Page 120 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

“You want her to come to the shop?”

“It’s gonna be a family business, isn’t it?” He gets to his feet and offers me the hand not propping Penny against his chest.

A family business.

The idea makes me want to scream. With absolute elation and a touch of frustration too. Because he doesn’t get it. How easily the dream can be ripped from my fingers if he ever finds out the truth.

“You left again,” he notes, bopping my nose with his index finger. “Stop.”

“Sorry.” I look down at the hardwood floor, unable to hold his gaze. “It’s… The idea of us being a family feels a little too good to be true, doesn’t it? I want it more than anything,” I clarify. “But sometimes, it’s scary wanting something. As soon as I do, it usually winds up slipping through my fingers.”

He laces our fingers together, brings my hand to his mouth, and kisses the back. Again. “Don’t worry, Mads. I won’t let it. Not this time. Come on.”

Tugging me to the entryway, he latches Penny in her car seat, and we head to his car.

Because apparently, I’m getting a tattoo tonight. And honestly? I’m looking forward to it. I could use a distraction. And maybe the pain will take my mind off things.

Maybe.

This should be interesting.

31

Maddie

Once we’re all buckled inside Milo’s car, my brain finally catches up to my current situation, and I ask, “Wait a minute. We never decided what I get out of this deal.”

“You get a kickass tattoo for free,” Milo replies, giving me the side-eye. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

I shouldn’t find his arrogance so freaking sexy, but I can’t help it. The confidence. The cocky smirk. The damn dimples. It’s a lot to take in but doesn’t stop the laugh from bubbling out of me. “I’m gonna need a bit more if you’re going to earn bragging rights for soiling my virgin skin.”

“Alright, Mads. Spit it out. What do you want?”

“I wanna see the piece.”

“I already gave it Jos’s guy,” he reminds me.

“Okay, I wanna see a picture of it.”

“Didn’t take one.”

Scrunching my nose, I return, “Fine. I want you to at least tell me what it is.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know. Did you have it lying around or something? What medium did you use? Paint? Clay? Marble?”

“Marble?” He scoffs. “I’m not Michelangelo.”

“Tell me,” I beg, shoving his shoulder.

He laughs a little harder. “You really wanna know?”

“Duh, it’s why I’m asking, Genius.”

“And you’ll let me tattoo whatever andwhereverI want if I tell you?”

My jaw drops. “Hold up. You want free reign over what you permanently tattoo onto my skin?”

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