It’s already been a week since I came to the city to protect Mila, but it’s been hard to focus on the possibility of danger. With every passing day, it feels easier to believe Cynthia was blowing things out of proportion, or even making them up completely. I called in a few favors the night I left and made sure a few good men are taking care of the ranch. I, unfortunately, had to explain exactly how Missy likes her special nightly treat prepared within earshot of Mila, and now she has made a habit of giving me a hard time for being such a softie with the cows at least once a day.

I don’t even mind though. Danger or no danger, being here with Mila, even surrounded by the dirty air of the city and the ugly views of steel and concrete, has felt right. It has felt so fucking right I never want to let it go. I’ve been keeping her up late and making her sleep in even later because I can’t keep my fucking hands off her, but she hasn’t complained. I almost enjoy waking up next to her with the bright sunlight streaming through the window of our hotel room as much as I enjoy fucking her in the dark.

Almost.

I’ve been trying to make arrangements to sell the ranch, even if it turns my stomach to do it, but Mila has fought me tooth and nail. She insists we should wait to see if my brother is serious before we do anything permanent, that the ranch is too important. As much as I fight her on it, and want to do whatever I can to keep her safe, I can’t help falling more and more for her every time she stands her ground to protect what she knows is important to me.

She’s putting my happiness before her own safety, and if I wasn’t already dangerously tangled up with this city girl, she’s pushing me farther and farther over the edge with her selflessness.

We’ve mostly been living out of our room. Though I hate to admit it, Mila was right about room service. Having the food brought straight to our room and being able to just set the dishes outside the door is more fun than it sounds. But I’m itching for some fresh air--at least as fresh as it gets here, and the idea of getting out has become so irresistible I can’t stop myself from suggesting it.

“What do you say we go exploring?” I suggest.

“Exploring?” asks Mila, who still wears her bathrobe with nothing underneath. When she leans forward on the bed to rest on her elbows, I get a view of her tits that nearly forces me to set exploration aside for a few hours while I take my time with her, but right now, not even that can stop my restlessness. I need to get outside, even just for a little bit.

“Yeah, we could look around a little.”

“What about your brother?”

“Well, you won’t let me sell the ranch, right?”

“Not a chance,” she says, getting immediately serious when she thinks she may have to talk me down again.

I smirk. “Then we won’t know if he’s serious by staying in this room, fucking and eating room service, will we? Besides, if the bits of conversation I’ve heard with your friend Amy are any indication, she could really use your help back at the office.”

“Don’t worry about her,” sighs Mila. “I told her to take a few weeks off since she was guilt tripping me about losing her vacation money. It’s her fault she’s sticking around trying to do everything by herself.”

“So? What do you say?”

“Let me just put on some clothes. You should probably put a shirt on, too. Not that I’m not enjoying the view, but I’m sure as hell not about to share it.”

I snag one of the white t-shirts I’ve been living off of for the last week. As if room service wasn’t good enough, the concierge let us buy clothes and have them brought to the door. Mila and I have spent more time out of our clothes than in them, so it hasn’t been much of a problem that we don’t have our own things.

I poke my head outside the door, looking both ways. I motion for Mila to follow me. She slipped into a white blouse and jeans that fit her surprisingly well. I can’t help sliding my hand around her hips and giving her ass a good squeeze as we move into the hallway.

“This feels so dangerous!” she whispers.

“We’re just walking through a hotel hallway,” I laugh.

“Stop! You’re ruining the fun,” she laughs.

We find an emergency exit. Text on the door warns that using the door will set off an alarm, but after a brief and intense struggle in absolute silence, I try the door. I raise my eyebrows in my best told you so and motion for Mila to head up the stairs. We climb the stairs for so long that Mila’s legs get tired, but I happily sweep her into my arms and carry her.

I make a show of huffing and puffing after a few steps and falter, like I’m about to lose the strength in my legs.

She scrunches up her face and slaps at my chest. “Stop it. I’m not that heavy.”

I laugh, standing straight again and jogging up the stairs effortlessly. “Like carrying a feather,” I say.

“Okay, I’m not that light, either. I’ve got a little meat on my bones.”

“Hm. Like carrying a hard-to-please, feather that’s holding a small bag of potatoes?”

She works her mouth to the side thoughtfully. “That’s better. I think.”

“Potatoes are always better,” I say, kicking open the door at the top of the staircase dramatically.

I set her down on the rooftop with a satisfied smile. “Damn, for a city view, this is pretty impressive.”

“It’s amazing!” she says, doing an adorable little skip and spreading her arms as she twirls on the rooftop.

The evening sun is creeping below the skyscrapers in front of us, staining the sky orange and purple. A chill has taken to the air, giving me the perfect excuse to wrap my arms around Mila from behind and pull her close. “You’re amazing,” I say, kissing her her earlobe and giving it a playful bite.

“And you’re corny,” she says with an amused smile.

“Not surprising. I eat corn like it’s going out of style, after all.”

“Oh my God,” she laughs. “Are you practicing dad jokes or something? Are you trying to tell me I’m pregnant?”

“No, but it’s not impossible. You were the one who couldn’t wait for a condom the other night.”

“The chances of you getting me pregnant from one time aren’t high, unless you’re like… a freaking sniper.”

I burst out laughing. “A sniper?”

She bites her lip, smiling back. “You know, like you’re a straight-shooter… Doesn’t take many tries? Okay! Stop laughing at me. I thought it made sense.”

“It does. It’s just funny.”

The breeze kicks up and the door to the staircase swings shut with an ominous click that turns both our heads.

“Did you happen to see if that door is unlocked?” she asks.

“No…” I say carefully.

We both hurry to the door and yank on the knob. My heart sinks when it doesn’t budge. It’s a heavy steel door, too, and there’s no chance I’d be able to knock it down.

“Oh shit,” says Mila. “What are we going to do?”

I turn, taking my first real look at the roof. It’s a bleak square of concrete with a three foot lip around the edges. There’s an air conditioning unit humming away near one corner, but nothing beyond that and the section of the doorway that we came from.

I move to the edge, looking over as a wave of vertigo washes over me. “Fuck. How high are we?” I ask, stumbling back a little.

“Are you afraid of heights?” she asks.

“Afraid? No,” I say quickly. “But I have a healthy respect for what would happen if I fell that far.”

“Fair point,” she says as she inches her way toward the edge and peeks over. “I think we’re maybe… thirty stories high? Do you remember how many buttons were in the elevator?”

“I just remember there were three rows,” I say.

“And quite a few buttons in each row,” she adds, but her brief enthusiasm fades. “Not that knowing how many stories up we are helps.”

“You have your phone?” she asks. “I left mine on the charger.”

“It’s in the room,” I say. “Must’ve set it in the closet when I was changing and forgot to grab it.” I shake my head at my own stupidity. My feelings for Mila are clouding my judgment. I knew leaving the room could be dangerous, but I didn’t even bring my fucking phone.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she says, moving to my side and rubbing my arms. “We’ll think of something.”

“I have an idea,” I say. I sit down and take off one of my shoes. “I’ll throw this down there, get someone’s attention, and then we can signal for them to get help.”

“You’re going to throw your shoe at someone from a roof thirty stories high?”

I hold the shoe with a little less confidence than I felt a few moments ago. “Yeah?”

“You’ll kill them!” she says, grabbing my arm and pulling me back. “Throw your sock or something.”

I rip off my sock, ball it up, and grip the lip of the roof. I look down to the crowds of people moving below. They look so damn small from up here. “Hey!” I shout. “Hey! Up here!”

Like I thought, no one so much as falters in their step. We’re too high and the street is too noisy for anyone to hear or notice us. I try my best to aim the balled up sock, dropping it carefully, but the wind takes it off course almost immediately.

We watch helplessly as it drifts into the street and is promptly run over by dozens of cars. “Fuck,” I growl. “A shoe wouldn’t catch as much breeze.”

“You’re not dropping a shoe on somebody, Lucas,” says Mila.

“Wasn’t saying I would. It was just an observation.”

“Try your other sock.”

I try again, dropping the last sock closer to the building this time in hopes that it might avoid some of the breeze. It still drifts, but the streets are crowded enough that it lands directly on a woman’s head. She stops, gets bumped into from behind, and appears to get into a shoving match with another woman before both parties storm off without so much as looking up.

“Goddamnit,” I say. “Why do you city people have to wear sandals?” I ask, looking at Mila’s feet.

“Because I hate socks?” she tries.

“Bet you wish you had some right now, don’t you?”

“We could try your shirt,” she suggests.

“Not a bad idea…” I strip my shirt, trying the same technique as before. This time it lands just in front of a man, who only stops long enough to step around it. The white shirt is trampled by the crowds moments later.

“Jesus. Are city people really this oblivious?” I ask. “What now?”

“Your pants?”

I turn to her with a look of disbelief. “I’m starting to think you planned this.”

She throws her hands up innocently. “This was your idea, in case you forgot.”

“You’re lucky I’m a gentleman,” I say with a grin as I stand and start to strip out of my pants. “But we’re using your shirt before I lose my boxers.”

“Fine, but make sure you hit someone this time.”

I drop the balled up jeans and watch with fascination as they gain speed. By the time they collide with a poor man below, they are like a denim bullet. They catch him directly on the top of his head and he drops to the ground with a thud I think I can almost hear even from up here.

Mila claps her hands to her mouth. “Oh my God. You killed him.”

“I didn’t kill him,” I say with about fifty percent certainty. “I just… stunned him.”

“You stunned him to death,” she persists.

“No. Look, he’s alive enough to yell for help. See how people are gathering around him?”

“That lady is holding your jeans! Damn it! Look up here! Not over there!”

“Throw your shirt down there,” I say quickly. “They’re all trying to figure out what happened. We need to get their attention while we still can.”

Mila sighs, but strips off her shirt and throws it down.

It drifts wide of the crowd, landing uselessly in the street.

“Pants!” I say.

“I’m not going to--”

“Give me those pants!” I say, unzipping her jeans for her and ripping them down. She grudgingly helps me get her jeans and hands them to me.

I ball them up and drop them again, watching with horror as they take a curving path straight for the man who is lying injured on his back.

“Oh no!” cries Mila.

The jeans thud straight into his stomach, making his legs and head kick up like a dying bug. He rolls onto his side and the crowd all finally look straight up this time.

Mila and I both jump up and down as carefully as we can next to the ledge of the roof, waving our arms, completely oblivious to the fact that we’re both in our underwear.

It’s not long before the crowd of people looking up at us is huge and I see at least half of the crowd on cell phones.

“Do you think they’re calling for help, or calling for a S.W.A.T. team to come take out the jean-ball terrorists?” I ask.

“What?” asks Mila. “You think they’d think we did it on purpose?”

I can’t help laughing a little. “Maybe. It probably looks like we were trying to assassinate that poor guy with our pants.”

“Assassinate?” she asks, planting her hands on her hips. “Please tell me that wasn’t an attempt at a pun.”

I burst out laughing, despite everything. “Damn, I wish it had been. That’s good.”

“What are we going to do?” she asks.

“Wait, I guess?”

“Just wait? We’re both in our underwear and it’s only a matter of time before one of those people calls the news stations. We have to think of something!” Mila runs to the staircase door and starts pounding her fists on it uselessly.

I’m torn between stopping her and standing to watch the way her ass jiggles every time she takes a shot at the door. I notice the sound of a helicopter getting closer. I squint into the distance and see a helicopter that must have been surveying traffic is banking directly toward us. “Oh shit,” I say.

“What now?” asks Mila.

I point.

“Oh God,” she says, covering her breasts with one hand and her panties with the other. “This is your fault. I never should’ve come out here!”

I would laugh at the whole situation, but my stomach sinks when I think about what will happen when our faces are blasted over the news stations. “Ronnie’s going to know exactly where to find us. Dammit!”

“You think he’ll see us on TV?”

“Sure do. And I don’t think it’ll be long before he’s making his way here.”

“What do we do?”

“I’ll think of something…” I say, though right now I really don’t see any options. As far as I can see it, we’re stuck on a roof, in our underwear, while a news helicopter gets closer and closer. It’s only a matter of time before Ronnie zeroes in on us, unless Cynthia was absolutely full of it, and I’m inclined to think she wasn’t. I don’t think the woman is creative enough to even come up with a lie as improbable as all this.

The helicopter gets so close that the dust and dirt on the roof is kicked up in a violent cloud. I pull Mila to me and shield her body with my own, trying my best to hide our faces against the wall. My brother will probably recognize me eventually, but it won’t hurt to buy time and spare Mila’s dignity as much as I can.

“It’s so loud!” she shouts, but her voice is barely audible over the roar of the chopper blades.

A spotlight blares on us, making our shadows stand out starkly against the door as the helicopter endlessly circles us. I can only hope someone has called the hotel and let them know we need to be let in, but I have no way of knowing.

After what seems like an hour of huddling together and bracing ourselves against the violent gusts of the helicopter blades, the door bursts open beside us. To my amusement, a full S.W.A.T. team emerges onto the roof, rifles drawn.

The helicopter thankfully pulls back a little, reducing the roar of the wind to a minor annoyance instead of ear-numbing.

“Hands up!” Shouts one of the masked men.

I put my hands up, still shielding Mila with my body.

“Her too! Step away from the woman!”

“Not as long as that camera is up there,” I growl.

One of the men waves off the camera to no effect. Another man gets on his radio and mutters something I can’t hear. There’s a tense pause as we wait with guns pointed at us. Finally, the helicopter swerves away and leaves.

“A fucking S.W.A.T. team?” I ask. “Does it look like we’re hiding weapons anywhere? Trust me, if I was going to knock you guys out with a pair of jeans, I’d have done it by now. Hell, if I had another pair I’d still be wearing them.”

“Step away from the woman,” repeats one of the men.

“Get her a blanket to cover up with and I will.”

I can see the annoyance in the men’s body language, but someone runs down the stairwell, returning a surprisingly short time later with a big black blanket he tosses to MIla. Once she’s covered, I step away from her and do as they say.

“Why did you attack the man down on the street?”

“We didn’t attack anyone,” I sigh.

“Then why did you target him twice? Witnesses said you made a second attempt on his life when the first failed.”

I have to stop from rolling my eyes or laughing, I can’t decide which. “I dropped clothes from a thirty story building to get people’s attention. You think I could’ve done that on purpose?”

The men shift a little uneasily, either because they realize how ridiculous they must look now or because they think I’m some kind of jean tossing assassin. Honestly, I’m okay with either possibility.

One by one, they lower their guns. “You’re going to have to come down to the station and answer questions,” says one of the men.