Page 130 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

I smile back at him and shrug one shoulder. “Oh, this ol’ thing?”

Closing the last bit of distance between us, he wraps his arms around me and tugs me into his chest. “You ready to go?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Let me change real quick, and I’ll meet you downstairs, yeah?”

I look up at him and smile. “Yeah.”

33

Maddie

“You sure you’re all right with her?” I ask Jake. For once, he looks sober and even happy as he bounces Penny on his knee.

“I got nieces and nephews, remember? Yeah. We’re good. If we need anything, I’ll text you guys.”

“Okay,” I answer, nodding my head up and down, working up the courage to leave my baby girl. “Thanks again for watching her.”

“He’s got this,” Milo murmurs, sensing my hesitation.

“I know.”

“I’ll send you updates every hour,” Jake offers. Apparently, he can read me like a book too.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you or anything. It’s… I’ve never left her with anyone but Milo.”

“Don’t sweat it, Mads. I get it. Trust me. My sister refused to let my niece leave her side until she was one. I’ll watch her carefully. I promise.”

“Okay.” My dark red heels click against the floor as I walk to the couch and give Penny one more kiss. I can feel Milo following me, and he does the same, blowing raspberries on her chunky cheeks until she wiggles away from him with a giant, spit-bubbled, toothless grin.

“Love you, Beautiful,” he murmurs and dips his chin toward Jake. “Thanks, man.”

With his lips pulled into a thin line, all humor lost, Jake nods back at him.

Milo stands back up and presses his hand to my lower back, the pressure from his touch building as he pushes me toward the front door.

Dinner. Right.

“Call me if you need anything,” I remind Jake over my shoulder.

“Bye, Mama!” he calls in a baby voice, grabbing Penny’s hand and making her wave at me.

My chest tightens, and I stick my lower lip out, forcing myself to walk through the damn front door and out to Milo’s car. When we climb inside, an awkward silence settles over us as my anxiety rears its ugly head.

“She’s gonna be fine,” Milo reminds me.

“I know.” I wring my hands in my lap and look over my shoulder toward the retreating house as he pulls onto the main road. “I just love her.”

“Me too, Mads.” My fidgeting stops as he laces our fingers together. “Me too.”

The drive to La Tavola Della Famiglia is long, but we’re lost in conversation and easy banter until we pull in front of a sleek, black building.

“This place is fancy,” I note, taking in the polished black marble and freshly cleaned windows not showing a single streak or blemish.

“Yeah,” he grunts. “One of my clients owns it.”

“Really?”

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