Page 11 of The Enemy Face Off

Can't say I've ever really been impressed by a guy's thighs before.

Until tonight.

So yeah, I can admit Milo is an attractive guy…if you go for that whole well-built, muscular, pro athlete vibe, which I definitely do not. I've never watched a hockey match—or is it game?—in my life, and I have no intention of starting anytime soon.

I've tried to push him out of my mind since that karaoke night, but he keeps finding his way back in. It's strange because not only is Milo not my type, but no guy has really caught my eye since things ended with Liam and that was over four years ago. I've only been interested in boyfriends of the book boyfriend variety since.

Not that I'm interested in Milo. He's just suddenly on my mind.

Hannah's recent news that he's been house hunting in town isn't helping. That explains why I've been running into him—and trying to avoid him—on my early morning walks, and why my old bully, now Comfort Bay's star realtor Willow Wilkins, recognized him on the street.

Which makes me wonder why?

Why would a super-rich and famous athlete want to settle down in a small town he has no ties to?

Maybe I'll ask after my apology.

I take a few steps toward him.

He's standing in the far corner, away from everyone, and as I get nearer, I notice he's on his phone.

I stop walking when I start catching snippets of his conversation.

"That's not good enough…Uh-huh…Uh-huh…No. I don't care. Do your damn job. That's why I pay you the big bucks, Gary…Not my problem. Get it sorted.Now!"

I inch back a few steps.

He ends the call without saying goodbye, and I don't know what to do. Should I keep backing away and pretend I never overheard anything and then continue ignoring him, or should I go up to him, get my apology out of the way as fast as I can, and then continue ignoring him?

Before I can make up my mind, Milo spins around. His brow furrows as he marches toward me.

My throat suddenly goes very dry, but I manage to eke out a, "Hey, Mil?—"

"I'm sorry, but no, Beth," he cuts me off gruffly. "I'm not in the mood for a round of verbal sparring right now."

My throat suddenly rehydrates, and I regain my full voice, "Nice to see you, too,jerk."

"Whatever," he mutters before storming inside.

I stand there in disbelief.

I can't believeIcame out to apologize tohimfor being rude. He doesn't deserve my apology. Not when he's Mr. Rudey McRudeyson himself.

"Not in the mood, my butt," I angrily grumble to myself as I stomp back indoors, rage surging through me.

"Whoa. What happened?" Amiel asks the second she sees me. "Why do you have steam coming out of your ears?"

"Take a wild guess."

"Milo?"

"Yeah. Milo. We talked. Or rather, Itriedto talk to him but he's a stuck up you-know-what and brushed past me with a pathetic, 'I'm not in the mood for a round of verbal sparring.'"

I reach for my drink and down a hefty gulp as I wait for Amiel to respond.

I would have accepted any of the following replies from her:

Oh, I'm so sorry he said that to you, or…

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