Page 42 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

“You got a problem with me taking care of her?”

“No. It’s––”

“You don’t think I can handle her?”

“Now, you’re putting words in my mouth,” I counter, motioning to my little Peanut, who’s still perfectly content curled against him. “Besides, you’ve already proven you can take care of her perfectly fine.”

“Then, what’s the problem?”

“No problem. More like mom guilt, but apparently, I’ll have to get used to it. You make a good point, though. I should get out. I need to go and change my phone number so––”

“Why?”

“No reason.”

He scoffs. “No one goes through the effort of changing their phone number for no reason.”

Well, shit.

My face scrunches, but I don’t say a word.

Come on, mouth. Lie! Say something!

“Tell me,” he orders, his chest puffing up.

“It’s nothing––”

“Mads––”

“I’m having a little issue, is all.”

“With what?”

“It’s nothing––”

“Are collection companies calling or some shit? ‘Cause if you need money––”

“It’s not a debt thing,” I mutter. “Can we change the subject, please?”

“Tell me what it is.”

I dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands, praying to keep my voice steady. “Someone from my past who won’t leave me alone.”

His brows pinch. “Is someone stalking you?”

“What? No––”

“Tell me the truth,” he grits out. The bastard can see right through me, and I hate him for it.

“I just need to change my number.”

Nostrils flaring, he shifts Penny to his other arm and stands up, towering over me. Like a big, strong bodyguard who’s ready to go to war. “I’m coming with you.”

“What? Milo, you don’t have to––”

“This isn’t up for debate.” He grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. I splay my palms across his chest, barely catching myself from face-planting against him. So damn warm. So strong. My fingers flex before I drop my hands to my sides.

“I’m gonna go shower. You feed Penny. I’ll be back in ten.”

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