Page 76 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

“Yeah, but lying to them about who we really are? You sure it’s the way you want to go?” he asks, checking his blind spot and merging onto the freeway.

“You said so yourself. The ball’s in my court. And if I want Penny to have a set of grandparents, I should play nice.”

“Playing nice and pretending to be someone you’re not are two different things,” he muses.

He’s right. Again. But I don’t comment.

After a long bout of silence where he seems lost in his thoughts, he adds, “Is that why you haven’t gotten a tattoo yet? Keeping your virgin skin pure for your parents?”

My gaze narrows, sensing a hint of condescension. I pull my hand from his lap and rest it on my own. “Why so snarky?”

“Just trying to understand.”

“Is there a problem with wanting my parents’ approval?” I challenge, folding my arms. I thought things had been going pretty well since our little Chick-fil-A night, but I guess we’re back to square one.

Lovely.

“No,” he counters. “But there is a problem with refusing to show them who you really are to get it.”

“Ouch.” I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from lashing out. Then, I release a slow, barely-controlled breath as I stare at his chiseled jaw.

“Only telling you the truth,” he mutters.

“If you knew you felt this strongly, why’d you insist on coming?”

“I insisted ‘cause I didn’t want you to feel alone.”

“So, maybe you should stop alienating me for wanting to keep things civil tonight,” I snap.

“You’re right.” He sighs and drops his chin to his chest. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

My gaze pops as I look over at him. “Sorry?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, scratching the edge of his jaw with his trimmed fingernails while avoiding my gaze. “You’re right. I’m an ass. I’m sorry.”

“Since when do you admit someone else is right?” I’m already anxious enough as it is. I don’t need another standoff with Milo. Not right now. But he admitted he was wrong about something, and him apologizing? It doesn’t happen.Ever.

“Don’t get used to it.” He gives me the side-eye, a smirk teasing his full lips. My heart melts a little more. “I’m trying to get a feel for what to expect.”

“Why?”

“Because even though I don’t want to admit it, I, uh”––he tugs at the collar of his shirt––“I care what they think too.”

“You do?”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re surprised?”

“I mean…kind of.” I drag my finger along his covered left forearm. “You have a tattoo of a hand giving the bird right here. Since when do you care what people think?”

Exiting the freeway, he mutters, “I’m the father of their grandchild. And since my parents are shit, and I’d like Peanut to know at least one set of grandparents, it’s on me to play nice. Recognizing I’m not their cup of tea and coming to terms with the fact I’ll never be able to be myself around them while still keeping their respect? It’s hard. But like I said, it’s on me. Not you.”

My eyes burn, but I blink the pain away and touch my lips, resting my fingertips against them. The fact he cares means a lot. More than I can even process.

He glances at me with furrowed brows. “What? Is it so wrong?”

“Not at all.” I drop my hand back to my lap. “I can’t guarantee they’re going to like you. But that’s on them. Not you. You’re an amazing guy, Milo. And you’re the best father I could’ve ever asked for, for Penny.”

“You sure?”

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