Page 57 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

“Yes.”

“I don’t exactly know his finances.”

His smile is warm despite my prickliness as he clarifies, “I meant mentally. The kid had a tough time growing up.”

“What does his childhood have to do with him being ready to buy the shop?” I ask, my gaze narrowing.

“He knows I’ve been holding back from selling,” Jos continues, though I don’t miss the way he dodged my question.

Interesting.

“And why have you been delaying?” I prod, resting my elbows on the table.

“Because he’s a workaholic who’s averse to taking risks. I want to make sure he’s still making time for living before putting even more on his plate if this is even what he actually wants in the first place.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’ve added yourself and your little one to his plate.”

I open my mouth to curse him out, but he raises his hand and stops me. “It’s a good thing, sweetheart. He needs a more well-balanced diet than working here and hitting the gym.” He winks. “I think you’re good for him.”

“We’re not an item,” I remind him.

“Maybe not. But if my memory hasn’t completely gone to shit, and you’ve known him for a little over a year as you mentioned, and your baby can’t be more than a few months old, then I remember when you two were seeing each other for the first while. He was balancing his work plate better. Still responsible, mind you, but he wasn’t showing up early for his shifts or staying late to take a few more walk-in clients. He took the time to have hobbies, to do things he liked to do because he liked to do them. As I said, he was more balanced. And suddenly, he wasn’t,” he adds, alluding to our breakup. “Within twenty-four hours, Milo did a one-eighty. All of a sudden, he was avoiding leaving his booth at all costs. Coming in early and staying late. He didn’t paint anymore. Didn’t create anything for himself. Nothing. I assume you might’ve had something to do with it too.”

“I’m sorry, but why do you care what he does with his time? Don’t youwanthim to put his heart and soul into your shop?”

“I’m an old man, sweetheart. If I’ve learned anything through my years, it’s the importance of balance. Sure, I’ll have a few clients who attend my funeral, maybe even an old fling or two.” He winks again and looks around the breakroom, which holds more memories for him than the vault at the Bellagio. “But I was too busy working, being responsible, and putting my heart and soul into this business. I missed out on the important things. And by the time it hit me, I realized I was too late. This place is all I’ll ever have. And while it’s great, I don’t want Milo to make the same mistakes I have.”

“So, you’re holding the shop hostage until he can figure it out?” My mama bear is practically clawing at me, dying to give Jos a piece of my mind, but I hold it in. Because Milo respects him, and if he respects Jos, I should too. For now, anyway.

“No offense, but it doesn’t exactly sound fair,” I tell him.

“Like I said. I’m an old man,” he reminds me. “And when you get to be my age, you don’t have to play fair.” He leans closer and drops his voice a few octaves. “You get to make your own rules.”

“And what rules are those?”

“Help him live. Maybe convince him to miss a shift or two. A baby’s a good start. Never would’ve thought he’d be so irresponsible––”

“Hey!”

“I’m not complaining.” Jos pats my hand resting on the table and gives me another wink, which has me starting to wonder if it’s a quirky habit. “Just surprised, is all. He’ll be a good dad, though.”

“I agree with you there,” I admit, only partially buying his half-assed attempt at being a sweet old man instead of the badass tattoo artist thinly veiled beneath his wrinkled face and kind eyes. “There’s one flaw with your plan, though,” I add.

“And the problem is…?”

“You’re giving me too much credit. He doesn’t want me anymore. We aren’t an item or anything. We’re…co-parenting. Hell, he practically hates me.”

“I agree with you.”

Eyes wide, I flinch back. “Oh, you do?”

Ouch.

“Yes. But I know Milo better than anyone. And I know there’s a fine line between love and hate. You seem to balance it perfectly.”

I bite my lip but stay quiet. I don’t know what else he expects me to say.

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