CHAPTER THREE
MILO
“Milo! Dinner!” Mom called from downstairs. I quickly brushed out my hair and put on some clear lip gloss. I checked myself in the mirror. My long, golden-brown hair hung past my shoulders in loose waves. I had on a pair of ripped jeans topped by a white t-shirt that fell off my shoulder, revealing the tan I’d been trying to perfect for the past month in hopes of looking hot for my brother’s wedding. My brown, almond-shaped eyes stared back at me with too much hope in them. Yes, I wanted to say aloud, we’re doing this. Operation Get Kissed is officially a go. I ran my hands down my torso and took two soothing breaths. The outfit looked good, it showed off my athletic build. Plus I was showing skin, not a lot, but enough to make him wonder . . . at least I hoped.
“Coming.” With one final glance in the mirror, I ran down the stairs and collided directly with a firm chest.
“Hungry?” Colton looked down at me; his hands moved to my shoulders to steady me. Instinctively, I looked at his lips and licked my own.
He pulled away and laughed. “Watch where you’re going, squirt.”
I stuck out my tongue and went to my usual chair at the table.
“So, Milo.” Dad folded his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “How’s your senior year?”
“Yeah . . .” Colton smirked in my direction. “You still majoring in . . . what was that again? Cartoons?”
I rolled my eyes. “Art, with a minor in graphic design.” I had to force myself to keep from sticking out my tongue again in self-defense. After all, he knew exactly what I did.
When he’d asked me to do a tattoo in honor of his father—I’d cried. I was so embarrassed. I mean, his dad had died saving people’s lives on 9/11, and instead of crying, he was comforting me.
“What do you want?” I whispered through my tears.
“Something that represents strength, honor, love . . .” His voice trailed off as he reached up and wiped the stray tears from my cheeks. “I trust you, Milo. I’ll love whatever you come up with.”
My breath caught in my throat. We were so close, I wanted to lean in; I wanted to feel his lips—just once—against mine.
“Anyway.” He chuckled and looked away from me. “I’ll pay you or whatever.”
“No.” I shook my head. “You won’t pay me. I’m your friend.” Crap, that word felt bitter. “It’s what friends do.”
“Right.” He sighed, and repeated, “Friends.”
“A favor from a friend,” I said, trying to make it sound better.
“Thanks, Milo.” He let out a sigh. “Thanks a lot.”
He had left. And that day I’d cried some more, not because of the refreshed grief but because I felt like I was constantly in limbo with him, so close but so far away, and I hated that it always seemed like if anything was going to happen, I would have to be the one to take the first step.
“Milo? You hear anything I just said?” Jason threw a dinner roll at my face.
I felt my cheeks heat. “Uh, sorry, just tired from the drive.”
“It’s an hour and a half,” Colton teased. “Then again, you drive slower than my grandma, so—”
I aimed the roll at his wide grin and launched. Take that! The golden bun arched through the air on the perfect track to annihilation, but instead of its impacting my target, Colt intervened, snatching it out of the air and taking a huge bite, his perfect mouth taunting me with each chew. Yeah, good luck getting that particular image out of my mind for the next ten years. Perfect teeth, biting into a soft roll. I shivered and looked away. Great, so rolls did it for me now. Nice.
“Colton,” Mom scolded. “Be nice, she just got done with finals. Besides, you said you slept in until noon today—at least she isn’t lazy.”
“He slept in till noon because he was on call all night,” Jason defended his friend, and then held up his hand. “Roll me.”
Colton tossed the roll.
And so went our normal-ish family dinner. It saddens me to report that I ate at least three helpings of mashed potatoes—all because they were right in front of Colton and every damn time he passed them our fingers brushed.
Maybe Max was right. I needed to either seduce him or abandon the whole idea that he could see me as a potential girlfriend.
I groaned.
Out loud.
“Too many potatoes?” Colton winked from across the table.
“Starving college student.” I patted my stomach. Yes, patted it like a frat boy after too many beers. “You understand.”
“Aw, they don’t feed you down at NYU?”
“I’m an artist.” I folded my arms. “It’s basically in the curriculum, if you aren’t starving, you aren’t talented.”
“Oh, baby,” Mom interrupted. “Of course you’re talented. And if you’re hungry just tell me and I’ll send Colton or Jason down there with some cookies.”
Colton at my door? With cookies? Naked? Yes, please.
“Hate to interrupt all this fun talk about starving, but . . .” Jason clapped his hands and leaned forward on the table. “Wedding weekend.”
Mom held up her finger and reached under the table, pulling out the biggest notebook I’d ever seen in my entire life and then slamming it down onto the wooden surface in front of her.
Two words: destination wedding. No way was I going to allow my mom to do to me what she was doing to Jason and Jayne. I was going to fly to Mexico, get married, then sip margaritas all week long. No wedding book. Ever.
“So.” Mom jerked the book open, using both hands, which was probably necessary, all things considered. A few papers floated to the floor. Sighing, she scanned the page. “The event company gets here at six a.m., so you’ll need to be up at five if you want breakfast in time.”
“And when you say you”—I played with my napkin—“you mean . . . ?”
“You,” everyone said in unison.
“Me?”
“All of us.” Mom smiled triumphantly. “As a family.”
“Yeah, I’d been kind of worried about that.”
I wasn’t a morning person. How was I supposed to look my best when my eyes were swollen shut?
My mom started firing off instructions, and with each new task my eyes threatened to close out of sheer boredom.
Peonies?
Wedding tent?
Cupcakes that needed frosting?
Chairs?
Centerpieces?
Well, my mom was a woman possessed. It was the only explanation.
“That’s it.” She sighed happily. “Now on to Saturday.”
“That was one day?” I shouted.
Everyone’s head snapped in my direction.
“I mean . . .” I coughed. “Wow, that’s all we have to do tomorrow?” I gave a solitary clap. “Yay.”
“Very convincing,” Colton mouthed.
I flipped him off.
Not a proud moment.
He gasped and pointed. “Your daughter just gave me the bird.”
“He’s a liar!” I argued. “Need I remind everyone of the pancake incident of ninety-seven?” During Thanksgiving Colton and I had gotten into mom’s pancake mix. I’d told Colton that Mom said there was a prize at the bottom—but he had to eat all the mix in order to get it. He didn’t believe me. So I got angry. And put the pancake mix down his pants. The funny part was, he was a scrawny kid so I was easily able to overtake him. Unfortunately I didn’t know my own strength and gave him a black eye.
When my parents found out, Colton lied and said he gave himself the black eye. My parents told Colton’s parents, it was a whole . . . thing. Needless to say everyone found out he was lying and that I was to blame. Our parents were convinced that we had been fighting, so they said we had to learn how to solve our differences through competition rather than beating on each other.
“That was one time!” Jason pushed his chair back as Dad maneuvered himself around an irate Colton.
Smirking, I rose from my chair. “I rest my case.”
“There’s only one way to settle this dispute.” Colton’s eyes darkened.
“Oh, hell,” I muttered under my breath, my heart hammering against my chest as I recognized the look in his eyes.
“You ready, squirt?” Colton breathed down my neck. Not how I’d imagined us spending the rest of the evening. I’d had witty banter, romantic movies, and possible kissing on my mind, not . . . this.
“I’m always ready,” I fired back. “I was ready last Christmas when you fell on your ass—”
“Mom! Milo said ass,” Jason yelled up the stairs.
Ignoring him, I continued. “—and I was ready last summer when we ended the game at a tie because you were bleeding all over the table.”
“I broke my finger.” Colton threw his hands into the air. “And you laughed!”
“You broke it playing Ping-Pong!” I snapped. “What did you want me to do? Call 911?”
“Guys!” Jason held out his hands between us.
I gripped the paddle in my hand and took my stance.
“Let’s have a fair game, all right?” Jason looked at me longer than necessary. Fine, I’d cheated once, but I was ten, give me a break.
“Fair game,” I seethed.
“Fair game.” Colton blew me a kiss.
“Terms?” Jason asked.
“I win,” Colton said, his eyes narrowing, “she promises never to bring up the pancake incident again—or at least for a year, we all know it’s hard for little squirt to keep her mouth shut.”
I stuck out my tongue.
Colt’s eyes heated for a brief moment before he swore and said, “Cute.”
“And your terms?” Jason’s eyes narrowed. “If you win?”
“I want . . .” I bit my lip. I wanted a kiss. I wanted time with Colton, I wanted . . . “Colton watches Star Wars with me.”
Colton groaned. He was the only guy breathing who hated Star Wars. When he was little he’d had nightmares that Jabba the Hutt was in his closet.
“Four, five, and six,” I added.
Jason whistled under his breath. “Tough terms. Tough terms.”
“I accept.” Colton shrugged as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Bastard. “I’m not worried, been training, lifting weights . . .”
Yeah, I’d noticed. Not that he’d needed to before, but damn, now the man was cut.
“Milo?” Jason asked. “You accept Colton’s terms?”
“Absolutely.” I smiled sweetly. “I always accept his terms—probably because I’ve never had to worry about following through on them. Once a loser”—I pulled the Ping-Pong ball from the basket—“always a loser.”