Page 12 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

“Then maybe we should make it a trifecta. What do you say?”

Cocking his head to one side, he grabs my ass with his sandwich-free hand and digs his fingers into my flesh, pulling me against him. “What would you suggest we do?”

With a laugh, I stick my finger into the jar of peanut butter still sitting on the counter, knowing if he weren’t so curious about what I’m about to do, he’d probably smack my ass for it. Scooping up a small dollop, I slide onto my knees and tug at his sweats, wiping my peanut butter-coated finger along the tip of his swelling erection.

“To looking at the bright side,” I murmur, holding his gaze as I wrap my lips around him.

He cups my cheek and rubs his thumb along the side of my mouth as I swallow him whole.

“To things that make me happy.”

5

Maddie

“Your bedroom’s up here,” he mutters, quieter than ever as we walk up the stairs before turning right down the short hallway. He hasn’t said a word to me since I admitted to calling Peanut, well, Peanut. But I get it. And maybe it wasn’t fair for me to nickname my baby something which would constantly remind me of Milo. But I needed it. The connection. The reminder that even under shitty circumstances––like winding up pregnant with no idea who the father is––there’s still a rainbow at the end of it all. A peanut butter sandwich promising everything is going to be okay.

And I desperately hope it will be.

It’s weird being at Milo’s place again. Surreal. And almost a little spooky. Like a ghost might pop out any second when I know it’s only my past haunting me. Rubbing my empty hands along my arms, I take in the familiar greige walls and soft carpet while ignoring Milo holding Peanut’s car seat and the fact he hasn’t let her out of his sight since he picked us up at the hospital. How he hasn’t left my sight, either.

He waves his empty arm toward the door next to his on the second floor of his home.

My brows furrow. “Wasn’t this…?” I start.

“Spit it out.”

I peek up at him. “I thought this was Jake’s room.”

“He moved into Fender’s old room.”

“Oh.”

Fender used to live here but decided to move out when his close proximity to Gibson, his half-brother, felt like a bit much. They’re also in a band together called Broken Vows. The same band Dove fell into when she moved here to help me get on my feet after finding out I was pregnant.

Man, how time flies.

“Why’d he move rooms?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder and down the hall to where the other three bedrooms are located. One belongs to Gibson, and the other belongs to River. Or at least it used to. He landed a huge movie role and is filming across the country with his girlfriend, Reese, who happens to be Milo’s little sister.

Milo ignores my question and pushes the door next to his open. There’s a queen-sized bed placed front and center and a large oak dresser beneath the window, along with a brand new white crib tucked in the corner near the walk-in closet.

“Where’d my crib go?” I ask. “The one from my apartment.”

“You mean the piece of shit about to fall apart any second?” He scoffs. “It’s in the trash where it deserves to be.”

“You can’t throw away my things––”

“I can do whatever the hell I want, especially where my daughter’s safety is concerned.”

But I don’t even care about his arrogance right now.

He said,mydaughter.My. As in, he’s claiming her. Without a paternity test. Without any questions. Just a simple fact.

I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s always how Milo’s been. Black is black, and white is white. There is no in-between.

It’s why our relationship blew up in my face. Why I left. And why things can never go back to the way they were. He can never find out about Marty or why I did the things I did with him to keep Milo’s dreams from falling apart.

Funny how it only took mine being shredded to keep his dreams intact.

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