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“You good now?”
“About as good and as awkward as I’m going to get.” She snorts, but then her face falls when she looks directly at me. “Oh my God, Milo! Your eye.”
Yeah. It’s red and already bruised around the edges; my buddy Evan definitely delivered with that punch. Directly into my left eye, that is. No doubt, I’ll have this shiner for a good week.
“It’s fine.” I wave it off and focus the conversation on the most important thing—her. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” she says, and her voice drops to a near whisper. “Thank you for taking care of me last night. For getting me here. For staying here. Just…thank you.”
“I didn’t want to be anywhere else.”
Those chocolate eyes of hers search my gaze, but she doesn’t say anything.
And that’s fine by me. I have enough to say for the both of us.
“We have a lot to talk about.”
“We do?”
Like she doesn’t know we have a lot to talk about…
“You said you loved me,” I say, and her eyes go wide.
“What?”
“Last night. In this very room. You said you loved me.”
“I…uh…” She stumbles over her words, but I willingly let her off the hook.
“I love you too, Maybe.”
She bites her teeth into her bottom lip. “You do?”
“I do.”
A smile kisses her lips, but as fast as it appears, it’s gone. “Oh God.” She groans. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.”
“How what’s supposed to go?”
“The big romantic ending,” she explains. “Like in movies. It’s supposed to be this big thing with, like, rain and shit. Not bad appendixes and surgery and IV tubing.”
I want to laugh. “Does it really matter?”
“No. I guess not.” She shrugs one annoyed shoulder. “I mean, I would’ve preferred the rain or like a rainbow or something, but I guess the Jell-O is at least multicolored.”
I actually laugh this time.
But then I lean forward, gently lift her into my lap, and press my lips to hers.
She wraps her arms around my neck, smiles against my mouth, and I don’t hesitate to deepen the kiss a bit, slipping my tongue past her lips and letting her know I mean every fucking word I’ve said.
“I love you, kid,” I say again, staring deep into her eyes and putting a hand to the side of her face. “That night at your apartment, I didn’t stop things because I didn’t want to be with you. I more than wanted to be with you. I am in love with you. I didn’t want to have sex. I wanted to make love, and that couldn’t happen until we both had our feelings for each other sorted out.”
“You handled it terribly,” she says and then adds, “But I did too.”
“We both did.”
“You really love me?”
“I definitely love you.”
“I love you too.” She presses a kiss to my mouth. “I just have one final question.”
I smirk. “And what’s that?”
“Deflower me, please?”
A cheeky little smirk lifts the corners of her mouth, and I laugh.
I’m going to do more than that. One day, I’m going to marry you, kid.
Maybe
Four weeks later…
Between my mom and Milo fussing over me after my surgery, my first official day at Beacon House, and more of Milo and Betty fussing, four weeks have flown by like the damn wind.
But stitches and pain meds and an appendectomy aside, it’s been the best month of my life.
Milo and I are official. An us. A we. A sure-fucking-thing.
And my first day at Beacon House was more than I could have imagined.
I am Maybe Willis, junior editor at one of the biggest publishing houses in the industry.
I have my own office. My own desk. My own flipping stapler.
Hell, I even have a sign on my door with my freaking name on it.
I am legit. The real deal.
And Bruce was worried my degree in books wouldn’t get me anywhere. As if.
I spot an open seat on the subway and plop my ass down. Eight hours in these brand-new heels proved to be a test in real strength and my feet complained the whole damn day, but I wouldn’t change a thing.
There was no way I was going to show up for my first official day on the job and look anything but fabulous. I’ll deal with the blisters later.
The subway jolts and whines as it heads up the tracks, and I pull my phone out of my purse to find a text message from Milo.
Instantly, I smile like the lovesick idiot I am.
Goddamn, everything really came up roses.
Milo: Where in the hell are you, kid? I have three bags of Mexican takeout sitting here waiting for you.
When I left his apartment this morning, he made me promise to come back home—yes, he said home—to his place after work so I could tell him all about my day and he could feed me takeout from my favorite restaurant.
