3. Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Milo
“You know you could just ask him for money?” My sister, Mia, said from her spot next to me. We were both staring at the green door in front of us. Number 93. My new home.
I knew what awaited me inside. A small open plan lounge with worn brown carpets, a tiny kitchen with the odd missing tile, a recently refurbished bathroom and two bedrooms. Mine, the smaller of the two with room for a single bed and a narrow set of drawers. The entire apartment was smaller than the pool house of the home I'd grown up in. But for once, it wasn’t paid for by my father so I couldn’t care less if it was tiny. It was mine.
“I'm not asking that bastard for anything, Mia. I finally have a job and enough money to get away. I'm not taking anything from him ever again.”
She was silent for a moment before she spoke, “I hate him too, you know.” I turned towards her and saw the guilt in her features and the wetness at the edge of her eyes. Our relationship with our father - mine especially - was complicated.
He wasn't a good man - not to me at least and I wore the scars to prove it. He treated me like I was the biggest mistake he'd ever made whereas he treated Mia with a sort of feigned indifference in private. In public or in front of his friends, he doted on her. His perfect daughter.
“I know, Mia.” I offered her a small smile. She felt guilty about still living with him, in his huge mansion, with a full employ of staff and his fake persona that had everyone outside our family believing he was God's gift to the community. But I didn’t begrudge her for it - she was only eighteen, and headed to college in the fall though she would be staying at home for the duration. My father was reluctant to let her out of his sight, refusing to pay for her studies unless she remained at home and studied what he wanted her to. As a compromise, because he needed to seem outwardly like a good father, he had agreed to let her study one subject of her choice - English Literature - the rest of her coursework would be tech related, focusing her future towards working alongside him in his multimillion dollar security firm.
She hated it. But she had little choice because without his money, there was no way she could afford to study. I never went to university, I refused the same offer he’d laid out because I wanted away from him more than I wanted a degree. So I spent the last six years working odd jobs, until I had enough put away for the down payment on this place as well as for a few months’ rent. Some of the cash I used towards a tattoo course and now, having completed my apprentice role at a studio a few blocks over, I had a fully paying job.
My father did not approve of my choices, accusing me constantly of ‘throwing my life away’ and of doing it all to spite him so he wasn’t willing to support me. He gave me nothing except the bare necessities whilst flaunting his wealth for all to see. On the few occasions I needed money from him, it came with an emotional cost. Money needed for a tutor, for example, came with a reminder of what a failure I was. Every interaction with him resulted in insults being flung my way.
On the day I’d moved out he’d laughed, assuring me that I would be back, that I couldn’t possibly make something of myself.
You're weak Milo. You'll never amount to anything. You'll just be another washed up wanna be artist out on his ass. You'll come crying to me for help soon enough.
My fists tightened of their own accord and I shook my head then stretched out my fingers, releasing the tension. Mia reached for my hand, gently squeezing it, offering some much needed reassurance.
“You're right Milo, you don't need him. You’ll do just fine on your own. Now come on, let's quit standing on your doorstep. Show me your new home.”
The distinct smell of fish greeted us when I opened the creaky door and led us inside. Looking over to Mia, I raised my eyebrow at the look of horror on her face - wide eyes and scrunched up nose - as she took in the space around us. It was clean, if not a little cramped. Clearly, my roommate had a penchant for collecting books and mugs because they lay on every available surface. Three different I heart NYC mugs stood on the side table nearest the front door. Each one empty, save for a bit of dust. My eyes landed on another mug next to the television, a remote poking out the top and the words, Spank Me Daddy , printed along the side. Mia followed my gaze, covering her mouth to muffle her laugh when she saw what had captured my attention.
I walked further into the apartment before doing a three-sixty on the spot, taking in every corner of the place. It had been a lot cleaner when the landlord, Marcus, had shown me around last week. I guessed my roommate - name still unknown - had tidied up a bit before our arrival. Marcus had assured me that the person I would be sharing this delightful little apartment in Queen’s with, was, in his words, a “respectable, hard-working accountant.” An accountant who clearly did not like to pack things away on shelves or in his own room.
The sofa, which, from memory, was a faded cream fabric was now covered in an assortment of fabrics and colours thanks to an array of pillows and blankets.
“Is that a Twilight blanket?” Mia asked, walking over to where I had moved to stand near the sofa. She pulled a printed fleece from the pile and sure enough, the throw had a picture of the famous dark haired vampire that was almost life sized. “This place is cosy,” she said, tossing it back down on the pile.
A loud crash came from the kitchen, followed by a ton of expletives and a drawn out groan. I raced the few steps from the lounge to the kitchen and came to a sudden halt at the sight in front of me. Mia slammed into my back, letting out a surprised hmph as she did before stepping to my side.
My eyes fell on the scantily clad blonde man scooping up shards of a broken dinner plate, a mound of peas and what I guess had been the cause of the fishy smell in the apartment. He had earphones in and hadn’t noticed us entering. Stepping forward to help, my shadow fell across the floor at his feet, causing him to falter from his haunched position and to land on his ass among the wreckage of his meal.
“Holy shit! Who the fuck are you?” The blonde asked, ripping the earphones from his ears and scurrying to push himself up from the floor, taking two steps back so his ass was pressed against the sink. A hint of fear gleamed in his blue eyes and I hurried to assure him that I wasn’t some stranger breaking into his home.
“I’m your new roommate, Milo.” I offered, reaching out my hand. He looked at it, then slowly raked his eyes up my body until they met mine. He considered me for a moment, tipping his head from side to side, before a slow smile grew on his face and his blue eyes took on a sudden brightness that hadn’t been present a moment before.
“Oh shit! Marcus told me you were coming tomorrow. I would have cleared up a bit if I had known you were moving in today. I’m Branson, or Bran, whatever works for you.”
Damn, his accent was sexy. There was no denying that there was a certain charm to the English accent - at least I presumed his was an English accent. I had very little experience with accents though, it sounded a little like James Bond and I knew he was English. Or was he Scottish? Well now I wasn’t sure.
“You’re from England?” My sister asked, a note of wonder in her voice.
“Yep! Born and raised. What gave me away?” He winked at Mia and I turned my head to face her, watching a blush creep up her cheeks. Oh, look, my new housemate is a flirt.
“It’s really nice to meet you, Branson. This is my little sister, Mia.” I knew she would hate the fact that I threw in the little, but I needed my new roomie to know what’s what. Mia stepped closer to me, accidentally kicking me in the shin as she did. I muttered a curse under my breath but kept my focus on the man in front of me.
“It’s good to meet you both and welcome to your new home. I promise, for the most part I am pretty clean and tidy. You just caught me at the tail end of a bad day, which I was trying to improve by enjoying a nice meal and a night spent lounging on the sofa in my underwear.” He gestured down to his pink boxers which I had been trying for the last few minutes not to ogle, but now that he was actively drawing my attention in their direction, were hard to avoid.
Next to me, Mia stifled a giggle. “I like him, he’s cute.”
“Mia!” I chastised.
“Aww shit, Mia. Now you’re making me blush. I should put some clothes on though, my mum would be horrified to know I greeted you in my undies.”
Mum. Undies. That accent, why did he have to sound like that .
Branson gestured behind us, towards where I knew the bedrooms were. “Mia, lovely to meet you, sure I will see you around. And I guess I will see you later, roomie.” With that, he hurried down the hallway. Out of the corner of my eye I could see my sister watching me with a huge smirk on her face.
I rolled my eyes in response. Having lived my entire twenty four years in a house with only a father I avoided and my sister, in a space big enough for at least ten people, this houseshare business was about to be a whole new experience.
It turned out that living with Branson was indeed an experience. He was a whirlwind and I found myself happier than I had been in an exceptionally long time.
After two weeks together, we'd fallen easily into a routine - sharing one bathroom made that a necessity, especially when we were both rushing out to work in the morning. But it was never stifling having him in my space. In fact, I really enjoyed it. I liked coming home to him, cooking for us (I used the term lightly as neither of us had many cooking skills) and some nights sitting together in front of the TV.
Branson did most of the talking and I offered small titbits about my day and my life. But mostly, I listened and laughed and felt grateful that I'd finally gotten out from under my father’s thumb.
Today was laundry day, my least favourite chore of the week. I kicked the door open and jostled the laundry basket in my hand while fumbling to close it. The washing machine and dryers were located in the basement of the building, and I was trying to get down; with the lift out of order, it was a pain lugging large loads of washing up and down the three flights of stairs to our apartment.
I tossed the pile of washing onto the sofa then got to folding it. The sound of the shower pump rumbled through the apartment, signalling Branson's return from his weekly game of touch rugby in the local park.
Folding each item methodically and placing them into a neat pile, I was down to a final few pieces when my eyes snagged on a royal blue lace garment that I didn’t recognise. Holding it between my fingers, my cheeks heated when realisation hit. A jock strap. A lacey blue jockstrap. There was only one person this could belong to. The same person I had been trying to think about in a platonic way since we’d first met. He'd told me a week or so after I'd moved in that he was gay, and it didn't help my little blossoming crush knowing that maybe he could return the feeling. Platonic, Milo! No hitting on your roommate.
But fuck me, if picturing Branson in this was not exceedingly difficult to avoid. I bet he’d look fucking incredible, the dark blue stark against his pale skin, the straps hugging his lean hips, the lace cupping his cock. My pulse raced at the picture in my mind and I ran the fabric through my fingers, liking the way the smooth fabric felt.
“What you got there, roomie?”
I snapped out of my lustful haze and dangled the jock from one finger, turning to face Branson. By the burning in my cheeks, I knew my face was bright red, the flush spreading down my neck and I was also sporting a half chub behind my grey sweats.
To add fuel to the already burning flames within me, Branson raised one eyebrow and shot a wicked smile my way. He was dressed in a white tank top and small orange shorts. The artist in me took in his clear expanse of skin and wondered if he'd ever let me mark him. With my tattoo gun, obviously.
“Oh, um, I think some of your washing got mixed up with mine again.” I tossed it to him and he caught it, raising it up before shoving it into his pocket.
“Oh shit, sorry. Thank fuck it didn’t turn all your whites blue. Had that happen to me before with my red one, everything was pink after. August was so pissed, even though I think he looks good in pink. Though the pink was not even and they were his work shirts and now I’m rambling again. Got any plans for the rest of the day, Milo?”
I shook my head, my mouth too dry to answer. I was still trying to remove the lusty thoughts from my mind and follow along with his rapidly changing line of conversation. Branson tipped his head to the side, scrutinising me as he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. “You okay? You’re very flushed.” The glint in his eye told me he knew exactly where my thoughts had drifted too.
I nodded again.
“Great! How about we order pizza and binge The Vampire Diaries ? I need my Damon fix. That man could bite me any day. I mean feed from me, not kill me. I read that vampire bites can be very pleasurable.”
My pulse steadied and I chuckled, delighting in the openness and pure goodness of my new friend. “Sounds perfect, Bran. Let me clear this all away and then I will order the pizza. You line up the next episode.”
“Thank you, Miley. You’re the best roommate. Don’t tell August.” And then he winked at me before walking away. And I swooned. Like a lovesick teenager, I fucking swooned.