Page 52 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

“I shouldn’t have made you feel the need to hide anything.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, it is,” he replies, another sardonic laugh tainting his words. “I’ve got a temper, Mads. It doesn’t exactly invite a safe environment when I’m told something I don’t want to hear. But I’m gonna get a hold of it. I’m not gonna turn out like my dad.”

“You’re nothing like your dad––”

“You have no idea,” he breathes out, the same self-deprecation tainting every word. “But I’m gonna work on it, Mads. Promise.” He glances over at me. “Can you promise me something too?”

“What?” I ask.

“Promise me we won’t keep any more secrets between us. If we’re gonna make this work, we need to be open with each other.” He scrubs his hand over his face and reaches for his sunglasses on the dashboard, sliding them on to hide from me. Once they’re in place, he adds, “I can’t do any more secrets.”

My fingernails dig into my thighs, the slight sting of pain grounding me as I force back the giant lump in my throat.

His phone rings, cutting our conversation short. He digs into his pocket, pulls it out, and pushes the call to the Bluetooth system in his car.

“Hey, Jos,” Milo answers.

“Hey. Are you coming?” the foreign voice crackles through the cab of the sedan.

Milo’s forehead wrinkles. “Coming where?”

“The receptionist interview. It’s right now.”

“I didn’t know––”

“I know. I forgot to tell you. I must’ve put the Post-it somewhere…” Jos’s voice trails off as if searching for said Post-it.

“I can’t make it,” Milo mutters.

“I think it’d be a good idea to come. If you’re going to be taking over, you should know the hiring process.”

“I already know the hiring process,” Milo reminds his boss.

“You know how to hire an artist, and you know how to mentor an intern. You do not know how to hire a receptionist. If you did, the last one wouldn’t have left after a few short months.”

Milo bites back a smile but still shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “Sorry, Jos. I can’t make it.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I have some people in the car with me.”

“So, bring ‘em along. The interview won’t take long. We’ll even give ‘em a discount if they decide to get some ink while they’re waiting for your sorry ass.”

Covering my mouth, I try to contain my snort, but it only amplifies it.

“Hey, Milo’s friend,” Jos calls, realizing he’s on speaker. “You lookin’ for a job? We have a lot of fun at Etch 'N Ink.”

A laugh bubbles out of me as Milo barks, “We’ll be there in ten.” He hangs up the call and glares at me.

“Sorry.” I laugh a little harder and cover my mouth.

“Something funny?”

“Memories,” I quip. “Jos is right. Etch 'N Ink isveryfun.”

Memories of Milo and me drunk off our asses after sneaking into Etch 'N Ink one night. He tried to give me a tattoo, but he broke the damn machine before he could follow through with giving me one because we were, well, drunk off our asses. Afterward, he got all serious and grabbed my face, forcing me to look him in the eye, making me promise my virgin skin was for him and him alone.

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