Page 86 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

Maddie

As soon as the driver’s side door closes, Milo faces me fully and grabs my face, forcing me to look at him.

“What’s going on?” he demands.

“What?” I try to jerk away from him, but he keeps me in place. “Nothing’s––”

“Tell me.”

“It’s nothing, Milo,” I repeat.

“You ran to the bathroom looking like you saw a ghost, and when you came back, you barely touched your food.”

“I’m fine,” I lie. Again.

“Bullshit.”

“It isn’t bullshit,” I argue, holding his gaze while praying he doesn’t see right through me. After sucking my lower lip into my mouth to keep it from trembling, I add, “I guess I was just overwhelmed.”

“You mad I kissed you?”

“What? No. It’s not––”

“Then, what is it?”

“Seeing my mom holding Penny,” I lie, though it isn’t entirely off-base. “It was overwhelming.”

“You sure that’s it?” he prods.

“Yes, I’m sure. Can you imagine how overwhelmed you’d be if it were your parents holding Penny?”

His eyes glaze before he nods, drops his hand from my chin, and starts the car.

The sun is setting, painting the roads, and the man beside me, in a beautiful amber glow which only adds to the weight of my lie, making me feel even guiltier than usual. But what else does he expect me to say? The truth would only cause another cataclysmic explosion, and I can only handle so many of those in one day, thank you very much. Besides, I’m going to figure out how to make Marty go away. I have to. The guy is a drug-dealing felon. He needs to stay far away from Penny. I wouldn’t put it past him to do something dangerous to get what he wants.

“My parents were nice, though. Weren’t they?” I ask.

“Yeah, Mads. They were really nice. Awkward as hell, especially when I ordered a beer. But nice.”

I roll my eyes. “You could’ve stuck with water, you know.”

“And miss the way you cringed every time I touched my glass?” He smirks. “I don’t think so.”

“Always a gentleman,” I quip.

He chuckles and backs out of the parking spot, hooking his arm behind my headrest while making me want to lick his damn forearm as he points out, “I think we both know I’ve never been a gentleman.”

“Mm-hmm,” I hum.

“Thanks for telling them about the art exhibit I had no desire to participate in, by the way,” he adds a few seconds later, giving me the side-eye.

“You want the tattoo shop, don’t you?”

“Jos would’ve come around to me not submitting a piece.”

“I hate to break it to you, but you weren’t in the room when we were talking about it. Jos is worried about you.”

A solemn silence falls over the cab as Milo glances at me again. Only this time, his signature dimples are nowhere in sight.

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