[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
"You look very nice," my mom added.
Milo blushed, and I rolled my eyes. "He just came from his dad s engageme
nt party," I explained, and Milo seemed surprised that I remembered. "Lea
ve him alone."
My mom made a point to look offended. "Well he does look nice! Very han
dsome, Milo."
I grinned at Milo. There was a pink flush cast over his cheekbones and he wa
sn t meeting any eyes around the room, but I swore there was a hint of a smi
le on his lips. "It s not fair," I remarked. "She never says anything like t
hat to me."
My mom gasped. "I do all the time!"
"And here I thought I was special," Milo remarked, and we all looked at him
, surprised. I was quick to laugh, though, mostly at the look on my mom s f
ace. It was nice that Milo was at least making an attempt to joke around wi
th us. It was a good sign that he was relaxing.
"You re both awful," my mom informed us, and my dad laughed when I turned
my best puppy-eyes at her. My mom groaned, sliding two bowls of ice cream
across the counter. "You get out of here before I decide that you should w
ear it, instead of eat it," she warned. I laughed and blew her a kiss.
"Thanks, Mom."
I lifted both servings of ice cream and nodded to Milo, who was smiling, i
f only faintly. He walked with me as my parents continued to feed each oth
er ice cream, fawning over each other in a rather disgusting manner. When
we reached the family room, we had to walk around the piano, which had bee
n pulled to the center of the room, since my mom was giving lessons and li
ked it better there.
"Your parents are nice," Milo said quietly as we reached the stairs. I smile
d, and stepped aside so he could go down first. He seemed to move into my ro
om a lot easier than he had the last time. But once he found the light switc
h and stepped inside he just stood there, his eyes disconcerted as they drif
ted. He seemed to be thinking hard about something, not really noticing his
surroundings.
I studied him for a long moment, and then put the cold bowls I was carryin
g down on my desk. Milo hardly noticed when I moved up behind him; not unt
il I slid my hands over his shoulders and took hold of his jacket. "It s k
inda warm in here," I pointed out when he looked over his shoulder at me.
I pulled the material over his shoulders and he shrugged out of it, and then
turned to watch as I neatly hung his jacket over the back of the desk chair
. I lifted both bowls of ice cream and held one out for him, getting it so c
lose to his chest that he had to take it if he didn t want a smudge of choco
late on the lip of the bowl getting on his shirt. He frowned at me, but when
I took a smothering step towards him he sat back on my bed and lifted the s
poon, staring down at his bowl as he stirred the contents, only looking up w
hen I took a seat on his right, close enough to lean into his shoulder. I ta
sted my dessert, licking a small amount of chocolate from my spoon, and with
out looking at him I allowed the cold substance to melt over my tongue and t
ook the time to taste the creamy, sweet flavor.
"How was your dad s party?" I asked.
"Sucked," he responded simply.
I turned my head to meet his eyes. He was close, I noticed. I could smell a
light cologne. Not the kind that overwhelmed. Just enough of a pleasant sc
ent to make me want to lean forward. I didn t. I licked some more ice cream
off my spoon instead. "Is that why you came over here?" I asked curiously.
"I figured no one would look for me here," Milo replied, and I watched as he
finally tried his ice cream. "I m kinda... my dad and I had a little disagree
ment."
I frowned. "Is it serious?" I asked. I rarely had a disagreement with my dad,
so this tended to concern me.
"Not really," he said. "We fight all the time. It s not a big deal." I conti
nued to watch Milo as he looked away from me, and each of us slowly ate. He
was thinking. I was just waiting him out. When he abruptly dropped his spoon
in his bowl and held it towards me, as if he didn t know what to do with it
, I took his, along with mine and moved across the room, placing them on the
desk. When I returned, I didn t bother sitting any further away from him th
an I had in the first place. "I didn t make a toast," Milo finally said, res
ting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his fists as he leaned forward.
I looked over his back, following his dark, silky shirt to where it tucked in
to his pants. I lifted my hand, lightly resting my fingertips low on his back
, feeling the thin, smooth material, and Milo s warm skin beneath it. "What d
o you mean?" I asked.
"The best man s supposed to make a toast. But... no one ever asked me to be
the best man. My dad just told me that s the way it was going to be." Milo
snorted in disgust, shaking his head. "Then, he just expected me to have a
speech or something ready tonight. He got all pissed when I didn t."
I didn t really know what to say to that, so I took a moment, and when Milo
sat up I allowed myself to let my fingers move up his back, rubbing gently
.
"So you guys are fighting?" I asked. I was aware that that was a stupid ques
tion, but at least it kept him talking as he met my eyes and gave a slight n
od, squirming against my fingers as they reached his side, without pulling a
way from me.
"We re always fighting. Like I said, it s not a big deal."
Milo released a small breath and lowered his eyes blankly to my chest as he
chewed at his bottom lip. He looked tired, and bothered, and broodingly hot.
I was experiencing the urge to mess up his hair, among other things. But ev
en as I had the thought I chastised myself for it. Milo was trying to talk t
o me. The last thing he needed was for me to act like a pervert. Unfortunate
ly, when it came to Milo, it seemed that I was a pervert more often than not
. I moved my hand all the way up to his shoulder, squeezing lightly before I
traced my way down his arm, and over his hand to take it in mine. Milo look
ed up again as I flipped his hand, palm up, and began to trace circles over
his palm, using my thumb.
"Is there a reason why you couldn t have just made a toast?" I asked. "Even a
small one?... Like, congratulations and all that?"
Milo glared, but rather than pulling his hand away from me he closed his fin
gers over mine. "Yeah. I hate the bride."
"Emily Hill, right? I met her... once. What s so bad about her?"
I remembered my brief encounter with the woman. I remembered her to seem a
little flaky, but I didn t really remember anything awful about her. Except
, I did recall a portrait in Milo s room of Emily Hill. He d portrayed her
in a dark light, and now I was curious.
"She s a total bitch," Milo snapped. I frowned, somewhat taken aback by his
tone, and I lifted my free hand to where his fingers were gripping mine. A
s he spoke, I gently pried them off and took his hand into both of mine, st
udying his fingers with mine. "He s a fucking idiot for marrying her. I swe
ar all she cares about is his money and he s not even making her sign a pre
nup. He met her because she applied for a job at one of the banks. He might
as well be fucking his secretary. Now she s been on this fucking kick abou
t how we need to spend time together as a family. She s only doing it to im
press my dad, and she needs to fucking get it through her head that I m a l
ittle too old to need a substitute mommy." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl karpacz24.htw.pl
"You look very nice," my mom added.
Milo blushed, and I rolled my eyes. "He just came from his dad s engageme
nt party," I explained, and Milo seemed surprised that I remembered. "Lea
ve him alone."
My mom made a point to look offended. "Well he does look nice! Very han
dsome, Milo."
I grinned at Milo. There was a pink flush cast over his cheekbones and he wa
sn t meeting any eyes around the room, but I swore there was a hint of a smi
le on his lips. "It s not fair," I remarked. "She never says anything like t
hat to me."
My mom gasped. "I do all the time!"
"And here I thought I was special," Milo remarked, and we all looked at him
, surprised. I was quick to laugh, though, mostly at the look on my mom s f
ace. It was nice that Milo was at least making an attempt to joke around wi
th us. It was a good sign that he was relaxing.
"You re both awful," my mom informed us, and my dad laughed when I turned
my best puppy-eyes at her. My mom groaned, sliding two bowls of ice cream
across the counter. "You get out of here before I decide that you should w
ear it, instead of eat it," she warned. I laughed and blew her a kiss.
"Thanks, Mom."
I lifted both servings of ice cream and nodded to Milo, who was smiling, i
f only faintly. He walked with me as my parents continued to feed each oth
er ice cream, fawning over each other in a rather disgusting manner. When
we reached the family room, we had to walk around the piano, which had bee
n pulled to the center of the room, since my mom was giving lessons and li
ked it better there.
"Your parents are nice," Milo said quietly as we reached the stairs. I smile
d, and stepped aside so he could go down first. He seemed to move into my ro
om a lot easier than he had the last time. But once he found the light switc
h and stepped inside he just stood there, his eyes disconcerted as they drif
ted. He seemed to be thinking hard about something, not really noticing his
surroundings.
I studied him for a long moment, and then put the cold bowls I was carryin
g down on my desk. Milo hardly noticed when I moved up behind him; not unt
il I slid my hands over his shoulders and took hold of his jacket. "It s k
inda warm in here," I pointed out when he looked over his shoulder at me.
I pulled the material over his shoulders and he shrugged out of it, and then
turned to watch as I neatly hung his jacket over the back of the desk chair
. I lifted both bowls of ice cream and held one out for him, getting it so c
lose to his chest that he had to take it if he didn t want a smudge of choco
late on the lip of the bowl getting on his shirt. He frowned at me, but when
I took a smothering step towards him he sat back on my bed and lifted the s
poon, staring down at his bowl as he stirred the contents, only looking up w
hen I took a seat on his right, close enough to lean into his shoulder. I ta
sted my dessert, licking a small amount of chocolate from my spoon, and with
out looking at him I allowed the cold substance to melt over my tongue and t
ook the time to taste the creamy, sweet flavor.
"How was your dad s party?" I asked.
"Sucked," he responded simply.
I turned my head to meet his eyes. He was close, I noticed. I could smell a
light cologne. Not the kind that overwhelmed. Just enough of a pleasant sc
ent to make me want to lean forward. I didn t. I licked some more ice cream
off my spoon instead. "Is that why you came over here?" I asked curiously.
"I figured no one would look for me here," Milo replied, and I watched as he
finally tried his ice cream. "I m kinda... my dad and I had a little disagree
ment."
I frowned. "Is it serious?" I asked. I rarely had a disagreement with my dad,
so this tended to concern me.
"Not really," he said. "We fight all the time. It s not a big deal." I conti
nued to watch Milo as he looked away from me, and each of us slowly ate. He
was thinking. I was just waiting him out. When he abruptly dropped his spoon
in his bowl and held it towards me, as if he didn t know what to do with it
, I took his, along with mine and moved across the room, placing them on the
desk. When I returned, I didn t bother sitting any further away from him th
an I had in the first place. "I didn t make a toast," Milo finally said, res
ting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his fists as he leaned forward.
I looked over his back, following his dark, silky shirt to where it tucked in
to his pants. I lifted my hand, lightly resting my fingertips low on his back
, feeling the thin, smooth material, and Milo s warm skin beneath it. "What d
o you mean?" I asked.
"The best man s supposed to make a toast. But... no one ever asked me to be
the best man. My dad just told me that s the way it was going to be." Milo
snorted in disgust, shaking his head. "Then, he just expected me to have a
speech or something ready tonight. He got all pissed when I didn t."
I didn t really know what to say to that, so I took a moment, and when Milo
sat up I allowed myself to let my fingers move up his back, rubbing gently
.
"So you guys are fighting?" I asked. I was aware that that was a stupid ques
tion, but at least it kept him talking as he met my eyes and gave a slight n
od, squirming against my fingers as they reached his side, without pulling a
way from me.
"We re always fighting. Like I said, it s not a big deal."
Milo released a small breath and lowered his eyes blankly to my chest as he
chewed at his bottom lip. He looked tired, and bothered, and broodingly hot.
I was experiencing the urge to mess up his hair, among other things. But ev
en as I had the thought I chastised myself for it. Milo was trying to talk t
o me. The last thing he needed was for me to act like a pervert. Unfortunate
ly, when it came to Milo, it seemed that I was a pervert more often than not
. I moved my hand all the way up to his shoulder, squeezing lightly before I
traced my way down his arm, and over his hand to take it in mine. Milo look
ed up again as I flipped his hand, palm up, and began to trace circles over
his palm, using my thumb.
"Is there a reason why you couldn t have just made a toast?" I asked. "Even a
small one?... Like, congratulations and all that?"
Milo glared, but rather than pulling his hand away from me he closed his fin
gers over mine. "Yeah. I hate the bride."
"Emily Hill, right? I met her... once. What s so bad about her?"
I remembered my brief encounter with the woman. I remembered her to seem a
little flaky, but I didn t really remember anything awful about her. Except
, I did recall a portrait in Milo s room of Emily Hill. He d portrayed her
in a dark light, and now I was curious.
"She s a total bitch," Milo snapped. I frowned, somewhat taken aback by his
tone, and I lifted my free hand to where his fingers were gripping mine. A
s he spoke, I gently pried them off and took his hand into both of mine, st
udying his fingers with mine. "He s a fucking idiot for marrying her. I swe
ar all she cares about is his money and he s not even making her sign a pre
nup. He met her because she applied for a job at one of the banks. He might
as well be fucking his secretary. Now she s been on this fucking kick abou
t how we need to spend time together as a family. She s only doing it to im
press my dad, and she needs to fucking get it through her head that I m a l
ittle too old to need a substitute mommy." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]