Love, Milo

I was trying to be nice.

My head rests on the window of Milo’s car as he drives wherever this party is. We left the dress shop a few minutes ago after I stormed out. My dresses sit in the back seat. I should’ve gotten more. The buildings and streets illuminated by the orange sunset blur together as the car drives on.

My arms stay crossed, and I rub the goosebumps on my skin caused by the steady stream of cold air from the central console.

“Are you cold?” I hear Milo’s question.

I don’t answer him. No fucking shit, I’m cold; I’m not just hugging myself for no apparent reason.

He clicks the cold air off, reading my mind, turning on the warm air. Immediately, it satisfies my body, causing a sigh to seep out of my nose.

“Raelynn,” he calls out softly. His voice scratches the back of my head, slipping down and through my body.

Why does my name on his tongue have to feel so damn good to hear?

His hand falls from the steering wheel, reaching over to rest on my thigh. I force myself not to flinch at the touch of his hand, but my body reacts in other ways.

His fingers stop against my inner thigh, a softness to his hand that makes places tingle that shouldn’t be tingling. The flat of his thumb brushes against the side of my thigh, and he squeezes me.

I haven’t been or let anyone touch me this way—in a place so intimate—in over two years. Then again, I haven’t let anyone but Milo touch me at all, either…

“Rae, talk to me, please,” He pleads. “Or else I might go crazy from your silent treatment.”

I stare at his hand from hiding behind my hair. Veins travel around the back of his hand; my eyes trace them up his wrist, under the watch that probably cost more than my life expenses, and disappear under his sleeve. His fingers are so long and so well-kept.Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

My stomach twists at the movement of his hand. It’s only a tiny movement, yet I’m going absolutely feral. I turn my head away, letting out a breath.

Control yourself, Raelynn.

“Do you want me to beg for forgiveness?” He asks. “Is that what you want?”

I shrug my shoulders, “Maybe.” A blurry circle appears on the window caused by my breath hitting it.

He laughs briefly, nearly muttering, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, and make sure you’re down on your knees while you’re at it,” I say sardonically, rolling my eyes.

I glance at Milo, his jaw tense, and his hand on the steering wheel, turning it in a circle with one motion to turn a corner.

He clears his throat, squeezing my thigh before letting go, pulling at the center of his slacks, and shifting in his seat.

“You sure have a way with words,” He whispers. My brows furrow, but I brush it off.

Silence falls upon us again for the remainder of the ride until he stops in front of a large complex building. He stops the car, parking as I stare at the surrounding area. Downtown Manhattan is surrounded by other expensive-looking cars parked at the sides of the streets. Standing in front of the building are people dressed like a million dollars.

He turns the car off. I look at him as he reaches into his back seat for a suit jacket. He slips it on himself, and I bite my lip nervously.

I’ve never been to anything like this before. What if I say something wrong? Or do something that’s looked down upon?

Milo grabs his phone and slips it in his pocket, then turns to look at me, doing a double take. He stops his movement. “Just stay at my side and look pretty, love.”

He pushes his door open and shuts it, walking around and opens my door. Without me saying anything, he unlocks the seatbelt from around me and takes my hand to help me out of the car. I roll my eyes, going along with his gentlemanly act.

I step out gracefully, and his eyes follow me with a smirk on their faces, shutting the door and locking it with a beep of the car keys.

“Is there anything I should know before we enter? About… Y’know, what to say?” My voice still holds annoyance from earlier. He throws his finger between mine, and we fall in line with each other steps. My heels click on the concrete below.

“I told you what all you needed to do several seconds ago.” We make our way up the front stairs; several people wave at him and give me a curious glance.

“Just look pretty?” I repeat what he said quietly. That doesn’t give me nearly enough reassurance.

“Mhm,” He opens the door for me, and I walk into the lobby. He tugs at my hand and bends his head beside my ear, his other hand resting on the small of my back. A hot line of electricity travels down my spine.

“You’re the prettiest woman here, Rae,” He whispers against my neck. “You have nothing to worry about.”

My cheeks burn, and goosebumps rise on my skin despite being warm.

He rises from beside my neck, his cheek brushing against my jaw; the roughness of his shallow stubble against me makes me shiver. He stops just far enough for us to look at each other. I watch his eyes trail down to my lips, his hand pressing into my back and closing the distance between our chests. My lips part, and I find it hard to breathe with him so close, my eyes heavy like two bricks sitting on them.

“Milo!” A female British voice breaks the dreadful tension between us, and his arms loosen from around me.

I bite my lip, looking away and down at the floor momentarily to regain the composure I lost moments ago.

A weight lifts off my chest, allowing me to breathe regularly again, and blood rushes back to my face.

Milo keeps a hand pressing into the small of my back as a petite, tall girl walks over to us. She holds her arms up with a wide grin at the sight of Milo. A long black dress hangs from her figure, a slit in the leg of it on the side. Looking around the lobby, I notice that neutral colors are the safe option for this party. Thank God I went for black and not the blue dress.

The girl hugs Milo, and he groans, ‘Genesis, you saw me not even twelve hours ago.”

He lets go of the girl, and she pushes his shoulder. “Shut up. I was sick of being around people I hate, and it’s only been an hour into the party.”

An hour? Are we late?

The girl, who looks no more than eighteen, give or take an age, looks at me, and her eyes widen with a smile.

“Okay, holy shit, woah,” She curses, her British accent dripping off her words just like Milo’s. She looks at Milo, “You pulled her? How in the world—’

Milo shoves her shoulder with minimal force, “Gen, fuck off.”

She giggles and extends her hand to me. “Hi, I’m Genesis, Milo’s little sister.”

I shake her hand. “I’m—’

“Raelynn Garcia, I know.”

My mouth stays parted, and she laughs again, “Milo hasn’t shut up about you.”

I look up at a pink-faced Milo, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek in frustration.

“Oh really?” I laugh briefly.

Milo grips my waist closer to him, bringing me along to an elevator he starts to walk towards. “Gen, why are you down here terrorizing me instead of being upstairs with Mom?”

“I saw your car from the roof and wanted to say hi to Raelynn, Mom with Dad.”

The elevator door opens, and all three of us step in.

Milo sighs, keeping me planted at his side like his cane. Like I’m the only thing keeping him from collapsing.

Genesis starts to talk with Milo about a track team she’s in and how well she did this morning. Milo congratulates her, and so do I. It’s nice seeing their relationship. I wish I had a relationship like that with Gia.

The elevator door opens seconds later, noise oozing through the door, and my eyes widen instantly.

The party’s on a roof.

Stepping out, I feel my body tense as I scan the several dozen people across the entire top of the roof. Soft music plays, and lightbulbs drape from poll to poll a few feet above our heads. A soft breeze brushes past us as we walk further in. My heart aches, and anxiety I wasn’t ready for takes over.

I squeeze Milo’s hand, the only thing keeping me sane.

He looks down at me. “You all right?”

I only nod.

Genesis, at some point, wanders off, and Milo walks around with me in his hand. Several people stop to greet him and talk about some position his fathers had gotten, congratulating him. They’ll turn to me and wave and state their names, but I’d forget moments later. There are too many names and too many faces. I throw on a fake smile the whole time, keeping at Milo’s side, with his hand being my only source of heat.

“Well,” an older woman who’s been talking with Milo says, looking at me. “Lovely dress.”

I snap out of my thoughts and smile. “Thanks. You look… dashing.” That’s formal, I think. My eyes scale down her outfit, a dress that fits her… old age.

Milo lets go of my hand, and I look up at him. He places a hand on my shoulders. “I’ll be back. I’ll grab you something to drink.”

Nodding okay, mentally preparing to be left alone, Milo lifts his finger under my chin and my head so I can look at him—and only him—directly.

His head bends, and he kisses the corner of my mouth. My heart jumps and sets off a minor explosion. I should pull away. But why? Isn’t this us acting? It does mean anything, and it’s a part of our deal.

Besides, no one said I couldn’t enjoy it.

His kiss only lasts a moment, but the feeling in my chest stays much longer.

The reminder that this is all an act scratching at the back of my head.

I smile his way before he walks around me and into the crowd of black suits and fancy wine glasses. My smile drops, and I let out a long breath, leaning against the rooftop banister.

The woman, whom I nearly forgot was still beside me, laughs. I look at her and sip the wine in her glass.

“Sweetie,” she chuckles. “I know we may look like we stepped out of a million-dollar family of an old black and white film, but no one uses the word dashing.”

My eyes dart between her wrinkling green ones, “I…” I laugh, but it lacks humor. “I was just… being—’ Nice.

“Oh, and I know this is your first Evans party, but next time maybe think of wearing something a little less… slutty. It isn’t a good look on my grandson.” She huffs a tired laugh.

“Excuse me?” My heart hammers at my chest; I can hear it thumping in my ears.

Grandson.

She waves a hand at me. “We all here know how little experience Milo has with women. He’ll pick one out of a trash can and call her amazing if it wasn’t for our insight.” Her gaze travels from head to toe, and I’m lost for words.

Humiliation doesn’t exactly describe how I feel. Nothing has made me want to shrivel up into a ball and get kicked off this roof more than this older woman’s words about a relationship that isn’t real.

The degrading words that remind me of my mothers.

My eyes sting, and I stare at her as she waves and walks away. Leaving me alone, shattered as one of the many wine glasses dropped on the floor.

I choke out a cry as I look down at my outfit. I thought I looked cute.

My face burns and boils scream boils at my core, but I swallow it. I swallow my cries and swallow my tears.

I shouldn’t have come. Going home should’ve been my first thought when Milo stupidly commented about pretending. What was I thinking? Coming to this party filled with people I don’t know in an unfamiliar community.

Not to mention Milo’s Grandmother is a cruel fucking bitch.

I avoid eye contact with everyone as I attempt to approach the elevator we arrived on an hour and a half ago.

But someone rams into me, and I gasp as a sticky liquid of whatever they were drinking spills all over my chest and dress. The coolness of it uncomfortably runs down between my tits.

“Shit!” The man that rammed into me hisses. “Bubblegum, I’m so sorry—’

I don’t even look at him, not that I’d be able to, with the tears blurring my vision.

I keep walking, tears streaming down my face now. Fuck this party, and fuck everyone here. Everyone including—

Gasps are heard from several people around me, and I turn around at the sound of glass shattering. In mid-action, I see Milo, his fist colliding with the man who had spilled me with his wine, the glass now shattered on the floor.

Several people shout at Milo to calm down. His sister, Genesis, holds a hand over her mouth, looking at her brother in shock.

“Milo, seriously?” Genesis shouts. But he steps right into the poor man’s bruised face.

I’m close enough to hear exactly what he snarls. “Watch where the fuck you’re going next time, Logan.” His eyes were hard and gray, like a storm cloud at night.

The man—Logan—shoves Milo, and he barely moves a step back. Logan, who’s just as broad, with his tie loosened, unbalanced on his feet, and clearly under the influence of alcohol, shoves Milo’s chest.

“Fuck you, man! You wann— wanna act tough now that you have a girlfriend to show off? Hm?” He pushes Milo again, but Milo catches his wrist, lowers it, and grabs Logan—who he seems to know well—by the collar.

A circle has been created around them, women shouting and worried and the men afraid to intercept. My feet stay planted on the floor, unsure of what the hell to do.

“You’re drunk, Logan. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Logan laughs, “A little fucking late for that, don’t ya think?” His hand whips up and meets Milo’s cheek with his knuckles, and I gasp, my hand coming over my mouth.

The brawl starts again, only to be halted by a loud shout from an older man.

“Boys!” The voice seems to shut everyone up, including Milo and Logan.

I see Milo glance at me once, not even a second long, but it still makes me feel all too responsible for all of this. He punched him because Logan bumped into me. Logan wouldn’t have bumped into me if I had stayed where I was.

The older man walks between the two, facing Milo. “You know better than to embarrass me at my own party.” Everyone stares, listening at who I soon realize is Milo’s dad.

Yet, no British accent laces his voice, only an American one, just like his grandmother had.

His dad looks towards me. Despite me not meeting him the entire night, he seems to recognize and know who I am.

He points straight at me and looks at Milo. “Take her home. You’ve done enough damage because of her already.” My face goes red; heat surrounds me like it would if I were floating above a volcano. Maybe I am—or maybe I’m standing on the top of a building from hell.

If steam could come out of humans, Milo would be fuming. His face read agitated, looking like he could punch the nearest person in his face—his dad.

But he doesn’t; he steps aside, shoulder bumping into his father, and walks towards me.

I mash my lips together, curling them into my mouth, embarrassment flooding over me as eyes fall on us.

He grabs my hand just as I whisper to him. “Are you alright?” I look at his busted lips. “I’m so sor—’

I don’t get to finish. Milo grips my hips, bringing me flush against his hard front, where he slams his lips into mine forcefully and with steadiness. My hand squeezes his bicep, my eyebrows jumping high.

Oh my God.

His hand travels to the back of my head, cupping it as he moves his mouth against mine. The metallic taste of blood seeps onto my tongue. Then he parts.

“Don’t be sorry,” he whispers before looking towards everyone watching, stunned at all that’s just happened.

“If you haven’t met her already, this is Raelynn Garcia,” he says loud enough for the entire party to hear, wiping the flat of his thumb against the corner of his mouth. “My girlfriend. And if you have a problem with that…” he laughs bitterly, staring directly at his father. “by all means, let me be the first to know.”