Page 17 of Blue Jeans in Low Beams

“Tell him I say hi!”

We hastily say goodbye, and I tap my earbud to hang up the call and switch back to my music. The up-tempo melody and heavy beat surround me, helping me to get lost in the smooth as whiskey voice of Dustin Wild.

I’ve always loved Dustin’s music, and not just because he’s a hometown boy, but because there’s something about it that resonates with the soul. Something so real and true about it. Plus, it was fun to brag while at UGA that I knew him. Most people didn’t believe me at first, but after he did a show in Athens, giving me an all-access pass to hang with him and his band, I became the stuff of legends.

Okay, legends is a bit extreme. But I certainly didn’t have anyone questioning me when it came to Dustin after that.

Turning my attention back to the counters, I sanitize every flat surface I can find, making sure that every last bit of stray cocoa powder and sugar is cleaned up. I will not be responsible for ants getting in here. Because if ants get into the apartment, that means they could get into the beer. I think. I assume. Truthfully, I’ve never put a whole lot of thought into it, but I’m not risking it. There will be no ants.

The song changes over, the sweet, borderline whimsical chords of “Chasing Falling Stars” winding into my ears and around my heart. It’s one of those songs that you can’t help but sing along to, and I don’t stop myself. I have the apartment to myself, so sing I shall.

And dance.

Because this is also a song you can’t help but dance to. One where all you can do is picture yourself in the arms of someone you love, so lost in each other nothing else matters, moving in time with the beat. Closing my eyes, I let go, giving in to the rhythm, almost able to feel the embrace of⁠—

“Ahhhh!”

The tap on my shoulder startles me. No, not startles—scares the shit out of me. My scream is loud enough that it can probably be heard from space. Internally I freeze. Externally…I lose control of my limbs.

Arms and legs flailing, I spin around, half trying to throw a punch at the intruder and half hanging on for dear life so I don’t fall.

Spoiler alert—I fail at both.

My hand connects with the face of the person opposite me, the momentum of my swing—if we can call it a swing—taking my whole body with it, crashing into them, both of us tumbling toward the ground. Which we hit—hard and with a loud crash.

Fuck!

“Arrrgggg…”

The low, gruff groan that comes from underneath me makes both of our bodies rumble, something that in any other moment might be enjoyable. Only, I recognize that voice. And if I’m right—which I know I am—this isn’t good.

Slowly, I open one eye, hoping I’m wrong.

I’m not.

Milo groans again, shifting slightly underneath me. Panic takes over and I fumble, trying to move, but only succeed in rubbing my body against his.

His very hard, muscular body.

Great, just great…

For an educated, mostly confident twenty-something woman, I’m doing a very poor job of showing that off.

“Milo!”

Gaining some composure, I push myself up, embarrassment taking over again. At least this time I’m not naked.

“Hey, Brenna,” he greets, the trepidation in his voice clear. “Sorry, I thought you heard me come in.”

“Nope, too busy jammin’ out.” I giggle.

I try to look at him, but the second our eyes meet, my heart stops. Oh hell, when did he get so cute? Actually, that’s a stupid question. Milo has always been cute. More than cute. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a crush on him when I was little.

Not a real crush. Not the kind that makes you draw hearts on your notebook, pairing your first name with his last. No, it was the kind of crush that little girls get on their older brothers’ friends who make them laugh. Who are willing to play dress-up with them before heading off to a Friday night football game, or who lets them crash their prom pictures.

Because that’s what six-year-old Brenna did—crashed Brandt and Milo’s prom pictures. Just ask my mother, and she’ll gladly show you the proof.

“I…I was just making a dessert for tonight,” I offer up, trying to fill the silence.