Chapter 4 #2
“It’s fucking hot here,” he muttered, pulling at the white tank top under his button-down to get some air.
Hanna stayed perched at the doorway, rotating the flower in her hands as he fished through his bag for a t-shirt.
He popped two Tums and held the bottle out to her, but she shook her head.
She watched him peel the plastic off the pack of cigarettes and smack the carton against his palm, then tuck it into his back pocket.
“You good, Arizona?”
Hanna’s eyes snapped to his, her head pounding. “Yeah.”
“You wanna try again?”
She held up the flower, her fingertips brushing the soft fuzz on the stem.
“My mom loved sunflowers.”
Milo winced. “Ah, shit—”
“You didn’t know,” she said.
“I feel like I’m just a walking trigger for you,” he said, laughing.
“At least you’re charming about it.” She leaned against the doorframe, setting the flower on the desk by the door.
“I don’t bite,” he said and gestured to the rest of the room.
“That’s not what I heard,” she said, her eyes grazing over his. He glanced at her quickly and shoved his energy drinks into the mini fridge. A sinister grin tugged at his lips.
“I’ve had very few complaints, Hanna,” he mumbled.
Milo slid between her and the door, making no small show of tapping her hip as he opened it and paused in the doorway. She caught her breath, unprepared for the contact. He turned toward her and lowered his voice.
"What's the saying? Don't knock it 'til you try it?"
He pulled her forward into the hall and reached behind her to close the door before making his way back toward the elevator, leaving her standing in front of his hotel room. She shook her head.
Cocky bastard.
She followed him through the hallway and into the elevator, the weight of the day starting to push her down again. Or perhaps it was the several gallons of whiskey she’d imbibed since three in the afternoon.
Who could say?
Hanna leaned against the wall as her phone started buzzing.
DO NOT ANSWER
I just wish we could have a mature conversation :(
“Nice,” Hanna muttered, shoving the phone back in her pocket. It was the emoji that broke her, in the end, not the sentiment.
Her throat tightened and the heat of it stung her teeth. God, she was so over panicking. She was so over Logan. She was so over everyone.
“You good?” Milo asked, moving closer.
She was not good. She wasn’t even neutral. She was in a downward spiral, and Milo’s proximity was the final push. She leaned forward and brushed her fingertips against that ridiculous jawline, sending him back a foot.
“What are you—”
“You said not to knock it. I’m trying it,” she hissed, leaning forward again.
His eyes searched hers, unsure what to make of the advance.
She walked her fingers down his neck, tapping stubbled muscles as she slid to his t-shirt.
She could see the war waging within him.
He was trying to decide between the smart thing and the booze whispering, why the hell not.
“Hanna,” he said, a warning. She leaned closer, pushing up on her toes.
“Hmm?”
She lingered for a brief moment, giving him an out, and exhaled. The up-close heat of him mingled with his cologne—a much more intoxicating blend than she'd prepared for—and she wondered if she would smell like him in the morning.
God, it was a bad idea.
But Cami would be proud.
Hanna moved a millimeter closer, his mouth hovering just a sudden stop away from hers. Before she could close the distance, he twisted away, darting to his side of the elevator and rubbing the back of his neck.
Hanna laughed. “All bark, no bite, huh?”
He glared. “You’re drunk, Arizona.”
She shrugged. “And you’re not?”
“Not that drunk,” he said.
“Ouch,” Hanna whispered.
“That’s not what I meant,” he insisted as the elevator jolted toward the rooftop.
“Don’t worry about it,” she mumbled, staring at the panel of buttons as they flickered out, one by one, racing toward the bar.
She drew in a stilted breath, her face flushing with that insufferable shame she couldn’t seem to shake around him.
She was stupid for even suggesting it; they’d both regret it for longer than the list of reasons she kept tucked in the back of her mind. And it wouldn’t fix anything—
Before she could finish her thought, her back was pressed up against the ice-cold handrail attached, one tattooed arm pinned to the wall beside her head, the other pulling at her chin.
“You’re a fucking mess,” Milo whispered, his lips brushing her jaw.
“Assho—” she muttered, but he cut her off with a thumb on her lip. He leaned into her, their bodies pressed together as the elevator came to a halt.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”
“Milo—”
He grinned, his eyes sparkling as the doors slid open and he moved away from her.
“Can dish it out…”
He disappeared into the crowd, leaving her to wander in a daze to Sara. She leaned over a table and tasted Matty’s martini.
“You’re back!”
Hanna pursed her lips, the buzzing in her ears wildly different from what she’d felt earlier. Logan eyed her from across the table, but she happily ignored him and rested her fingertips on her lips, pretending to listen to Matty and… Brendon? Brandon? Shit.
Before she could ask Sara, the tattooed hand that had just pinned her against the elevator wall dropped a glass of golden whiskey between them.
“The Society welcomes you,” Milo murmured before tucking himself into the other side of the table.
Sara didn’t say one word, but her eyebrows certainly said plenty.