Page 62 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

I lean over the center console and get up in his face. “Bullshit. You’re afraid to try this art thing because you think you might fail. That’s the real reason, isn’t it? You were afraid to date me because you thought you might get hurt. You’re afraid right now because I’m pushing you. Because it’s what I do. I push. And I’m pushing you to do better. Tobebetter. Even when you’re scared. Even when you don’t believe in yourself. Because I believe in you. Jos believes in you. Try…please?” I plead. “Without all theIs dotted and theTs crossed. Without knowing the exact outcome. Without weighing the pros and cons for once in your damn life. Go for it. Dosomething. Because if you don’t, Jos is right. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

I didn’t see it until Jos hit the nail on the head. Milo needs to start living. To start taking risks. To start accepting his life doesn’t have to be perfect for it to be beautiful.

Or maybe I’m trying to justify the mess ofmylife.

Honestly, I don’t even know anymore.

But I refuse to back down. This isn’t about me. It’s about Milo.

The silence in the car is palpable as he slowly turns and faces me, leaving less than an inch of space between us.

My heart pounds against my ribcage as I hold his heated gaze with my own.

“You think I was afraid to date you?” he breathes out.

My forehead wrinkles. “That’s all you got out of my entire speech?”

“Answer the question.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” I volley back, the high from our emotions damn near choking me. We’re close. Too close. I can feel his breath across my cheeks. Hell, I can practically taste it.

I shake off the realization and bring my point home.

“Tell me you ended things because you didn’t like me,” I beg him. “Because you weren’t attracted to me. Because you didn’t feel the same pull I felt every time we were together. Tell me you didn’t hate watching Gibson’s hands on me, wishing they were yours.”

“This isn’t about––”

“Yes, It’s exactly what this is about. Fun fact, Milo Anders.Iwanted his hands to be yours. I wanted you andonlyyou. And when I tried to tell you how I felt, you threw it back in my face, too afraid to leap because you don’t own a magic crystal ball guaranteeing the future you were wanting. One showing you we would’ve made it together and been happy.” I shove my hair away from my face and take a deep breath, waiting for him to say something.

Anything.

But the bastard stays quiet.

“But you’re right,” I continue, my breathing ragged. “Maybe I’m full of shit. Maybe I should’ve done things your way. Maybe I should’ve refused to do anything at all unless I was guaranteed to succeed.” I laugh dryly and look him up and down. “Nah. Doesn’t seem very rewarding, does it? At least I tried to tell you how I felt. At least I jumped. Hoping. Praying I’d be enough for you. And yeah. It sucks how it didn’t work out the way I wanted it to, but at least Itried. Because living in regret is its own kind of torture, isn’t it? Which is what you’re doing every time you turn down an opportunity––”

His mouth slams against mine, stealing my breath as he tangles his fingers in my hair. A slight sting spreads along my scalp as he pulls on my roots, but it only spurs me on, causing a soft moan to slip past my lips. Tears spring to my eyes, all the emotions I’ve kept bottled up for the past year rising to the surface. The desire to be wanted. To be loved. The regret of all the time wasted when we could’ve been together. Happy.

All because he thought I wasn’t worth the risk.

I close my eyes and drag my tongue along the seam of his lips, savoring his taste. The warmth of his mouth. The spark of his tongue when it brushes against mine. The explosive need igniting as soon as his hands are on my body.

I’ve missed it. I’ve missedhim. And right now, despite the sensory overload, I’m desperate for more.

Leaning closer, I tilt my head to the side and open up to him, letting him take what he needs while giving myself freely to the man who’s owned my heart since the moment we first met. My heart beats wildly, and my skin feels hot as I grab his wrist holding me in place, desperate for him to never let me go again. His fingers flex in my hair, pulling a deep ache from inside of me. I whimper against his mouth.

“Milo,” I breathe out.

He silences me, swallowing my plea with his lips and tongue in a punishing kiss while making my toes curl in need. I can taste his regret, and it almost knocks me on my ass.

My grip tightens around his wrist as I slide my tongue into his mouth again and duel it with his own, desperate to punish him the same way he punished me by pushing me away in the first place. Our teeth clash before I bite down on the plump flesh of his lower lip, sucking it into my mouth.

This isn’t a sweet kiss.

It isn’t perfect.

It’s messy––like us.

But I need it.

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