Page 50 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

“Don’t lie to me,” he orders, his voice low and raspy as his breath brushes against the shell of my ear.

I lick my lips again and peek up at him before dropping my gaze to my lap. “I’m not lying.”

“So, why don’t you want me to fill out the AOP?”

I sniff, refusing to look him in the eye. Hell, I can barely think straight when we’re sitting this close. But holding his gaze? There’s no way I’ll be able to get out of this without him recognizing the truth. And I can’t let it happen. Because right now, no matter how much I hate it, I do need him. Not only for Penny but for me too. I need someone to tell me everything will be okay, I’m not completely failing as a mom, and I can do this. But it doesn’t mean he deserves to be tied down forever.

I’ll tell him the truth.

I will.

Only…not right now.

“Talk to me, Maddie,” Milo growls, his patience dissipating.

“I don’t want you to feel cornered or obligated to take care of her,” I whisper. “You didn’t sign up for this. And yes, right now, you’re willing to step in and help out. But what happens when you find someone else? What happens when you fall in love and the woman doesn’t like the fact you have a baby who isn’t hers? What happens when being a father is inconvenient? When dealing with Penny’s baby mama is inconvenient?”

“You think I don’t know how to deal with inconvenient shit, Mads?”

“I think you hate messes, and I’m nothing if not messy, remember?”

His nostrils flare as he leans closer to me, his chest pressing against my shoulder and his breath tickling the wisps of my hair as he reaches around me and grabs the clipboard from the chair on my opposite side.

“You’re right,” he rasps. “I hate messes. But it doesn’t mean I’m afraid of them.”

He sits back in his seat and fills out the rest of the form without any hesitation. He even remembers my birthday and where I was born. If this were under different circumstances, I would swoon. But right now, I’m trying to keep my lunch down.

His handwriting is blocky and masculine but still perfectly legible as he scrawls his signature across the bottom line and hands the clipboard to me.

“Sign it,” he orders.

“Milo––”

“What if something happens to you? Huh?”

Confused, I look down at my sleeping Penny, then up at Milo, his upper lip curled in disgust.

“What?” I whisper.

“If my name isn’t on that line, and something happens to you, Penny goes into the system. Is that what you want for her? Is the idea of me being in her life long-term so despicable?”

The blood drains from my face as the realization sinks in. He’s right. If something happens to me, there are repercussions. Big repercussions. I know Dove would step up, or at least she’d try, but there are no guarantees. The court system has done a lot of messed-up stuff. Milo can attest to it firsthand. No wonder he’s so adamant.

“Sign the damn paper,” he repeats, shoving the clipboard on my lap.

My hands shake as I take the pen and write my name across the bottom.

Without a word, he gets to his feet and takes the form to the information window. After a quick conversation, another paper is handed to him, and he fills out this one, too, but he doesn’t bother to show me what it is.

He doesn’t need to.

I already know it’s the AOP.

My heart stalls in my chest, my blood sloshing hot and erratic in my veins as I stare at the oncoming trainwreck unfolding a few feet in front of me. But I can’t stop it. I can’t move. If I do, he’ll learn the truth. And when he does, I’ll lose everything. Penny will lose everything.

“Milo,” I whisper, but he doesn’t hear me.

Digging out his driver’s license, he shows it to the employee who stamps the form with a purple notary block and signs her name beneath it.

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