Chapter Thirteen Milo
Thirteen
Milo
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…
Fuck, that hungry look in her eyes.
Fuck, that perfect pink hue yet to fully leave her cheeks.
Fuck, that sweater hanging off her left shoulder and the lacy white bra strap made visible.
And, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck me for not being able to stay away longer than a few days.
What Prue didn’t ask, thankfully, was how that game of truth or dare ended. Because it rhymes with freesome and I don’t know why, but confessing that to her would feel damn near mortifying — as fun as it was at the time.
“Okay, you first,” she says keenly, rubbing her hands together. “Truth or dare.”
I’ve always been a dare sort of guy. I figured, up until now, that was the safer option. But this game feels different. Prue asked me to go easy on her, so I will. “Truth.”
“How many people have you had sex with?”
I recoil, as if she’d slapped me. “Jesus, Killer! Buy a guy dinner first.”
She giggles, covering her mouth and nose with her palm as the noise indelicately falls out of her. She’s a little tipsy, for sure. “What? You said truth!”
“And that’s the first question that comes to mind, huh? Dirty girl.”
Her bottom lip flicks out as she releases it from between her teeth. “Stop dodging the question, Milo.”
I could lie. I could tell her a lowball number, the number I had when I stopped keeping track. I could but I don’t want to. I want her truths, and it’s not fair to give her lies in return. “I don’t know, honestly. You can ask another question if you’d like.”
“You don’t know, or you don’t want to tell me?”
I wince, keeping hesitant eyes on her when I confess a partial truth. “I don’t know, as in, I’ve lost count.”
The tendon in the side of Prue’s throat jumps, her eyes blinking rapidly before her stare falls to her lap. Interestingly, though, her curious smile doesn’t falter—she’s not disappointed, I guess. “Okay.”
“If I had to guess,” I offer, “somewhere around two hundred, maybe.”
“Oh my god!” That small smile blooms into a wide grin, accompanied by a bubbly laugh. “Wow!”
I cannot help but smile at her shock and awe, scratching at my brow as I consider every possible reasoning behind that wow. “I know it’s high but—”
“Truth.” She cuts me off, biting that bottom lip again as her eyes lock in on my hand flexing over my knee, and she slowly brings her can to her mouth for a languid sip.
“Okay, Killer, let’s have it. What’s your number?”
“Hmm?” She nearly chokes on her sip of beer. “You can’t repeat questions, right? That’s a rule. I think that’s a rule.”
“You said you’d never played.”
“Well, it’s a rule.” She begins swaying softly side to side, looking everywhere except for my direction.
“Prudence…C’mon. There’s no embarrassment here.”
She sucks in a big gulp of air, then swallows. I almost let her off the hook, but what sort of game will it be if we can’t even make it through one round? What sort of friends are we if we cannot be honest with each other? “Tell me, Killer. What’s the body count?”
She stills, tilting her face to the sky as her cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink.
“Prue…”
“Zero,” she whispers, her eyes shut as she presses her chin in between two bent knees.
I roll my eyes, fighting back a laugh unsuccessfully. “God, you’re annoying. Just—”
“Milo,” Prue interrupts. Her eyes skate across the dock, then to the lantern, then, finally, back to me. Hesitantly, she speaks again. “It’s zero.”
There is no way, I almost say. But then I see her bravado finally give way, her projected confidence slips for half a second as her eyes communicate the truth she seems awfully afraid to admit. She’s embarrassed. “Oh…Okay.”
“On that note, I think it’s past my bedtime.” Prue brushes her hands against the denim covering her thighs, moving as if she’s going to stand.
“No, no.” I reach out and grab her arm, stilling her. Our eyes both drop to where my hand is clasped around her wrist before I retreat and she lowers to the dock. “Don’t go,” I tell her, fighting back a thousand, if not a million questions. “Sorry, I just—You are…You don’t look like—”
“I don’t look like a virgin?” She scoffs, tugging her hand away. “Tell me, Milo, what does a virgin look like exactly?”
Not someone who licks their lips like you did the other day when I knelt beside you. Not someone who practically purred when I brushed my nose against their temple. Not someone who looks at me like I’m their next meal and then coyly, casually tosses me aside. Not…you.
I have to shake myself to stop those images replaying in my mind. Every flick of her tongue, every quickened breath, every blush of her cheeks I’ve collected in this past week have all come into my thoughts when fucking my fist the last few nights.
I never intended for Prue to join me, alone in my bed.
But I didn’t valiantly fight the thoughts of her away either.
Now, I know, it’s going to be even worse.
I’m a bastard, a damned bastard for it, but, god, the thought of her being so inexperienced is having an effect on me.
My hands itch to be the one to touch her everywhere she’s yet to be touched.
I can practically feel my tongue swelling in my mouth, begging to be let loose on her.
It’s greedy and possessive and archaic and I hate it. I hate myself for it.
“Let’s just…keep going.” I finish my second beer off, hoping that helps fill this need inside my chest that feels cracked open and emptied out. So far, it hasn’t.
“Fine.” Her brows jump in challenge as her eyes harden on my face. “Your turn.”
“Truth,” I answer, pointing to one of my cans. “Could you?” She nods, handing it over.
“Have you ever been with a virgin?”
I still, attempting not to react one way or another. “No,” I answer plainly, avoiding eye contact with her before I take a sip from the can nearly shaking in my grip.
Why would she ask me that? Why would she want to know? Why is she looking at me like she’s holding the reins?
“Dare,” she replies, apparently satisfied by my answer.
“Um.” I swallow, then clear my throat. “Uh…” Thinking of a dare other than climb into my lap is proving incredibly, increasingly difficult.
“Milo?” she says after a few long seconds of nothing.
“I’m thinking!” Fuck, am I thinking …Thinking about what that white lace strap leads to. Thinking about how she defines virginity. Thinking about what she’s done, or not done. Thinking about how I want to be the one to do those things. Thinking and thinking and— “Fuck.”
“What?” She pulls back, making that fucking sweater fall even farther down her arm.
Since when is a shoulder capable of sending me into cardiac arrest?
Because I feel like my heart is going to beat out of my chest. “Are you okay?” she asks as I paw at my shirt with a closed fist, trying to rub the feeling loose.
“I don’t know,” I tell her, laughing without humor. “I do not know…”
“Is this like the other day? With the phone call?”
I shake my head. No, Prue, this is not another panic attack, but thanks for the reminder that you witnessed that.
Though, actually, maybe it is? I’m not sure.
This is new. Why is everything new in this woman’s presence?
“No.” I offer her a pathetic, exhausted sigh as I take in the sight of her, disheveled and looking at me like she wants to help put me out of my misery. “No, it’s not.”
“Then what is it?”
“You.” I give her another truth.
She rolls her eyes. “Please…What did I do?”
“I think I need to go….” I should have stayed away. Being in her orbit is impossible right now.
“Dare,” she says, grabbing my hand as I stand. She rises too, lifting her face up toward me as those big eyes pin my feet to the ground, and her thumb seems to unconsciously rub my wrist.
“Prue, I should—”
“Dare me,” she commands in a near-whisper, her voice wavering despite the confidence in those words.
“Prue, this isn’t—”
“Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind,” she says, her tone not matching the hurt behind her eyes. “Or am I just less desirable to you now that—”
“It’s not like that,” I interrupt. “It’s…
” How do I explain these feelings I don’t think I should be having to the person I’m having them about ?
What is a cool, chill, cavalier way of saying that I’m in way too deep?
That the waves are starting to crash over me.
That the ivy is growing, too quick to tame.
That my walls keep crumbling around her and I’m afraid that I’m too tired to rebuild them.
No, that’s no good.
“ Killer… ” I beg as she goes onto the tips of her toes, her free hand finding my shoulder and wrapping around to the back of my neck.
“What I’m about to say has nothing to do with you,” I swear to her, before my eyes drift close.
“It’s just…” Fuck her grip in my hair feels so, so right.
“I don’t do anything but casual. I never will. ”
“And?” she whispers. Her fingertips dig into my scalp and my eyes fight not to roll back as soon as I open them. “Did you hear me ask for more?”
“No.” I will have to process later, when my hands aren’t grasping at her hips, why that stung a little.
“Milo, you wanted to kiss me,” she whispers, her parted lips brushing mine so tenderly, I gasp into her mouth.
“That was before,” I reply, mindlessly. “Before we were friends.”
“Yes, and I need you to be my friend,” she tells me, kissing the edge of my jaw. “I think I…I think I’d like your help.”
“Fuck,” I whisper back, my thumbs hooking into her jeans’ belt loops and tugging her closer. “What does that look like?” My voice is an entranced, far-off entity separate from me entirely.
“It looks like you ”—she takes my hand off her hip and places it on her neck—“showing me ”—she kisses me again, too quickly for me to count it as the real deal—“what I like….” She searches my face until her eyes find mine. “What I need to know…”
“I can do that,” I agree, nodding before she pulls my hair, forcing me to straighten.
“No strings,” she says, holding my gaze. “No feelings.”