“Pants,” she shouts, hurtling a pillow at my backside.
Chuckling, I strut to the bathroom, and when I return a few minutes later, she’s in the kitchen. She’s dressed in one of those attached shirt and shorts things, pouring sugar into her coffee. When she turns around, I’m greeted by a cup of hot water for my tea and…fuck, she’s not wearing a bra.
It’s too early for this. Waking up thinking about my half-hard cock against her bare stomach in the ocean was bad enough.
“Thanks.” My fingers brush over hers in the exchange.
“That better not be Viagra,” she says, nodding at the little blue pill I set on the counter.
“Very funny. It’s an antidepressant.”
I leave it at that. Talking about mental health makes people squirrelly; they either change the subject because of their own discomfort or they inject toxic positivity into the conversation.
“It’s great that you’re taking care of yourself. How do you feel?”
My heart clenches at the genuine question. Damn, her response is refreshing. I pop the pill into my mouth. “Good. I feel good. Thanks.” While I steep my tea, I say, “We should probably go to the store. Pick up some food.”
“Agree. At least Val provided eggs and toast. Is that all right with you for now?”
I nod, pulling out a pan from the cabinet.
Between cooking and eating breakfast together, dozing in front of the TV (because jet lag), and grocery shopping, we talk about everything and nothing. We touch briefly on my first impression of Kane—reserved yet open—and how we’re looking forward to getting to know him better. We talk about things we can do without overwhelming him, like renting a boat or going on a hike.
Millie mentions using the walk-in closet to record for the audio app because it has the best acoustics.
I can’t imagine listening to her perform. I especially can’t tell her I have a membership.
When the last of our groceries has been put away, I ask, “Do you want to go for a run with me?”
“Do you want a divorce?” she says without missing a beat.
A smile takes over unbidden. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”
“I think you and I have completely different definitions of fun,pumpkin.”
I bark out a laugh. She’s cute when she’s snarky.
The rhythmic pounding of shoes on pavement does little to drown out my thoughts of Millie. At the beach yesterday, she was so hard on her body. It doesn’t make sense. A year ago, she was obviously comfortable in her skin. What happened? If my mom taught me anything about feminism, it’s that a person should never comment on a woman’s body. Though I think telling them they look stunning is the exception. Sure, we aren’t really married, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make her feel good about herself. The question is how.
I mapped out my run ahead of time, creating a loop around Val’s neighborhood so I’d end up at the food trucks set up nearby. Google Maps advertised tacos, which will be the perfect way to reward Millie for putting up with my dad.
As I close in on the trucks, I slow my pace and watch for traffic. Once I’ve crossed the street, though, I halt completely. Ahead, my dad is there, facing away from me and gesticulating wildly to a couple of kids.
On further inspection, I realize he’s berating Kane and another boy about his age.
I take a tentative step forward to get a better listen, but not close enough to interrupt.
“This is who you’ve been spending time with?” my dad barks. “No wonder your grades are shit. You have no brain cells if you’re hanging out with this fucking fag.”
Kane flinches at my dad’s words.
“Are you a?—”
In two giant, swift strides, I step into the conversation and put myself between my dad and the boys. “What’s going on?”
In unison, both kids turn to me. Kane’s expression is… terrified? Sad? Both?
“Dad?” I press for a response. He can be an ass, but I’ve never heard him spew hate in a person’s face like that. My stomach tightens in a knot, but I don’t dare pull my focus from him.
