Chapter 3 #2
As Carter returns with another round, Mila’s phone buzzes against the table. She glances at the screen, and her expression falters—subtle, but Theo sees it. She flips the phone screen down and slides it into her purse with pursed lips.
He leans in slightly, voice quiet. “You okay?”
She startles, as if she forgot he was there. Then gives him a tight smile. “Yeah. Just my ex.”
He hesitates. “Is he bothering you?”
“Only in the passive-aggressive sense,” she mutters, swirling her drink. “Says I’m being dramatic for leaving town this weekend. Thought I’d stay home and ‘work through it.’ Like I’m the one who cheated.”
Theo stills. He can’t have heard that correctly. “He cheated on you?”
She snorts, bitter and short. “Oh yeah. Found out when the girl sent him nudes with a ‘when is she leaving’ caption. So subtle.”
His jaw tenses. “Jesus, fuck.”
Mila’s eyes flick to him, surprised at the heat in his voice.
He looks away, avoiding her stare as the words tumble out, fast and tangled. “I—you’re smart. And funny. And beautiful. How could anyone cheat on you?”
Her cheeks flush pink, but she hides it with a sip of cider. “You’d be amazed how creative mediocre men can be.”
“Apparently.”
She sets her drink down, quieter now. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
She doesn’t answer. Just smiles, small and genuine.
Theo wants to say more. Wants to ask if she’s okay, to tell her she deserves better, to offer something that doesn’t sound like a line from a greeting card. But the words snag in his throat. So he stays close, letting the moment stretch between them like a bridge they’re both quietly standing on.
Jesse, already half-lit, starts flirting with a trio of women hovering near the booth. Mila teases him ruthlessly, egging one girl on to ask for an autograph on her forearm in eyeliner.
“You’re up, Prince Theo,” Carter yells, his voice cutting through the din, speech slurring into a drawl. “Buy us another round, good sir.”
The booth erupts in messy applause when he stands. Jesse’s latest admirers squeeze in, crowding around like it’s their private VIP lounge. One of them is practically in Jesse’s lap, twirling a curl of his hair and laughing loudly.
Theo collects orders, trying to keep them straight in his head: two ciders, three lagers, four vodka sodas with lime, something pink and dangerous for Pavel because he was dumb enough to say “surprise me.”
“I’ll help,” Mila says, already sliding out from the booth, brushing against Theo as she stands.
He stiffens as if she zapped him. “Uh—okay. Yeah. Sure.”
They walk side by side toward the bar, weaving through the packed crowd. Mila moves easily, exchanging nods with staff, laughing when a guy yells, “Go Whalers!” Theo, on the other hand, feels like a brick wall with legs. He shoves his hands into his pockets and keeps his eyes forward.
“So,” Mila says, glancing sideways. “You surviving all the chaos?”
“Yeah,” he mutters. “It’s fine. Just…a lot.”
“You mean the part where Jesse’s fan club is forming in real time, or the part where Carter lost the ability to use his indoor voice?”
He chuckles, then shrugs. “Both, I guess.”
They reach the bar. It takes a minute to flag down the bartender.
Mila leans her elbows against the counter, relaxed, while Theo stands stiffly beside her, agonizing over where to put his hands.
He rests them awkwardly on the edge of the bar, then immediately pulls one back, almost like the wood burned him.
“You always this comfortable in chaos?” he asks without looking at her.
She tilts her head. “Comfortable enough. You’re not?”
Theo shrugs. “Not really a…crowd person.”
Mila watches him for a beat. “You’re a pro athlete. You skate in front of thousands.”
“That’s different. I’m not…talking.”
“You’re not talking now, either,” she points out, smiling.
A flush creeps into his cheeks. “I talk.”
“Mmhm.” She sips from her cider as the bartender lines up their drinks. “Just not to me.”
“That’s not—” Theo swallows. “It’s not on purpose.”
“Okay.” She lets that sit in the air between them, but her voice stays light. “Just making sure I didn’t do something to make you go all silent movie on me.”
He winces. “No. You didn’t.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
Theo taps his card, and the machine chirps. Beside him, Mila loads drinks onto a tray. He’s about to reach for the last glass when someone jostles her from behind, sending her stumbling forward.
She catches herself against him, palm flattening against his chest, her body snug against his front.
Everything in him goes still.
She’s close, closer than he’s ever let himself imagine outside the privacy of his own thoughts.
Her breath flutters near his collarbone, warm and quick.
Her hair brushes his jaw. She smells soft and summery, like citrus with a little sweetness.
Whatever it is, Theo wants to bottle it and keep it in a vault.
And then—fuck.
Her breasts press against his chest, soft, full, and breathtakingly perfect.
It takes everything in him not to groan.
Because, yeah, he’s dreamed about them—more than once.
About wrapping his mouth around them, sucking until she gasps and arches against him.
About pushing them together and dragging his cock through the pillowy space in between.
About watching her fall apart while he worships every inch.
Now they’re right here. Pressed against him. And there are way too many layers—and way too many people—for him to do a damn thing about it.
He forces himself to breathe.
“You always get this tense when a girl touches you, or is it me?” she asks, voice low and edged with a smirk.
Do not fuck this up, Tilbury.
He leans in a fraction, gaze locked on hers. “Try it again and find out.”
Mila blinks—like she wasn’t expecting him to bite back. A slow, wicked smile spreads across her face.
“I wasn’t sure you even liked being around me,” she says, her fingers toying with the thin fabric of his shirt. Her words come out a little rushed, like they escaped before she could second-guess them.
Theo opens his mouth to answer, but a loud, off-key yell from across the room cuts in. “Yo, where are the drinks? Some of us are dying of thirst here!”
The spell breaks. Mila steps back, hand slipping away, but not before her fingers brush down his chest like she’s reluctant to let go. She grabs the tray, not quite meeting his eyes.
“Duty calls,” she says, quieter now.
They walk back in silence, drinks balanced between them.
The group’s fully off the rails now. Jesse’s making a show of autographing someone’s napkin with a chicken wing. Pavel is trying to teach Carter how to swear in Slovak. Flea’s turned on the charm, chatting up a few women who are very obviously here for Jesse.
Theo hands out the drinks, careful not to spill, and slips to the edge of the table. He sinks into the seat across from Mila, his skin still warm where she touched him.
She settles back into her spot without a word, expression unreadable.
Shit. Did he misread that? Did he press too close? He hadn’t meant to—it just happened. She recently broke up with someone, for fuck’s sake. She likely doesn’t appreciate him creeping on her. She must want space, not a stalker with a staring problem.
He wants to apologize, but the words snag on his tongue. What would he even say?
So instead, he wraps his hand around his glass and takes a long drink.
And another.
And keeps his eyes locked on the melting ice, not the soft curve of her mouth or the way her thigh is barely brushing his under the table.