His grin is goofy and adorable when he looks up at me again.
“I like it too,” he agrees and stares at the computer screen in front of him. I’m smiling at the surprise in his tone, considering he’s the one who created the song.
“I was feeling inspired last night,” he admits and looks up at me again. Our gazes meet, and his eyes widen when they find mine. He quickly turns back, looking forward again, and slips his bottom lip between his teeth.
He did that last night, too, when I mentioned his former bandmate. A nervous tic, maybe? But what does he have to be nervous about now?
I remember Ray telling me how Milo is particular about his studio, and how I shouldn’t even be in here.
“I didn’t touch anything,” I quickly add.
That has him looking at me again, confusion clearly written in his eyes.
“Your studio, I mean. I didn’t touch anything in here. Sorry, I shouldn’t have entered without your permission in the first place,” I ramble.
Milo studies me for a good minute before bursting into laughter. He’s laughing so hard he’s slapping his thigh, and I’m left to wonder what exactly is so funny.
“I’m silly for worrying,” I hear him mutter quietly to himself, then he shoots up to his feet. The afghan slides to the floor, but Milo doesn’t bother picking it up.
“Let me wash up, then we’ll get something to eat,” he tosses over his shoulder and is out of the room before I can even respond.
I pick up the afghan, fold it, and return it to where I’d found it on the couch. Milo bounces down the stairs a couple minutes later in leggings that curve around his ass and a tight shirt that leaves nothing to the imagination, including the outline of his belly button ring.
I have to look away.
“Ray usually comes over to cook me some disgusting variant of egg whites, but he texted to say he’s needed at the office. So it looks like it’s just you and me today!”
Milo looks ecstatic about that fact, and I’m left still trying not to look at him and risk a boner. I tug at my sweats, thankful that they sit loosely.
My movement catches Milo’s eye, and I quickly drop my hand so it doesn’t look like I was adjusting myself.
“Look at that, they fit! Now I know where to find clothes for the man mountain,” Milo exclaims.
I break out a tiny smile. “Thanks for these, by the way. Let me know how much I owe you.”
He waves me off. “You got dinner last night, so we’ll call it even.”
I doubt takeout is anywhere close to what he must have spent procuring these clothes in the middle of the night, but Milo’s attention is somewhere else.
“I know I have eggs in here somewhere. I must, since Ray is always shoving egg whites down my throat,” he says and opens his fridge.
I got a peek at it last night, and I’m still flabbergasted by how it’s filled with drinks and barely any food. Milo opens one of the drawers and lets out an “aha!” when he finds a carton of liquid egg whites.
“And there’s a pan here somewhere as well,” Milo mutters to himself and starts rifling through the drawers in his kitchen.
When he finds it, he does an adorable happy dance that has his butt wiggling much too seductively for my self-control. I look toward the living room and the cityscape outside the window.
I’m usedto loud sirens, horns honking, or even the laughter and conversation of groups hanging out on the stoop of my building. Noise is the heart of New York City, but here in Milo’s world, there’s nothing but silence and Milo muttering, “How do you turn this on again?”
I jolt back toward the kitchen to find him fiddling with the range and stride to his side. “Uh, Milo. Quick question.”
“Yeah?” He turns to face me while still trying to turn the knob. I grab his hand without thinking, because the last thing we need today is to have a kitchen fire. I can’t be the guy who lets his client burn down his house within the first week.
“Do you know how to cook?” I ask cautiously.
He shrugs. “Sure, it can’t be that hard. I just have to figure out how to turn the damn thing on first. What’s the worst that can happen?”
Oh god.
