Page 84 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

I need to tell you something, and I’m too much of a coward to do it.

He frowns. “What’s wrong, Mads?”

I shake my head and wipe beneath my nose with the back of my hand. “We should get back inside.”

I try to slip past him, but he grabs my wrist and keeps me in place.

“Not until you acknowledge I don’t only want you for the milk.”

Staring at his tattooed fingers against my pale skin, I whisper, “You don’t have to––”

“I’m serious, Mads. The fact you don’t see yourself the way I see you guts me. I hate knowing I’ve made you feel this way. I’m done making you feel less than enough.”

My lower lip trembles, so I suck it between my teeth and bite down hard.

“I’m serious,” he repeats, letting me go to slide his hand around my hip and pull me against him. With my hands splayed across his chest, I stare at the second button on his shirt, refusing to look at him. I’m not sure I can. Not without the truth tumbling out of me. Not without losing everything I’ve ever wanted, all because of a stupid mistake refusing to go away.

“I want you for you, Mads. And if you’re not ready to come out to your parents and say we’re actually dating, it’s all right. Honestly, as long as you stop trying to bite their heads off, I’ll call this dinner a win. But I’m done fighting it, Mads.”

“Fighting what?” I whisper, brushing my fingers against the soft fabric stretching across his chest.

“My feelings for you.” He squeezes my hip a little harder and plants a soft kiss on my forehead, making me want to cry. “Screw the crystal ball. I’m all in.”

“Milo…”

“I’m all in,” he repeats.

His warm gaze bounces around my face, probably reading me better than I read myself. Giving me a sharp nod, he turns me toward the entrance to the restaurant and presses his hand to my back. “Come on,” he murmurs.

Then, he ushers us back inside.

22

Maddie

Cradled against my mother is Penny, her pacifier wiggling up and down as she sucks it vigorously.

“She woke up,” my mom informs me, rocking back and forth in the middle of the crowded restaurant.

Pressing my cool hands to my cheeks, I close the last bit of distance between us and reach for Peanut. “Sorry. I can, uh, I can take her.”

“She seems fine for now, Mads,” Milo murmurs as he pulls out my chair. “Wanna let your mom hold her for a little longer while we take a look at the menu?”

The fact he voices his suggestion as a question soothes a bit of the nerves that started to spread as soon as we walked back through the entrance. But he was right.

I wasn’t being fair to my parents.

They’d made an assumption, sure, but I’d lashed out. Hard. And that’s on me. Especially when I would love to marry Milo one day and claim him as my own.

Swallowing my pride, I motion to the little bundle in my mom’s arms. “Do you still want to hold her?”

Her eyes well with tears, but she blinks them away and nods. “Yes. I’d love to.”

I don’t know what to say. What to do. How to pretend everything’s normal while sitting across from my mom and dad, my baby in their arms. There’s no yelling or arguing or assuming or nitpicking or anything else.

Only silence.

Relatively comfortable silence.

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