Page 137 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

“Drop it, all right? I’ll grab a diaper from the diaper bag.” The sound of his heavy footsteps echoes down the hall. Then they pound against the stairs as he heads to the first floor, where Bree and Derrick are waiting with Penny.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, the bathroom heavy with emotion. Hell, I was a nutcase before the mini-blow up. And now? Now, all I want to do is take a hot bath and cry myself to sleep. But it’s not an option tonight. Nope. Instead, I have to suck it up. And I’m not sure I can.

“It’s fine.” Milo pulls me against him and drops a kiss to the crown of my head. “I’m sorry he interrupted us.”

“It’s okay,” I lie.

“We’ll talk more tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“You good?” he asks.

My eyes burn with unshed tears as I paste another stupid, fake smile onto my face. “Mm-hmm.”

“You sure?”

“Yup.”

He leans in and brushes his lips against mine. As if I’m precious. Delicate. Something to be treasured.

My heart cracks.

“Thanks for being there tonight.”

“Of course,” I repeat. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“I’m gonna go see if Bree needs anything else. I’ll meet you downstairs?”

My mouth opens with an excuse on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back and nod. “Yeah. I’ll be there in a few.”

As he walks out of the bathroom, I finish applying my mascara and reach for my phone, typing as fast as my fingers can fly, ignoring our previous conversation acting like a damn white flag of defeat from the first time I failed to stand up to Marty.

I hate him.

I hate him so freaking much.

Me: I’m not coming tonight.

I press send and set my phone face-down on the counter, staring at my pale complexion as if it belongs to a stranger.

Marty’s response is almost instant, and I pick up the phone as if it’s a damn snake about to strike at any second.

Marty: Unfortunately, you don’t have a choice. My father’s already on his way.

Me: I don’t know what to tell you. I can’t do this anymore.

I hit send with shaking hands. But it’s true. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t lie. I can’t keep this from Milo.

Marty: If you aren’t at the restaurant in 27 minutes, I’m going to tell him.

Me: He already knows. There’s nothing you can hold over my head anymore.

Marty: Even if it’s true, and I think you’re full of shit, I doubt he’d appreciate his friends and family knowing his girlfriend’s a whore, but I’ll be sure to ask him tonight when I show up at his little party and tell everyone EXACTLY how deep you could swallow my cock. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even mention the little girl he adores could belong to me. Even with this alleged paternity test, which we both know is bullshit, I think it could make for some fun stories. Don’t you? Hell, maybe we can even compare notes. See who could make you scream the loudest.

My phone slips from my fingers, clattering onto the bathroom counter as I cover my mouth and try to contain the sob clawing its way up my throat. But it feels impossible. All of this feels impossible. The guilt. The shame. The lies. But I can’t ruin Milo’s night, either. Not when he deserves this moment to shine. To be appreciated for all of his talent and hard work. And Marty’s a big enough asshole to ruin it out of spite if I don’t hold up my end of the bargain.

One more night.

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