Rowan
Idiot, idiot, idiot .
I’ve spent the last ten minutes pacing my living room, berating myself.
Riley takes great pleasure in calling me an idiot, and I’ve never taken it to heart.
I’m not the smartest Rangecroft, but I always considered myself to have a sound head on my shoulders.
Maybe she’s been right about me all along, because how could I do something as idiotic as kissing my client?
How can I be stupid enough to want to do it again and again? To get hard from the kiss?
Don’t kid yourself. You were hard before he got his lips on you.
I’m mortified by my unprofessionalism. I have half a mind to call Price up and tell him to take me off the job. It would be the right thing to do, but I apparently have stopped giving a fuck about what’s right.
The truth of it all is that I don’t want to stop being Milo’s guard. It’s a good job, well-paying, and Milo isn’t a jerk like some of my previous clients were.
Those are the reasons I’m using to rationalize my emotions, when in reality, I want to stay by Milo’s side.
I want to keep him safe and happy. To help chase away the loneliness of being at the top, because nobody deserves to be alone, least of all Milo, whose job is literally bringing joy to others.
I’m a mess of contradictions, and I’m pissing even myself off, but I can’t escape the desire to see him happy.
We were caught up in the moment, that’s all.
Anyone would have the same reaction as I did if they had someone as hot as Milo on top of them.
He’s undeniably sexy, and it’s been a while since I’ve gotten laid.
So, I take another half hour, or more, to settle myself and calm my head before returning to Milo’s place.
The cut on Milo’s bottom lip comes to mind and has me heading toward the closest pharmacy to buy him some ointment. I doubt he’s thought to put anything on it despite the bleeding, and I know he’s appearing on TV in a few days, so I get something that promotes healing.
I’m hesitant when I arrive at Milo’s building and park. I’m eager to see him again, but what am I supposed to say when I do? How am I supposed to act?
I flop over my steering wheel and stare out the windshield for a sign. None comes, of course, and I know I can’t keep delaying much longer.
Milo is sitting on the giant couch in the living room, staring at the million-dollar view, when the elevator arrives on his penthouse level. He knew I was coming, since he had to buzz me up, but he doesn’t turn around to greet me.
It’s better this way, I tell myself. It doesn’t stop the sting that goes through me. Or the pang in my heart at once again seeing that tiny back all alone on that giant couch.
I silently make my way to him and drop the paper bag from the pharmacy on the couch beside him. He glances at the bag, then looks up at me with big gray eyes that threaten to suck me into their orbit forever.
I have to look away as I explain, “Ointment. For your lip.”
Milo answers with a snort and resumes staring out the window. I stay a respectable distance away from him, but I’m close enough so he knows he’s not alone. I can’t be with him that way, but I can still be here for him.
“We can’t do that again,” I say softly. It earns me a glare from Milo. Gray eyes land on me in a fiery blaze, but I continue, “You know this too. We were both caught up in the moment.”
“Don’t tell me how I feel,” he snarks, rightfully so. I hate when my sisters act like a know-it-all to me, and here I’m doing the same thing.
“You’re right. I was caught up in the moment, and I’m sorry,” I correct myself. Milo’s bottom lip slips under his teeth again, and I have to clasp my hands together to stop myself from freeing his abused lip with my thumb.
“Are you going to quit?” he asks after a minute. His poor lip is all chewed up and red.
I sigh, settle into the space next to him, and try not to take deep breaths of his scent: minty, with the crispiness of fresh apples.
The mint is probably from a recent shower, and the apple, I suspect, soaked through his pores from all the apple cores he’s eaten.
His scent is addicting, which has me breathing even more shallowly.
I grab the paper bag and get the ointment from inside, as well as the travel box of Q-tips I’d purchased.
“I’m not quitting,” I answer as I squeeze some of the ointment onto the Q-tip and smear it over his lips. The pharmacist said this kind was safe if it was consumed, so I don’t hesitate and generously cover his entire lip.
Milo is watching me cautiously while I work and licks his lip when I’m done.
“Don’t eat it,” I chide with a chuckle and reapply the ointment he’s licked off.
“You’re confusing me,” Milo says with a frown. At least he doesn’t try to lick the ointment off again.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “I am, but I’m your bodyguard, and that means there’s a line we can’t cross.”
His brow wrinkles deeply. He opens his mouth to say something, but I continue before he can. “I meant it when I said I liked spending time with you. As a friend. Because that’s all we can ever be.”
He studies my face as if trying to glean something from it. He must find whatever he’s searching for because he’s suddenly smiling again.
At me.
“BFFs?” he says with a now-familiar teasing glint in his eyes.
I laugh. “Sure,” I reply with a shake of my head.
“Speaking of, it’s time to visit my other BFF.
She called earlier, you know? She’s like the devil, appearing when her name is said or thought of.
We’d better get going before she wreaks havoc at the nursing home.
She tends to do that when things don’t go her way.
Or if she’s bored.” Milo uses the back of his hand to cover his mouth like he’s telling me a secret.
He shoots me a wink, then jumps to his feet.
“I’m just gonna get changed really quick. ”
Milo runs to his room to do as he says and comes out in two minutes wearing sweatpants and a hoodie.
“I’m starting to suspect that’s your favorite outfit,” I comment as he runs downstairs.
“It’s comfortable, and I don’t have to worry about creepers taking pictures of my bare skin and spreading it online,” he says with a shrug.
I make a face. “They don’t really do that, do they?”
“They do,” Milo answers gravely. “There was the ankle incident last fall. Someone made a whole collage of just my ankles from different photos, and apparently, that was enough to make the online fans hysterical. Ray told me someone made a fanfic of my ankles as the love interest, and I’m still traumatized.
It’s why I don’t leave home without socks on anymore. ”
I’m left staring with my mouth hung open. “I mean, you have nice ankles, I guess. But they’re…ankles,” I say.
Not to judge anyone’s fantasy, but wouldn’t they rather write about the man himself than just his ankles?
“That’s what I’m saying. But I guess every inch of me is irresistible, even my ankles,” he says with a dramatic sigh that has me snorting a laugh.
There’s never a dull moment with him, that’s for sure.
“Aren’t you going to bring a coat?” I ask when I see Milo pressing the elevator button. The hoodie looks thin enough that it won’t do much in keeping him warm. “It’s windy outside, and the snow hasn’t melted yet.”
He shrugs. “We’re going from car to building. I’ll be fine.”
The elevator opens, and Milo calls for me to hurry up. I have to remind myself that he’s a fully grown adult and can take care of himself. But it doesn’t bode well when he starts shivering as soon as we step into the underground parking garage.
“How about you wait inside while I get the car,” I tell him.
“It’s fine. Walking will warm me up,” he says stubbornly, but his arms cross around his chest as he hugs himself.
I sigh and shrug off my leather jacket to drape it over his shoulders.
“I’m fine—”
“Just take it. I run hot anyway,” I tell him. Plus, unlike him, I’m wearing clothes meant for New York’s snowy winters.
He doesn’t argue and follows me to the car. I open the back door for him out of habit, but he sidesteps me, slips into the passenger seat, then turns around to look at me through the back door and grins. “Well? C’mon! Ethel is waiting, and she’s not a patient one.”
I shake my head, but I can’t keep the smile off my face as I take my seat. Milo already slipped his arms into the sleeves of my leather jacket. He’s absolutely drowning in it, and looking fucking adorable.
I turn to sit straight in my seat and start the car. Milo messes with the radio as soon as the engine starts, flicking through the channels without even giving them a listen.
“Tell me when to stop,” he suddenly pipes up. His hand is still pressing the button, repeatedly changing the station.
“What are you—”
“When?”
“Stop?” I comply without really understanding what game we’re playing.
Milo releases his trigger finger as soon as the word is out, and we land on a station that’s currently playing a song sung by a familiar voice.
“It’s your newest single,” I casually comment as I pull up the GPS and input Ethel’s nursing home address. I already have it saved on my phone since it was listed as one of Milo’s frequented places in his file.
“Careful there, Rangecroft. You’re starting to sound like an Itty-bitty.”
“There’s nothing itty-bitty about me,” I reply, recalling I’d used the same argument with Reagan when she first told me about his fandom name.
“No, there is not,” Milo agrees and looks me up and down. There’s nothing playful about his gray gaze; it’s all uncontained appreciation and something too close to desire.
I focus on driving and shift the car into reverse to start our journey to Jersey City, where Ethel’s nursing home is located. Milo flips down the sun visor and rubs something on his lips. It’s the ointment, and a smile hangs on my mouth, knowing he’s using something I got him.