Page 50 of The Enemy Face Off

Yes, he's hot, and yes, that's part of it. But it's more than just physical attraction. I'm really liking Milo as a person.

He uses his outward demeanor the way I use my snark—for protection. Being prickly and unapproachable is a defense mechanism, a way to not get hurt again.

But underneath the image he projects, I'm seeing more and more of the man he is.

He's a lot smarter than I initially gave him credit for, and I like a man who knows words. I wonder if he's a reader, and if he is, what his favorite genre is.

He's a devoted Dad. If the major life changes he's made and the stream of pictures he sends me weren't proof enough, the way he ran back to kiss and hug Josie and Jonah one last time before we left was nothing short of adorable.

He's not afraid to make fun of himself…or for me to make fun of him as is more likely to be the case.

And he's a survivor.

By the sounds of things, he's all alone in this world, and yet, he's never let that stop him from achieving his full potential, working hard, and creating a good life for himself.

And nope, nope, nope…What am I doing? I cannot allow myself to see Milo this way.

I can't.

It's too scary, and I am one hundred percent not ready for the feelings he's stirring up in me.

Milo resumes his seat on the stool, picks up his fork, and points it at me. "I'm not sure where you want to start, but you promised me a grilling, so you need to deliver. My man bun and love of Mariah Carey's Christmas album are easy targets, so you can start there until you gain some momentum. Now go!"

It takes me a moment to adjust my head—and my heart—back to our usual back and forth ribbing.

But this is good.

Thisis what I need.

Teasing him about what artisanal shampoo he uses to wash his hair and asking if he's strapped for cash since the Christmas sweater he's wearing is so ridiculously tight he must've bought it from the children's department dials back the…whatever it is…simmering between us and creates some much-needed distance.

Well, as much distance as there can be between two people stuck in a blizzard, sharing a motel room.

Humor as a deflection tactic is my superpower, and I need to summon it now more than ever. Because after reading many,manyromance novels where this exact scenario plays out, I need to have my wits about me and be on my A game.

I cannot—I will not—let this forced-proximity situation be the catalyst for anything starting between Milo and me.

I. Will. Not. Let. That. Happen.

After we finished dinner, we were able to diffuse the situation even more. Mainly by giving each other a wide berth.

I plonked myself down by the window and continued reading a new book since I packed several and I wasnotin the mood to read a sweet hockey romcom about a grumpy goalie and a snarky librarian who get trapped in a cabin in the mountains. I may work in a bookstore and not a library, and Milo and I are stuckin a motel and not a cabin, but it was still hitting way too close to home. A nice post-apocalyptic, dystopian, sci-fi romance is just what I need at the moment.

Milo took the couch. I half expected him to ask if he minded if he watched some sports game match thingy on TV. But instead he pulled out a book and started reading. When I asked him what it was, he lifted the cover for me to see it was Bill Reynolds' latest psychological thriller.

I smiled. So he likes to read. I had a feeling he did.

He then asked if it was okay if he put his feet on the coffee table, to which I replied I had no problem with that and to stop acting like such a weirdo.

He smiled the way he always does whenever I sass him. Why does he like my teasing so much?

I place my book on my lap and look over at him on the couch. He's untied his man bun and his hair flows down past his massive shoulders. It's really nice hair, too. Light brown with a few streaks of a golden, dark-blond. It's thick and silky. Maybe he really does use an expensive artisanal shampoo, and if he does, I need to get the name of it.

His long legs are stretched out in front of him, and boy, his socked feet are huuuge. I'd guess a size thirteen at least.

And it's all proportional, right?

He's a tall guy with big hands, big feet, big shoulders, big arms…My next thought takes a detour…southward.

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