Page 37 of Hogging the Hunk

Chuckling as I thought of all the ways I would razz Granny for her forgetfulness, I dragged myself off my nest of pillows and blankets. Poking my feet back into my lambskin slippers, I shuffled to the front door, readjusting my flannel pajamas that had twisted around me when I cocooned myself in blankets.

Another, random thought renewed my laughter. If only Milo could see me now. I’d donated the sleepshirt Greg had given me, and gotten myself a proper pair of slouchy, homely pajamas. I wouldn’t even be embarrassed if Milo saw me in the black and red flannel—they were borderline Granny jammies. There wasn’t a stitch of lace anywhere and consequently, there was nothing remotely sexy about my choice of sleepwear.

“Did you forget your—?” The words caught in my throat. Granny wasn’t on the doorstep. It was Milo, taking me in with his golden brown eyes.

Milo blinked. I stuttered. I eyed the closest rug, wanting to slink like a dust bunny under it. I’d talked the talk in my head, but with Milo actually present, I changed my mind about him witnessing me in my current state.

“Oh, hey, Dr. Fox,” Maren called from the kitchen. “C’mon in.”

Stepping aside, Milo entered. Judging by his damp hair, he’d recently showered, and his cologne caught my attention, teasing me with the scent of pine and soap. His squeaky clean state reminded me I was sporting a messy bun and was draped in enough flannel that it was possible for me to be mistaken as a lumberjack.

Skirting around Milo, I went straight to the kitchen, pretending to scrounge around the fridge so I could hiss at Maren behind the open door. “You said you weren’t expecting anyone!”

“I forgot.” She shrugged, not bothering to quiet her voice. “He’s here to get some milk for his new piglet.”

My eyes flew to Milo’s without my permission. He remained silent, his face toward the ceiling like the crown molding was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. His mouth, though. It twitched and quivered, like he was trying desperately not to break into a laugh. Obviously, my getup was too much for him. Blotchy heat blossomed in my chest and traveled up my neck and settled in my face.

My face.

Both hands found my cheeks, confirming what I already knew. I was still pasted with green goop. If my pajamas weren’t unflattering enough, my pea green face seemed to tip him over the edge.

“I won’t interrupt your Friday evening for long,” Milo said with a tremor in his voice. “You seem… busy.”

“Make yourself comfortable, Milo,” Maren instructed. I hated she was acting like this was no big deal. “I’m going to run out and milk the goats right now. It’ll be nice and warm, no need to heat it up when you get home. Fresh is best.”

Wanting to point out that the milk she had in the fridge was less than twelve hours old, I was overruled by the desire to scrub my face clean.

“If you’ll excuse me…” I muttered to no one in particular. Maren was still getting her stuff together, and Milo watched the gas fireplace’s slithering flames.

Padding up the stairs as quietly as I could, I fled to the upstairs bathroom. I was a terrified cottontail bunny who’d darted into traffic. Latching the door and locking it, like that would keep out my humiliation, I clutched the edge of the sink, my hands trembling. I stared at myself in the mirror. I’d looked worse.

When?

I thought long and hard. Maybe the last time I had the stomach flu, and my face was naturally a shade of green.

The next question that hit me was why I cared that Milo had seen me stripped down to only the bare essentials. It was Friday night, and we were both winding down for the weekend. Then what had flustered me so much? Being honest with myself was a challenge, but the painful truth gave me insight into my decision to retreat. As shallow as it was, there was something about an attractive man witnessing one of my bizarre beauty routines that unsettled me.

Wait… It might have been true that I’d been caught unaware, but since when was I admitting I was concerned with how Milo perceived me when I was at my most vulnerable? He’d already seen me on the verge of a breakdown after the selfish stunt Greg pulled. Milo’s handsomeness was irrelevant in all of that, wasn’t it? I wasn’t so shallow as to box Milo in by the sum of his body parts, was I?

My brain challenged my declaration by flashing an image of Milo’s arms as he worked. He didn’t even have to do anything strenuous. Every movement, from reaching to a pen to holding a puppy showcased his sinewy, chiseled muscles. Each fiber embodied incredible grace and undeniable strength. And, it was no secret that his biceps were practically legendary in these parts. Yes, the purely physical side of my brain was very appreciative of how Milo’s body was assembled.

I splashed cold water on my face. It did nothing to budge the charcoal and green tea glued to my skin. The water was purely to call my nerves to order. Another cold slap from the sink brought me to my senses. Reaching for a cotton towel, I scrubbed my face mask off until my skin was clean and pink instead of a pale, pea green.

“It’s fine.” A nervous giggle pushed out until I slapped a hand over my mouth. There was nothing funny about this situation. Challenging my previously held immature stance on my appearance brewed an uncomfortable anxiety in my gut. “It’s fine.”

Milo was in my living room. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, and as more than just friends.

Nothing about the evening was fine.

Chapter Eleven

Beckett

Deciding that I would hold my head high, despite the state Milo had found me in at the front door, I forced myself to return downstairs. Hiding in my room or changing out of my pajamas was out of the question. Brushing on a coat of mascara so I didn’t have to be bare-faced and prone in front of Milo would only insinuate I cared what he thought of my appearance. Like I wanted to be sultry and alluring for him. No, I would squelch the curiosity that Ellie put in my head once and for all, wondering if what she said about her father’s feelings for me were true, by going downstairs the way I was. He would see me in my most unimpressive state. If he was scared away by a disheveled, comfortable woman, then all the better.

Keeping my posture as rigid as royalty as I took each of the creaky steps downstairs, I found Milo sitting on the couch, his head down and one knee jiggling sporadically. He had to have heard every protest of the stairs, yet it wasn’t until I plopped down beside him he looked up. In an instant, what looked like a battle against distress morphed his face into a wide-eyed astonishment. Before I could discern the cause of his surprise, he barricaded his innermost thoughts behind a secure wall of complete control.

No hints about Ellie’s claims for me.

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