped into the bar. He locked the door behind her.
She felt it as she brushed by him—the shift between them. She’d let him see the most vulnerable pieces of her over the last few days, and it hadn’t scared him off. She’d cried, laughed, and sat in silence with him, and they’d all felt survivable.
