Page 42 of The Jock
The idea cameto him in snippets. In drips and drabs. Snapshot after snapshot until he had a fully formed plan. Executing that plan was how he ended up on Gino’s doorstep, armed with his favorite, almost impossible to get, Danishes and iced coffees.
Gino answered the door grumpily, huffing something that resembled a greeting or a threat. His hair stuck out in every direction and he looked like a disgruntled hedgehog.
Milo shoved the box containing the pastries at Gino and moved past him into his condo. Gino had inherited the condo from his grandmother and though he’d changed a lot about it since then, in honor of her, he kept the kitchen table she’d had for years. It wasn’t old enough to be an antique, but it was old enough to be solid wood. She’d hand-painted it a pale yellow and then had decorated it with forget-me-nots.
Gino took a seat at the table, opening the box of Danishes. Milo set the iced coffees down, but he couldn’t make himself sit.
“Remember when I asked you to store some stuff here for me?” Milo brought his hand to mouth and chewed on the side of his thumb. A sick sensation filled his stomach when he let himself remember the fight. He’d been so desperate to hold onto someone who didn’t even like him. He’d allowed Neville to carve chunks out of him and throw them away like they’d never mattered. Like they weren’t important. Like he wasn’t important unless he was exactly what Neville wanted.
And he’d tried. God, he’d tried so hard to be what Neville wanted and it still wasn’t good enough. It never would’ve been.
“Of course I have your stuff.” Gino’s foot shot out and he kicked a chair, scooting it out from under the table and Milo dropped wordlessly into it. He yanked his thumb away from his teeth and tucked his hand between his thighs, trapping it there.
Milo let out a breath. “Thanks.”
Gino shrugged. “Does this mean what I hope it means?”
“I want my stuff and, beyond that, I haven’t made up my mind.”
Gino took two Danishes out of the box and handed one to Milo. “Be real. You miss it.”
Milo hated that Gino was so assured of things he didn’t know himself. Did he miss it? Maybe? Probably. There were parts of it he missed. But what he wanted now was different than what he’d wanted when he let Neville convince him to hang up his wig.
“I don’t know how I feel about it. There’s parts of it I miss, but I’m different now. It feels like a role I don’t fit in anymore.”
Gino rolled his eyes. “Then you reinvent yourself. You pick yourself up by your strappy sandals, you fix your hair, and you show everyone what you’re made of.” Gino broke off a piece of the Danish and popped it in his mouth. Milo watched him close his eyes and moan obscenely. “God, those are delicious.”
“Thanks for holding on to this stuff for me, Gino.” Emotion squeezed Milo’s throat until he couldn’t speak. He took a sip of his iced coffee and hoped Gino didn’t notice. But, of course, he did. Because whether or not they agreed on everything, Gino knew him.
“Oh, honey. It’s what friends are for. I’m glad I was able to help, even in this small way.” Gino reached out and put his hand over Milo’s. By the looks of his nails, Gino was due for a manicure soon. Milo couldn’t remember the last time he’d indulged. He knew why. Everything he’d given up circled back to Neville.
Sooner or later, he was going to run out of things that Neville had taken from him. Eventually, he’d gather up all the lost pieces of himself and glue them back on like sequins until he sparkled.
“We should get our nails done,” Milo said, raising his gaze to meet Gino’s. “My treat.”
“Damn right it’s your treat.” Gino shot him a wink and gently patted the back of his hand. “So, if you’re not going to jump back up on stage, what are you going to do with all the stuff?”
“Well, the other day I helped a new friend learn how to do a few things with makeup. You know, basic stuff like how to choose products that would look good on him and a few simple techniques. I sort of had the idea of doing more of that kind of thing.”
“Like online tutorials?” Gino sipped at his iced coffee.
“No, like in person. I thought I’d start with free makeovers or whatever for people who are going for a job interview but can’t afford the expense of makeup, or maybe someone who’s had a hard time and needs a boost.” Milo tore a small chunk off his Danish. “It’s probably dumb.”
“It’s not,” Gino said. He nudged Milo’s foot with his own. “It’s a nice thing to do and if you need help with anything—supplies, or places to start, or advertising or anything—you let me know and I’ll talk to the girls. I’m sure they’d all jump at the chance to help out.”
A bowling ball of trepidation crumbled into dust, leaving Milo feeling lighter than he had when he’d arrived. Somethingmust have shown on his face because Gino looked at him and cocked his head like a curious puppy.“What?”
“I thought you’d think it was stupid.” Milo admitted somewhat reluctantly.
“Helping people is never stupid.”
“It was Colby’s brother I helped.”
Gino leaned back and tried to look casual, but Milo knew him better. The cracks in his expression showed before the words came out.
“I guess I was a dick about that, wasn’t I?”
Milo snorted. “A bit, yeah.”
