“You never asked which town I’m from.” Milo’s voice drifts toward me in the same way that someone might confidently saunter across a dimly lit dance floor. I perform thequickestof glances to see if he’s looking my way. He isn’t, thankgod.“Dorset, if you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t. Your town has a nice fire tower, though.” See,thatis why I shouldn’t speak, ever.
“How old are you?” he asks without missing a beat. “I didn’t see you at school.”
“Twenty-four.” A question follows in the safety of my mind before I can help it:Why? Am I too young for you?
“I guess we just missed each other, then.”
“I guess so.” Truth is, I didn’t go to the same school as him. Mom thought it would be good for me to go to the high school three towns over where she didn’t teach to practice some independence. Clearly, it worked wonders.
“You’re not very good at this, huh?”
I turn on my heel in anger, but he doesn’t return my glare, caught up in his work as he washes out brushes in the sink. “Pardon me?”
He smirks in response to the anger in my tone, but still doesn’t turn. Instead, his mischievous glee is held on his fingers and the bristles of the paintbrush he’s rinsing out. “You’re not very good at small talk,” he clarifies.
“I’ve never struggled with it before,” I reply, turning back toward the storage shelf. “Must be the company.”
“I’m twenty-eight,” he tells me, apparently oblivious to my rude remark. “And a kind word of advice from your elder: When someone asks you something, you should typically ask them the same question in return.”
“Even if I don’t care?” I steal a glance at him—a near-fatal mistake. His arms are crossed in front of his chest as his teeth bite into that ever-crooked smirk he seemingly loves to wear. His shirt is a little bit wet around his stomach, having been sprayed no doubt by the sink my mother never did fix, revealing the shadow of abdominal muscles that lay underneath.
“You’re mean.” He looks pleased.
“I’mtired,” I correct. “And I want to get this job done before Mom wakes up.”
“Okay, boss.” He turns the sink off as I turn back to my shelf.
Thank you,I want to say, but don’t. Whether it’s for his help or for finally doing as told, I’m not sure.
Regardless, our agreement doesn’t last long, and my ears perk up at the sound of his footfalls growing nearer. Once I realize he’s coming over my way, my pulse races back to that annoying, quickened pace. Fight it as I might, my system floods with heightened awareness, sending me into that feverish, foolish, dizzy state once again as he stops to stand far too close behind me.
“Thiscouldbe nostalgia speaking,” he says, his voice unbothered compared to how worked up I feel. Mockingly so. “But I remember folks up here being a lot more hospitable.”
“Okay?”Allof my energy is in keeping my voice level.
“I guess I was just hoping for a warmer welcome. Small talk, niceties, some warm and fuzzy neighborly shit, ya know?”
I keep my eyes ahead of me on the shelf, but I have to reread the same fucking expiration date six times before it registers and I know which shelf to place it on. “You will definitely be able to get that elsewhere. May I recommend the brewery next door?”
He steps closer, and my throat tightens as if his hands were around it.Wait, why the heck am I thinking about his hands around my—
“What if I want ithere?” he asks, in a near whisper.
There it is again…that maddening ache between my legs. Itmustbe stopped. I have to change the subject. “Do you have a wallet?” I ask, having replayed the moment he brought his credit card out of his pants pocket ten times over now.
He’s slower to respond than he normally is, as if he’s caught off guard. I fight the urge to look over my shoulder and watch him recalibrate. “What?”
“Your credit card.” I give in to the urge, spinning around to face him. Immediately, my body goes into what feels dangerously close to fight or flight, struck by the reality that I’m wedged in between him and the shelf against my back. “Is…” I swallow thickly. “Is it always…loose…in your pocket like that?”
“I borrowed my sister-in-law’s.” Amusement dances across his features under a veil of curiosity. “Why?”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
His eyes go straight to the ceiling, then roll back to me. “Yes,dear,I have a wallet.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise. “You should be careful,” I warn. “You could easily lose her card like that. It’s irresponsible.”
