Rowan #2
“I know, right? How could we have ever been so blind? Not to mention the fact that he was living with Ray at the time, who was basically funding his life. He thought himself a fancy lawyer, grades above us plebeians, but in reality, he was just an assistant at a tiny firm. I’m still not over the fact that I fell for his act for so long,” he mutters.
“I’m guessing you told Ray about the cheating bastard you both were seeing and kicked him to the curb?”
“Damn right I did! I sent Ray a scrapbook of Andrew and me together, along with a fruit basket, an apology, and an invitation out to lunch. Food makes everything better,” Milo explains, like it’s the most logical answer to any dilemma.
“So you took him out to lunch, and after bonding over mutual heartbreak, he took one look at you and knew you were born for the limelight, and the rest was history?”
Milo laughs lightheartedly. I smile along, happy that I’m able to wrangle the musical sound out of him when he’s reminiscing about unpleasant memories.
“Just about. We became good friends, and he stumbled across some music I was working on when he came over to visit one day and demanded I sing it for him. If you can’t tell, he’s pretty strong-willed when he gets an idea in his head.”
“You don’t say,” I deadpan.
Milo laughs again. “Why, Rowan Rangecroft, is that a joke I hear? I never thought I’d live to see the day!”
“Again, we met less than a week ago.”
“And yet it feels like I’ve known you my entire life.”
There’s something in Milo’s tone that has me peeking a glance at him as I pull up to a red light, and my heart stops in my throat. He’s still facing me and smiling brighter than the fucking Empire State Building.
The view of the entire city sparkling during a night walk on the Brooklyn Bridge couldn’t compare to the beauty of the man beside me.
A horn honk has me facing the front again as I roll the car forward. I force myself not to even attempt to glance at him again, because getting into a car accident is not on the agenda for tonight.
Neither is developing this fluttering attraction to the one man I really shouldn’t be crushing on, yet here we are anyway.
“So you started working with Ray. Is that why you two never dated?” I ask as I pull into his building’s underground parking, hoping that talking about how bad an idea mixing business with pleasure is will finally knock some sense into me.
Milo just laughs. “No. He’s into assholes, remember? And I’m not one.”
“No, you are not.”
That has him chuckling again. “Besides, he’s not really my type either.”
My pulse kicks up a notch.
Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask.
“And what is your type?”
Goddammit!
“Well, I like guys who are bigger than me. Someone you can really cuddle into, you know? Someone who’s not blabbing my ear off like Ray since I’m a bit of a chatterbox myself. Someone who’s easygoing and makes me feel comfortable. Oh, and bonus points if they share their food with me!”
The excitement in his voice rings in the car—which is entirely too small, by the way. Why have I never realized that before?—and fades slowly as if realizing he’s describing me.
It’s quiet as I park in one of his designed spots and turn off the engine. My hand returns to the steering wheel, and my eyes are still looking straight ahead, out the windshield.
I’m afraid to look at Milo. I’m afraid of what I’ll find there. This line of conversation was supposed to get my head straight, not entangle me even more in this mess of emotions he’s evoking in me.
But we can only sit here for so long, and I still have a job to do, so I turn to face the music. I brace myself and tell myself to keep things professional, but the expression Milo’s wearing shatters all my resolve.
He’s watching me curiously with bright, sparkly eyes and a tint of color on his cheeks that takes my breath away. The air is still, and the only sound is our breathing. Mine is getting noticeably harsher as the seconds go by.
Through the faint lights of the underground parking garage, I can see the storm raging in Milo’s grays. I wonder if he’s thinking what a terrible idea this is—it’s a train wreck waiting to happen, I can already see it—and yet I’m still toeing the tracks like I want to play this game of chicken.
“I should take you upstairs and let you get some rest,” I grit, using every ounce of willpower inside me to say it. The silence is broken, and I still hear the train horn tooting in my head.
“You can stay the night,” Milo says softly.
“No, I shouldn’t. Besides, you have a call to make, so I should leave you to that.”
“Right, I did promise to.” Milo’s expression falls, and he chews on his lips. He’s nervous about something, and my gut tells me it’s the prospect of calling his old bandmate.
I knew there was something strange about how Milo acted with Tate, and now I’m thinking the strangeness includes the entire band.
But again, none of my business.
“I’ll walk you upstairs,” I say again, more firmly this time. I need to get out of here while I still have my wits about me.
“Stay, please.”
The plea comes out in a whisper.
I’m not sure if it was intentional on Milo’s part, but a hint of vulnerability slips through, making it impossible to deny him.
A flash of memory pops into my head of the first day I met him. Of Ray showing me around his place and emphasizing that I didn’t have to stay the night if I didn’t want to.
I could leave if I desired.
Staying was never the problem.
It’s the fact that I don’t want to leave. I want to stay by his side and hold him until all his troubles drift away.
I can’t do that, so I settle for agreeing to stay the night and keep him company.
From a respectable distance, of course.