CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MILO
He was kissing me.
In the hallway.
My fake boyfriend was in the guest room a few feet from me, and Jason was down the hall.
It was one of those kisses that girls talked to their friends about—possessive, dark, hungry. I loved it—I wanted to wrap my arms around his body and pull him against me.
Instead I barely kissed him back.
Because that wasn’t how I wanted him.
Out of anger? Out of jealousy? Because he was pissed that I was finally out of his reach? As his lips moved across mine, I pondered—almost like time stopped—I let myself wonder. Would I ever be okay with half of him—the jealous half—when I wanted the whole package? The sucky thing about unrequited love is you’re never quite sure where the other person stands—you can only make assumptions based on your own feelings and then hope to God it’s at least better than all-out rejection. Yeah, they may say they want you, but is the want as strong as yours? Does it hurt? Does it ache?
Gently I pushed Colton away. “We shouldn’t.”
“Sorry.” His voice was hoarse. “I don’t know why I keep doing that.”
“Yeah, you do,” I said as the cold weight of sadness and rejection settled in my stomach like a bag of rocks.
“He’s not right for you.”
“And you’re the expert because . . . ?”
Colton touched his forehead against mine. “We’ve been friends since first grade—when you used pink marker to write your name all over my bedroom walls.”
Tears threatened, making my throat close up. He was being kind—what I’d actually done was write “Colt+Milo=Love.”
“I know you.” He put so much emphasis on the you that I started to shake. “Trust me.”
“How can I trust a guy who doesn’t even know what he wants?” I pressed against his chest. “What do you want from me?”
His eyes darted back and forth with uncertainty.
And that was the thing.
I wanted him to be certain. No hesitation.
“I want—”
“I’m home!” Mom called from the kitchen. “Doughnuts! And time to regroup! The decorators are here so we’ll need everyone to pitch in! Let’s go, troops!”
Colton stepped away from me and walked down the hall toward the kitchen.
With a sigh I went back into the guest room to rescue Max.
He was sitting on the bed texting.
“Wow, miracle recovery,” I joked.
He looked up from his phone and grinned. “Theater camp. Admit it, you totally dig my acting skills.”
“Those acting skills earned you a punch in the jaw.”
“False.” Max crossed his arms. “My acting skills got you and Colton to talk. Geez, you two are so boring. I swear he wears his thoughts on his face. I’m surprised Jason hasn’t figured it out and murdered him already.”
“Jason wouldn’t do that.”
Max rolled his eyes. “Um, he would, he’d even ask for my help to dispose of the body. You’re a no-fly zone, get it? Trust me on this. Oh, and P.S. Colton thinks you have a nice ass.”
“He said that?” Nerves exploded in my stomach.
“No.” Max’s grin grew. “I did and then he punched me.”
“I’m confused.”
“If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have punched me.”
“Maybe he was defending my honor.”
“Honor my ass. He wants to plow into said honor and make little babies and name his firstborn Max.”
“Huh?”
Max got to his feet and winced, his fingers grazing his jaw. “Good right hook, though, I’ll admit. It hurt like hell too. The things I do for my friends.”
“Best friend.”
“Best friend.” Max gripped my hand in his. “Trust me on this, Milo. I know what we’re doing is working. We have the rest of the day to get him to drop his pants.”
“Um.” I raised my hand.
“Question?”
I nodded.
“You may ask.”
“Can he keep his pants on?”
“Why the hell would you want his pants on when you want them off? Girls are weird.”
“Max.” I tugged him toward the door. “Pants stay on.”
“Off.”
“On!”
“Pants off!” he roared, pushing open the door.
Jason stood there, his hand raised as if to knock, a look of complete embarrassment washing over his features. “I, er, uh, Mom’s back and, I think, um . . .” His eyes darted between us. “Continue.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and shuffled down the hall.
“Yeah.” Max nodded. “Pretty sure your family thinks you’re a whore now.”
“Thanks.” I snapped my teeth together.
Max put his arm around my shoulder. “Stop being so argumentative and I’ll stop raising my voice.”
“No deal.”
He sighed. “Well, can’t say I didn’t try. Now, listen to me very carefully.”
We stopped right before the kitchen. Max turned me to face him and cupped my face with his hands. “Eye of the Tiger.”
“The song?”
“The focus comes from the song.” He snapped his fingers. “Now, who’s the tiger?”
“Colton?”
“Good!” He patted my cheek. “Now, I want you to envision a doughnut.”
“What—”
“Envision the doughnut, damn it!”
“What flavor?”
“Does it matter?” He sounded irritated.
“To me it does!”
“Chocolate. You’re a chocolate doughnut.”
“Got it.”
“Now,” Max whispered. “Become the doughnut.”
“Huh?”
“Speaking English here. Become the doughnut.”
“I’m a . . . chocolate doughnut . . . I taste . . . good?”
“Sell it!”
“I taste awesome!”
“There you go!” He slapped my butt. “Now when you walk in there, be the delicious chocolate doughnut, all right? You taste good to him, you smell good, you look good. Be. The. Doughnut.”
We walked into the kitchen hand in hand.
Mom was eating a doughnut and talking animatedly with my dad. Jason had both a chocolate and a vanilla doughnut stacked on top of one another, and Colt was sitting at the end of the table reaching for a vanilla one. He looked up, our eyes locked.
Colton lifted his vanilla one to his lips and bit in. Yeah, I was so-o-o-o that doughnut, my entire body tingled.
Max smirked and slapped my butt again and whispered low in my ear. “Like I said, be the doughnut, feel those teeth, get your man, bitch.”