Page 88 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

“But he did the––”

“Which is exactly why he’s adamant you don’t follow in his footsteps. He wants you to have something more than a super awesome tattoo shop by the end of your life. He wants you to have it all. He did mention Peanut was a good start, though. So, you’re welcome, by the way.” I wink.

“Hmph.” He scratches the side of his jaw and pulls onto the freeway, lost in his thoughts.

“Submit a piece, Milo. Submit a piece, and do something for yourself. Not for someone else. But foryou.” I squeeze his thigh a little tighter.

“You’re right.”

“Oh, I am?”

“Yeah.” With a smirk, he glances over at me, showcasing the damn dimples and making my stomach flip-flop. “You really are a pusher.”

Throwing my head back, I laugh. And it feels good. To have the cloud of regret and fear from my conversation with Dove dissipate. To be in the moment. To not feel so damn heavy.

“That, I am, Milo. That, I am.”

I get more comfortable in the passenger seat and let the soft music from the radio wash over me when Milo breaks it a few seconds later, his deep voice rumbling over the engine’s constant hum.

“So, tell me. What are the odds of your mom actually coming to the art exhibit?”

“You mean the showcase you haven’t applied for yet?” I quip, barely holding in another bout of laughter.

“Yeah.”

“Depends on if you’re talking about the Rosie Walker I grew up with or the bodysnatcher from dinner. ‘Causeshe”––I hook my thumb over my shoulder toward the empty road behind us––“seems pretty hell-bent on attending.”

“And you?” He pulls into his driveway, putting the car in park and looking over at me, nearly knocking me on my ass. The sun continues to cast a warm glow of pink and orange across his chiseled features, but the vulnerability in his gaze does me in. “Doyouseem pretty hell-bent on attending?”

“Do youwantme to attend?” I ask.

“I want a lot of things, Madelyn Walker. But I wanna know what you want.”

“Say it again.”

“What?”

“My name.”

His lips curve up toward the sky as he leans closer to me, stealing all the oxygen in the cab of the car until all I can see, smell, and hear is him. His breathing. His cologne. The flecks of gold in his warm gaze. “What do you want, Madelyn Walker?”

I want a lot of things. To be loved unconditionally. To be a good mom. To have my sins and guilt washed away. To hold down a real job. To be taken seriously. But right now, at this moment, I want one thing. One person. More than anything else in the world.

“I want you,” I whisper, my attention slipping to his mouth. “I want you more than just about anything.”

“And the showcase?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He leans closer, allowing me to tangle my fingers in his short hair and seal my promise with a kiss, his warm tongue sliding along mine as I open for him. The warmth from his hands, along with the slight scratch of his callouses, only spurs me on as they grip my waist beneath my shirt. He tugs me closer, the same center console acting as a barrier when all I want is to be closer to him. To feel him. To crawl under his skin the same way he’s managed to sneak under mine.

“Milo,” I beg, though I’m not entirely sure what I’m asking for.

“How much longer is Penny going to sleep?”

My brows furrow. “I don’t…” I shake my head. “She ate at the restaurant. Maybe another hour or so?”

“That’ll do.” With another quick peck to my nose, he adds, “Let’s get inside.”

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