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She giggles at that, and it’s like music to my ears.
And just like that, I’m lost in her fucking cuteness.
Cap forgotten.
Canyon really long forgotten.
Maybe’s hand in mine seared into my memories forever.
Maybe
“Girl,” Lena whispers as we step inside one of the large bathrooms on the second floor of the penthouse. “Things are looking good from where I’m standing.”
Two minutes ago, she interrupted my conversation with Milo on the balcony under the pretense of needing to talk to me for a minute and all but dragged my ass up the stairs and into this insanely ornate and ridiculously huge bathroom.
“Dang, how much money does this chick have?” I question as I peer around the expansive, all-marble space. “I mean, this bathroom is bigger than my damn apartment, and it’s not even the master bathroom. It’s a guest bedroom bathroom. Like how—”
“Forget about the damn bathroom, Mayb,” Lena cuts me off and pulls herself up to take a seat on the large, double-sink countertop. “Shit is about to go down tonight.”
I tilt my head to the side. “What?”
“It is going down, honey,” she repeats. “We are going to make sure that Milo takes you home, and then, you are going to plant a big fat juicy kiss on his lips.”
“What?” I watch my eyes go wide in the reflection of the giant mirror behind her. “You are insane.”
The night has been going pretty much perfectly.
Milo actually showed up, and we’ve spent the last two hours just chatting and drinking out on the balcony.
I’m afraid to rock the boat by doing something crazy like kissing him.
“When are you going to learn that I’m aces at reading people?” She smirks like the devil. “Between the way he nearly went all caveman on that idiot photographer and hasn’t left your side for the past two hours, he’s practically ordered a neon sign describing the way he feels about you and set it up over your head. It’s time for you to make a move.”
Make a move? On Milo?
Holy fried potatoes, I might start hyperventilating.
“I don’t…I’m not… Fucking hell, Lena, this is freaking me out.”
“Girl.” She hops off the counter and places two steady hands on my shoulders. “Just take a breath.”
I stare at her as I inhale some much-needed oxygen into my lungs and let it out slowly.
“Let’s just look at the big picture here, okay?”
I nod.
“You like Milo.”
I nod again. I do like Milo. I’ve always liked Milo. Now that I’ve gotten to know him as an adult, I’m borderline obsessed.
“And over the past few weeks, he’s shown enough signs to prove that, although he wants to see you as just his best friend’s little sis, he can’t. The man is into you, whether or not either of you is ready to admit it to yourselves.”
“I just don’t know—” I start to refute, but she raises a hand in the air.
“Just think about everything that’s gone down between you two.”
I recount everything in my head.
His near-overzealous willingness to help me with my career.
Our constant supply of daily text and phone conversations over the past few weeks.
The sexting. Holy hell, the sexting.
Him being here tonight. At the exact kind of party he hates.
“So,” Lena continues with a little cheeky grin. “You leave the whole you catching a ride home from him tonight to me, and just prepare yourself to put on your big-girl panties and do the one thing you’ve wanted to do for a long fucking time.”
“Kiss him.”
Her smile consumes her whole damn face. “Bingo.”
Holy mother of mangoes, I hope I don’t screw this up.
Somehow, some-insane-way, Yoda—aka Lena—pulled through.
With some expert finagling, she made her brother Cap drive her home and arranged for Milo to do the same for me.
I swear, she might be a witch or something.
And now, I sit inside Milo’s fancy ride—some kind of sexy sports car that I don’t know the name of—while he drives me to my apartment in Chelsea.
The normally bustling city streets are empty and bare at this hour of the morning, the clock on the dash shines with two a.m., and soft classical music plays from the speakers.
I feel like I’m flying.
High off the night.
High off the awesome time I had at the party.
High off Milo’s blue eyes and his full lips and the way he looks when he’s laughing.
High off him.
The man is like my own personal drug, one hit off his smile and I’m done for. Addicted. Desperate for more.
Our conversation hasn’t waned since he showed up at the party this evening. We’ve talked about anything and everything. His business. His favorite places he’s traveled to. My time at Stanford. Bands we want to see live. My favorite book recommendations. The best secret spots in New York that tourists don’t know about.
You name it, and it’s been discussed.
And the more we talk, the more time we spend together, the more I understand why I’ve always carried a torch for him.
