I love the way he makes my heart dance.
CHAPTER 05: MILOS
I’m stupid.
I’m so fucking stupid, it’s not even funny.
“How could you lose the number, Veronika?” I ask for what feels like the umpteenth time in the last three days.
Three. Fucking. Days.
Three days since the shoot that was supposed to be a fluke turned out not to be a damn fluke at all. But what feels like my damned salvation.
Two days since I found out the number he put in my sister’s phone—because of course mine was out of juice—is apparently not working.
And one day since I started to really freak out about the very real prospect of never seeing Kaiden again.
Kaiden. No last name. No way to find him besides all the shit I’ve obviously already tried.
It’s like I knoweverythingabout him, and nothing at the same time.
I know how that dimple pops when he gives me that soft, secretive smile.
I know how those lips taste when they brush mine.
I know how his eyes flare when he laughs.
Those fuck-me eyes…
And I would. I would fuck him. Or shit, probably would let him fuck me first.
Even iffuckfeels way too crude a word for what I actually want to do with him.
Everything. The answer iseverything.
I don’t believe in this fate or love-of-your-life bullshit, but fuck, even I can’t ignore what was happening right there in front of me.
What was happeningtome.
And now I have no way to reach him.
Or even worse…
Maybe he gave me a fake number.
“You think he gave me a fake number?” I voice the thought when Nika doesn’t reply. Again. It’s not like I haven’t asked her that exact question ten times already.
She sighs, and I glare at her where she’s doing a handstand against my floor-to-ceiling windows, her polka-dotted socks pressed against the glass, the gray winter sky and even grayer river IJ behind her.
She can’t fucking sit still for two damn minutes. Always stretching, doing the splits, hanging upside down from the railing of my loft, turning my place into some kind of personal rehearsal studio.
Pointing my torch at her—the one I’d been using to bend neon tubing before she hijacked my afternoon meltdown—I narrow my eyes. “You really think it wasn’t on purpose?”
“Milos…” Another sigh as she drops back onto her feet, turning the right way up again, hands landing on her hips. “No. I really think he meant to meet up with you. Truly. I’m so fucking sorry,segra.”
I deflate, leaning my ass back against the workstation that takes up almost the entire wall opposite the windows. Tubes, burners, glass rods and tools are scattered everywhere, half-finished neon pieces glowing softly around the studio.
My workshop lives down here. The messy, chaotic part of my life.
