Milo pushes off the couch with a resigned chuckle and heads toward his room, giving me a perfect view of his muscles shifting across his back. I bite my lip and tell my hormones tobehave.
They don’t listen.
A minute later, he returns with his own gift bag and sets it beside mine. We both stare at the innocent-looking bags like they’re loaded with explosives.
Milo leans back, arms crossed over his chest. “I can see something poking out of that bag that looks very… concerning.”
“It’s called ‘ridiculous outfits’ for a reason,” I grin, nudging his shoulder. “And I went all out. Didn’t hold back.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I think you should open yours first. I have a feeling I played it way too safe compared to whatever you’re about to unleash on me. I need a second to prepare myself mentally.”
I burst out laughing and dive into my bag, unloading each item onto the coffee table.
Sparkly pink mini skirt.
Matching dangerously low-cut crop top.
Lime-green fishnet tights.
Fluffy rainbow neck boa.
Bright pink platform heels with tiny yellow daisies on the straps.
Jangly bracelets in every color.
Neon-green waist bag.
Orange heart-shaped sunglasses.
A purple wig.
Milo watches the pile grow, his expression perfectly blank for five full seconds.
Then he cracks.
His laugh starts low and surprised, then rolls out deep and helpless. He tips his head back against the couch, shoulders shaking. I lose it right along with him, clutching my stomach until tears prick my eyes.
“You played it so safe,” I snort between laughs. “I almost feel bad for what I got you.”
“A-almost?” he chokes out.
I grin wickedly and shove his bag into his chest. With a defeated sigh, he starts pulling out his own monstrosity.
Neon orange Crocs.
Pink and purple polka-dot mid-calf socks.
Blindingly pink shorts, covered in hearts and stars.
An open Hawaiian shirt, bursting with pineapples.
Multi-colored, fluffy wristbands.
A sad, deflated flamingo floaty.
Blue multi-colored polka-dot waist bag.
Neon-green wig.
