Page 11 of Worth Loving You

I plopped to the cream toned, velvet chaise at the foot of the bed, setting my bag next to me. “I’m so sorry my poverty seems to offend you,” I sighed with a mocking tone. “Two grand is chump change to you, a month’s rent for me. So, grow the fuck up, act like a mature adult, and show some respect.”

Bent over my table, he stopped moving. Some of the rage left his blue eyes, but he didn’t smile as he scoped my appearance. Grumbling under his breath, he unfolded the legs and set it up, locking the latches in place.

Spreading his arms out, he motioned at it and hissed, “Happy?”

A brow arched, unimpressed by his moody behavior. “Are you supposed to be intimidating? I mean, is…is that the vibe you’re going after? Because, I’m just not falling for it.”

Milo chuckled from the entrance, a brilliant smile lighting up his features. He strolled forward and patted Wyatt on the back of the shoulder. “It’s okay. I think you’re scary.”

He leered at me, his upper lip twitching. Gazing at Milo for a moment, he quietly left, closing the door behind him.

“He’s harmless,” he offered, setting his mug on the dresser next to a walk in closet.

“I wasn’t concerned.”

“He really doesn’t scare you?”

Snorting, I stood, going to the same dresser to unpack my oils and iPod. Getting the sheet from the bottom of the bag, I returned to the table and spread it out, smoothing the wrinkles.

Milo picked up my device and scrolled through the music. “All of it’s that generic, easy listening stuff you had the other day?”

I glimpsed at him, a little pissed he would just help himself to my things. “Yes.”

“What kind of music do you listen to?” he asked, strutting to the nightstand. He hooked the iPod to a speaker and tapped the screen, piano and flute tunes overwhelming the sounds until he adjusted the volume.

“Everything.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm hm.”

“Rock, heavy metal, country, rap?”

“Yup,” I sighed, going to my bag to get towels out, laying them on the dresser.

“Classical and opera?”

“Everything,” I sang, bored with the conversation.

“So, about your outfit. Do you wear this on Saturdays?”

My sight flitted to the mirror to check him out. He was shrugging off the shirt, tossing it to the bed. Catching me looking at him, he stopped tugging the string on his pants to eye me.

For a moment, I was struck dumb, and all I could do was gaze.

His brows lifted.

“Uh…n-no. I wear jeans and a tee shirt.”

He seemed disappointed. Bowing his chin, he snagged a small towel as he went to the table. Before he could drop his pants, I forced myself to stare at the bottles lined up on the dresser, refusing to look at him naked. I needed to focus.

“I think I want to set up an appointment with you every Saturday. Is that okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You can call me Milo.”

I sighed, rubbing my forehead. I needed to get a fucking grip. This was absurd.