Page 39 of Worth Loving You

I heaved a sigh, ready to begin my usual lecture, but Milo was calling again. Choosing to deal with him rather than her, I grumbled, “I’m going to take this. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She nodded, sinking into the cushions to eat the whole box, probably.

Tapping the screen, I brought the cell to my ear. “What?”

“It’s about time you took my call!”

I rose to my feet and sauntered down the hallway, closing my bedroom door behind me. Laying on the mattress, I stretched my legs out, putting him on speaker so I could curl to my side.

“What do you want? I told you, we were over.”

“The fuck we are,” he chimed arrogantly.

Clucking my teeth, I sighed, tucking both my hands under my cheek. “I don’t know what to tell you, because we are.”

Animosity left his voice. “Baby girl, don’t say that.”

“Milo—”

“No!” he barked, startling me. “Baby girl, don’t do this to me.”

“Do what? What about what you did to me?”

“You? What the hell did I do to you?”

“You pushed me around, for one. I’m not going to tolerate that. I’m not like your other bitches, Milo. You will show me respect, or you can forget it.”

He huffed and fell quiet for a moment. After nearly a full minute of silence, he muttered, “I’m sorry.”

Arching my brows, I lifted my head off the pillow to look at the phone. “Excuse me, what?”

He huffed. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry about?”

“For fuck’s sake,” he growled. “Everything.”

“Nope. You can’t learn unless you acknowledge your mistakes. So, tell me what you did wrong and why you’re sorry.”

There was rattling on his end and a loud commotion before he returned, his voice gruff and tense. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“What else?”

“Son of a…I’m sorry I tried to force you to do what I wanted. That was not respectful of your wishes.”

“And?”

“And? And…” Again, his tone sounded distant as he spewed profanity after profanity with a few rough bangs. Quietness, a heavy sigh, and he was back. “And, from now on, I will ask, instead of insist when I want something from you.”

I was beaming, my cheeks hurting because I was trying not to laugh. It was astounding I had this kind of control over a man like Milo Pampinella. It was a natural high of power that had me tingling from the tip of my scalp to my toes.

“Now was that so hard?”

He was grumbling incoherently.

“I forgive you.”

He paused and then asked, “Really?”