Chapter 12
Milo
“You know, Milo,” Ray said, raising his glass to the rest of the table, “in all the years I’ve known you, this is the first idea you’ve had that actually has a chance of succeeding.”
Everyone else raised their glasses, but Milo scowled.
“That’s rude,” he said. “I befriended you, didn’t I? Are you calling yourself a bad idea?”
He knew he looked smug as he stared at his best friend, waiting for his reply. But sweet, sweet Ray just sucked in a breath and clutched his nonexistent pearls.
“There’s just no outtalking you.” Ray shook his head. “You should have been a lawyer.”
“Yeah, sure. I was thinking about what to do with all the extra money I had lying around but then I thought…why go to school when you can use it to not starve?”
“You are a very clever boy, Michael,” Glenn said, patting him on the arm, and Milo clasped his hand over Glenn’s wrinkly, paper-thin skin.
He looked around the table and felt warmth in his heart that transcended just being around good friends. Now that he knew about the hoard thing, it made so much more sense. His refusal to let his people suffer. His sacrifices, the things he gave up to help virtual strangers.
They belonged to him. His dragon heart had picked them and latched on.
“By the old gods! There.” Shelly pointed at his face.
“What?” Milo jumped in his seat, raising a hand to wipe at his face, convinced he had sauce all over from the appetizers.
“The eyes!” Shelly said. “You had dragon eyes for a second!”
“I did?” he asked and Shelly nodded.
“I didn’t see,” Clarence said.
“It was definitely there,” Shelly said.
“What were you thinking about?” Ray asked.
Milo gulped. There was absolutely no way he was getting all mushy and emotional in public. “Just…normal stuff. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“You sure?” Ethel asked, and he squinted at her before nodding.
“Yup. I clearly have zero control over this thing. Are they still there?”
He locked eyes with everyone in turn and watched them all shake their heads.
“It was just a flash,” Shelly said. “But very pretty.”
“What did they look like?” he asked, wanting to confirm he hadn’t been seeing things.
“Silver. Like a starburst. They looked almost glowy. Really, really stunning.”
“Well, thank you.” Milo felt a flush creep up his face. “Let me just go to the bathroom real quick.”
“Awwww, we made him squirm.” Ethel cackled and Milo threw his napkin at her in passing.
“Shush, you old bat.”
“Who you calling a bat, lizard boy?” she bit back, making the table erupt in laughter as Milo walked away shaking his head.
His dragon truly had questionable taste if this was what he chose to care about over everything else. A bunch of oldies getting on his last nerve, insulting him at every turn. Seriously.
He walked through the posh restaurant, the sophisticated color palette of fifty shades of oatmeal making him feel way underdressed for the place.
Every other person he had walked by had at least a shirt and tie on, if not a full suit.
The women were all dressed in pretty blouses and dresses too.
He’d put on his best pair of jeans and the nicest shirt he had, but he didn’t feel like it was enough.
Whatever, he wouldn’t let that ruin his night. Eating fancy food on Ray’s fancy finance dude dime was always a good time.
He walked into the bathroom and stopped in front of the sink, leaning against it and staring at himself in the mirror. His eyes were back to their usual blue color, his inner dragon stubbornly hiding from him yet again.
Pretty, Shelly had said. Stunning.
Did Rowan think so too?
Did he look at them and think of starbursts the way Shelly did? He didn’t know why it mattered, but it did, and he hoped the answer was yes.
He tried bringing back that feeling of belonging, of ownership, of quiet, self-imposed responsibility for his hoard.
But while the love he had for them burned bright, the dragon stayed quiet.
As if the only way he chose to come out was without Milo’s control, without his explicit desire to bring him forward.
It was frustrating.
He wanted to finally see who he truly was.
“We need to stop meeting in bathrooms.” A voice came from behind him and Milo screamed like a pterodactyl, twirling in place and bouncing like a pinball, knocking his hip into the sink, his shoulder into the hand dryer, which started whirring, and finally his head into the open window.
He flailed his arms around like a windmill, grappling for something to steady him before finally finding something warm and holding on for dear life.
He steadied himself and looked down at his pale fingers digging into tan, hairy forearms scattered with ruby red scales.
He knew those forearms.
But he couldn’t think because his fingernails were elongated. Digging into skin. Sharp and silver. His eyes went wide.
“I GOT CLAWS!!” he yelled, lifting one hand and shoving it into Rowan’s face, making him go cross-eyed.
“Dragons tend to, yes,” Rowan said.
“Yes, but this is the first time I’m seeing mine. Look how cool!” He shook his hand in front of Rowan’s nose. “D’ya like ’em?”
“Yes,” Rowan said simply, and Milo paused, a record scratching in his mind as he tried to comprehend what had just happened.
“Oh,” he said stupidly, heart hammering in his chest.
Rowan liked his claws. Did Rowan also like…him?
It had long been established that Milo found Rowan attractive, but he didn’t know if the inverse was true. Finding out that Rowan wasn’t a soulless asshole also hadn’t helped his building crush.
“That’s a rare color. It narrows our options for your breed significantly.”
“OH!” Milo said. “That’s what you meant!”
“Sure.” Rowan’s brows drew together. “What did you think?”
“Nothing!” Milo’s chest deflated and his claws opted to exit stage left too. He flipped his hands over. “They’re gone.”
He swallowed his disappointment and looked up, finally realizing they were standing super close to each other.
Like, close enough that Rowan’s breath was tickling his lashes.
Close enough that every inhale made his chest brush Rowan’s boring brown tie.
Close enough that he could see Rowan’s dragon eyes looking back at him.
Bright red. Like a supernova. So pretty.
He reached up without thinking, tracing a finger around Rowan’s temple, not touching but hovering above the skin. Heat radiated from it, begging him to make contact, but Milo held himself back.
Rowan sucked in a breath, and the hands holding Milo’s waist, keeping him steady, tightened.
Milo swayed in place for a second, the action pushing him farther into Rowan’s personal space. His smoky scent enveloped him, making it hard to think about anything but how good he looked and smelled.
Milo’s stomach tightened with an arousal he couldn’t fight and his eyes dropped to Rowan’s lips on instinct.
Stern and tight and rarely smiling among the hairs of his perfectly trimmed beard, they looked inviting now.
Soft and welcoming. And Milo thought about how they would taste, all the red flavors rushing to mind. Strawberries and watermelon and candy.
His mouth watered and his dick hardened.
He leaned in and Rowan didn’t pull back. His fingers only tightened, feeling like they were pulling Milo in as his own gaze dropped to Milo’s mouth.
“Can I—” Milo said.
The door to the bathroom opened and Rowan jumped away from him like he’d been burned.
“What’s taking so long?” someone asked, and Milo stumbled with the loss of Rowan in his orbit, catching himself on the wall and looking toward the door.
The man standing there looked like Rowan in the future. He squinted.
“Did I time travel?” he asked dumbly as the man walked into the cramped room and stood next to Rowan. “The hell?”
“This is my father,” Rowan said to Milo, and the words hit like a cold shower.
“Oh…” Milo said. “That makes much more sense than time travel.”
“It sure does,” Rowan’s dad said, still staring at him.
Milo straightened up, hoping his face was giving “totally normal person your son happens to know” rather than “secretly a dragon, had no clue, but totally almost kissed your son in a restaurant bathroom” vibes.
“Hi,” he said, extending his hand and wincing when the voice carried more than he thought it would. “I’m Milo.”
A gigantic hand clasped his own, warm and rough against his skin. Was his palm clammy? What if he popped claws now, of all times? He looked down quickly, seeing his normal nails and sighing in relief until he noticed a trail of pale silver scales barely visible under the cuff of his sleeve.
He pulled his arm back roughly, clasping his hands behind his back and hoping that was the only place the scales were visible.
“I’m Rupert,” the man said. “Rowan’s father.”
“Nice to meet you.” Milo was proud of his polished people skills.
“Likewise,” Rupert said, turning to Rowan. “How do you two know each other?”
“Um…” Rowan reached for the collar of his shirt, fiddling with it.
Milo watched him swallow hard, watched the way his eyes never met his dad’s.
He recalled the conversation he’d had with Rowan about family expectations and the struggle to meet them.
Rowan seemed larger than life to Milo, but here, in front of his father, it almost felt like it was Milo’s turn to protect him.
He just had zero clue how.
Lie?
Act dumb?
Or tell half a truth that would be believable enough to work while not really answering anything.
“I deliver to your company.” Milo opted for the half-truth. “Food. When they order lunch or snacks and stuff from the new wing place down the street. So we’ve met once or twice.”
“I’ve heard good things about that place,” Rupert said, still looking between them like he wasn’t quite buying the story.
“Best wings ever!” Milo said. “I highly recommend.”
“I’ll have to try them sometime,” Rupert said, and Milo nodded before deciding he should bow out before any more questions were hurled their way. He might make things worse at this rate.
“I have to get back. But lovely to meet you. Bye!”
He booked it out of there before anyone else could say anything to him. Stress, man. He did not do well with stress.
He looked back over his shoulder.
He hoped he had done the right thing.
He hoped Rowan would be okay.