Chapter 4 #2
"You don't work here."
"I'll watch it anyway. Go read your messages."
I grab the phone and duck behind the shelves.
***
Back at the apartment, Benji's bedroom door is shut. The heavy bass line of some electronic track vibrates through the wall, which means he's in a mood I'll need to check on in an hour.
I sit cross-legged on my bed, scrolling back through the day's messages. I pick the ones that are safe enough to screenshot for the Swipe Squad group chat. Safe enough meaning: no mention of my stomach, my slick, or the word useful.
I pick the hot stuff. The hands on my waist, the I'm not in a rush with you.
The things that will make Jude scream and Benji pretend to be unimpressed.
The parts where he said anyone who treated you like you were there to be useful didn't deserve to touch you stay in my camera roll.
Sharing the heat is easy, but sharing the tenderness feels like handing someone a key to a room I didn't know I had.
I drop three screenshots into the chat and wait.
Jude: OH MY GOD
Jude: MILO REYES
Jude: I AM LOOKING RESPECTFULLY AT THESE DMs AND THIS MAN WANTS TO DEVOUR YOU
Jude: MY APP. I TOLD ALL OF YOU. I TOLD EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU AND YOU DOUBTED ME
Benji: his grammar is too good for a hookup app. i don't trust it
Jude: HIS GRAMMAR IS GOOD BECAUSE HE'S A QUALITY ALPHA, BENJAMIN
Benji: nobody who capitalizes their texts on knotme is normal.
Shay: ??
Soren:
I smile at Soren's heart. He already knows more than the chat does, and he's not making it a thing.
Jude: MILO. Details. NOW. Is he hot? How big? What's his knot situation? Don't be coy
Milo: i don't know what he looks like, it's anonymous
Jude: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT HE LOOKS LIKE
Milo: his profile pic is a barbecue photo from far away. i can see that he's big and has nice arms but that's it
Benji: a barbecue photo. he's definitely 40
Jude: big with nice arms??? milo that's ALL THE INFORMATION I NEED. lock it down. LOCK. IT. DOWN.
Milo: it's a hookup guys it's not that deep
Benji: you screenshotted a man's DMs in the chat, it's that deep
I close the app because Benji is annoyingly perceptive. I swap back to my DMs. Anonymous has sent two messages since the screenshots.
Anonymous: How was the rest of your shift?
Anonymous: Thinking about you behind that desk, trying to concentrate. I like that I distracted you.
My face warms. I pull the blankets up over my legs—not a full nest, just piled and tucked around me the way I like them—and type back.
Milo: you VERY much distracted me. i almost scanned a textbook upside down
Anonymous: Worth it?
Milo: ask me again when my boxers are dry
I cannot fucking believe I typed that. I watch the three dots pulse and press my hot face into the pillow.
Anonymous: Jesus, sweetheart. You can't say things like that and expect me not to think about it.
Milo: who said i don't want you thinking about it
Where is this coming from? Who is this version of me? Maybe this is what I'm actually like when nobody's watching.
I stare at the ceiling. My heart is pounding. My boxers are ruined. And the thing I want most in the world right now isn't another filthy message—it's his face. His body, in front of me, close enough to scent.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I type.
Milo: i want to meet you
I hit send and immediately stop breathing.
The typing indicator appears. Disappears.
Appears again. The silence stretches long enough that my stomach starts to sink.
Maybe that was too much. Maybe the whole point of this for him is that it stays behind a screen, anonymous and safe, and I just blew it by wanting more than I'm supposed to.
The dots pulse again. Stop. Start. He's typing and deleting. Whatever he's trying to say, it's costing him something.
Anonymous: Yeah?
Not a no, but not the instant yes I was hoping for. Something careful in it, like he's standing at the edge of something and looking down.
Milo: yeah. i want to hear your voice. i want to know if you smell as good as i think you do
Another pause. Longer this time. My chest aches with it.
Anonymous: I want that too. More than you know.
Anonymous: I just want to make sure you're sure. Because once we do this, it's real. And I don't want to be someone who disappoints you.
My breath catches. There's something raw in that. Something that doesn't sound like a guy playing it cool on a hookup app. It sounds like a person who's scared of the same thing I'm scared of—that the real version of them won't measure up.
Milo: you couldn't disappoint me if you tried
Milo: i have this dinner thing friday with my friend's family but i could meet up after? like 9ish?
The dots appear instantly this time. Whatever wall he hit, he's past it.
Anonymous: Friday works. I'll send you a spot. Somewhere public, low-key. And if you get there and decide you want to leave, you leave. No pressure, no expectations.
Milo: you're too good at this
Anonymous: At what?
Milo: making me feel safe
I set the phone on the nightstand and press my hands over my face. Friday. I'm meeting Anonymous on Friday. After dinner at Ava's, where Callum will be. Looking at me with those blue-green eyes and saying hey, Milo like my name is something warm in his mouth.
I'm going to sit across from the man I've wanted since the first time he said my name, and then leave to go meet a stranger from a hookup app. That's my Friday night.
My phone buzzes.
Anonymous: Hey. Have you eaten today?
I stare at the message.
Four words. A basic question. But the way it lands hits me right in the chest. The automatic, reflexive caring, like checking whether I've eaten is just hardwired into him.
It sounds like someone. The gentle assumption that I probably haven't eaten. It reminds me of—
Ava? No, Ava would say did you eat or did you just inhale crackers again. This is quieter. Like a person who checks on people for a living and can't turn it off.
Milo: had leftover pasta earlier
It's a lie. I had half a sleeve of crackers and a string cheese while arguing with Benji about dish soap. But Anonymous doesn't need to know that.
Anonymous: Good. Take care of yourself tonight, sweetheart. I'll talk to you tomorrow.
Milo: goodnight anonymous alpha
Anonymous: Goodnight. Sleep well.
I set the phone down. The screen dims, then goes dark.
Benji's music has stopped. Outside, a car door closes. The bed smells like clean sheets and the cinnamon rolls I made this morning. No one else.
Friday. The dinner. Callum handing me a plate I didn't ask for, the way he does every time, his voice low and easy. Eat something, Milo.
My chest aches. I reach for the empty side of the bed, spreading my fingers across the cold sheet.