6| Wild fantasies

Ever since Milo's unexpected proposal, I can't help but wonder what he'd be like as a boyfriend. It's so unfathomable to me that he could be any other version than the one I've seen so far–mocking, serious–but what if there is more? What if boyfriend Milo is sweet or complimentary? What if he's romantic?

It only hits me that this is what I'm thinking about when I look up from my desk. Milo strides toward the coffee machine and presses the button. Why am I thinking about what kind of boyfriend he is? He's doing me a favor, no doubt one he'll be cashing in soon, too. I need to be prepared for the fine print that no doubt accompanies this good deed of his; I need to be smart.

He grabs his coffee and makes a beeline for his desk, but not before smirking at me. This little smirk tells me I'm right, I know I am. This favor of Milo's isn't free.

I drag my eyes back to my laptop, where I send Ashley an email asking for an update. I'm desperate to have this property ready as quickly as possible. The quicker it's done, the less likely it is that anything will go wrong. In theory.

I spend the rest of the day typing away like a madwoman. My plate is piling up, and trying to balance everything at once feels a lot like walking on a tightrope. One wrong move, and I'll tumble to my death.

"You coming out for drinks tonight?" Jess asks at one point. "We're all going to that new bar downtown."

I'm about to give her my typical No, sorry, but I stop myself when I'm reminded of Luke. Luke, the man I was supposed to marry. Luke, the one who told me nobody else could compare. Luke, the one getting married three months after our break up, because that's how easy it was to get over me.

I swallow hard. "Okay."

Her head snaps up. "Really? I mean, I was just asking to be polite. You always say no."

"Well," I say, "this time, I'm saying yes. Count me in."

The second I get home, I'm raiding my closet for something to wear. It's forced excitement–I'd rather stay home and cuddle with Mulan–but I'm told if you fake something long enough, it'll eventually stick. So, that's what I'm doing: I'm faking it.

Despite my reservations, the evening starts enjoyable. Most of those here tonight are from floors five – the sevens rarely mix with us sixes, and the sixes like to think they're better than the fives.

"This will be one of the last times you hang out with us lowly fives if you get that promotion," Steve says. "No way would a seven be slumming it with the rest of us. Don't tell Patricia and Harry this, but I'll miss you the most if you get it."

I'm sandwiched between him and Jess, who is already on her third Martini. What Steve said is true, even though I wish it weren't. It sounds petty and high school-like, but the sevens do not mix with anyone except sixes, and even then, it's rare. Laurelle does it on purpose– she wants to keep this rivalry going. Supposedly, it makes us work harder.

Still, I say, "Of course we'll still see each other," even though we know it's a lie.

The door swings open, and Milo walks in with a gust of fresh snow. He peels off his Vampire coat and neatly folds it over his arm. Something works its way up my stomach like a quick flash of heat. He's wearing a navy shirt and dark blue jeans that are taut and perfectly fitted. It doesn't seem to matter what he wears–he always looks expensive.

He strides toward the bar and flags down a bartender. Steve heads off to the bathroom, so I down the rest of my drink and stand next to Milo. He looks at me briefly, the tiniest smirk on his lips. "You don't usually come to these things," he says.

"I'm surprised you do."

He shrugs. "I make the effort every once in a while."

The bartender hands Milo a coke, then hurries off to make me another Martini. Milo waits with me, sipping at his coke while I tap my nails on the counter.

"You looked pretty cozy with Steve over there," he says.

I can tell from his expression that he's just trying to annoy me, but I play along anyway. "You sound like a jealous boyfriend."

He leans closer. "Jealous? Of him?"

I turn into him, and he tenses. "He happens to be very cute."

"Cute," Milo repeats. His eyes are on mine, dark and intense. It's hard not to get lost in them.

"Yes, cute. What's wrong with me saying cute?"

The bartender slides my Martini toward me, and without looking away, Milo hands his card over and pays for my drink. "Puppies are cute," he says. "Penguins. Not men. You better not think I'm cute."

"I don't."

He raises an eyebrow. "What am I, then?"

My throat suddenly feels dry. I'm acutely aware of how close we're standing, but I can't for the life of me step back. His face is so close to mine I can smell the mint on his tongue. I can see the small freckle on his jaw and the slight rosy tint to his cheeks.

The heat I'd felt earlier grows stronger. I sip my drink and glance at the others who are watching us. Panicked, I step back and say, "A pain in my ass," before sitting next to Steve.

I end up drinking more than I should. I just keep thinking of Luke and seeing him tomorrow, and I get so hot and nervous that I order another. I know it won't help, that the relief is temporary, but temporary relief feels better than no relief.

At the end of the night, we all say goodbye. As I'm about to climb into a cab with Steve and Jess, Milo tells me he's dropping me home. Tells me, not asks, like I have absolutely no choice in the matter. I'm about to argue when he hooks an arm in mine and helps me down the icy street.

"How do I know you're not kidnapping me?" I ask.

"Don't you think if I were to kidnap you, I'd have done it by now? I already know where you live and where you work."

"True."

He helps me into his car, and I fasten the seatbelt. It's freezing in here, and Milo climbs into the driver's seat before turning up the heating. The first few minutes of the drive are silent. I wrack my brain for something to say. In the end, I settle on, "So, what do you want in return for helping me tomorrow?"

He glances over. "What?"

"I'd like for us to be even," I say. "No debt. No, I owe you. So, what do you want?"

The corner of his mouth twitches. He doesn't say anything until he's pulling up outside my apartment, and then he kills the engine and faces me. "All right, if that's how you want it."

Something about those words has my stomach bursting with heat. If that's how you want it. "So?"

He looks at my lips. His eyes darken, and I have to resist the urge to do something I know I'll end up regretting. "I want a lot of things, Kennedy."

"Pick one."

The muscles in his jaw contract. His eyes flit to mine. "How about this: you have to get my coffee from the espresso machine and bring it to my desk for a whole day."

I continue to blink at him. The heat in my stomach dissipates. I don't know what sinful, disturbing things I'd been imagining, but none of them involved that. "Fine," I say. "Then we're even, and I can get back to focusing on my upcoming promotion."

He raises an eyebrow. "Awfully presumptuous of you to assume you'll get the promotion."

I smile sweetly. "With you as my competition, how could I not?"

Amusement flashes in his eyes. He straightens up, rising to the challenge. "You've done it now, Kennedy."

"Done what?" I ask.

"Awoken my competitive streak."

I laugh and open my door. "It won't make a difference. See you tomorrow, Milo."

There is a brief moment where I bend down to look at him, and he stares right back. His mouth is unsmiling, his eyes serious, but there is something else in his expression right now, something I like. "See you tomorrow, Kennedy."

For the first time in months, I don't get into bed and stalk Lucas on social media. I just settle into the covers, curl on my side, and fall into a dreamless slumber.

***

My alarm goes off early. I roll on my side and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fall back to sleep. My stomach has been twisted into knots all night, so I'm more exhausted than ever.

I spend the morning cleaning, then re-cleaning in case I've missed something. By twelve, the place is spotless, but that doesn't stop me from wiping away imaginary dust and refolding already-folded blankets.

After checking my phone for the fifteenth time, I shower and get dressed, throwing on a casual silk shirt and skinny jeans. I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard, but I don't want to look sloppy, either; it's a fine balance.

Milo texts me to tell me he's here, and I buzz him up. It's not long before there's a knock at the door, and I hurry over to open it. My apartment is relatively big compared to most apartments in New York, but somehow, Milo still manages to look like a giant in my doorway. His eyes scan the open-plan living room and fall on the yellow patterned cushions, where Mulan is curled into an adorable ball of fluff.

It hits me that Milo has never been inside my apartment before. Why would he? Until now, we have been unfriendly coworkers, not exactly on the kind of terms where one would invite the other in for coffee. And yet, despite this, having Milo in my apartment feels a lot less weird than I thought it would.

"Hey," I say.

The corner of his lip curls slightly. "Hey."

I move to the couch and give Mulan a head rub. Milo still waits in the doorway. "Are you a vampire?" I ask. "Do you need to be formally invited in? You can come in, Milo."

He pauses a moment before stepping inside. "Interesting."

I stop stroking Mulan to look at him. "What's interesting?"

"This–" he gestures at my apartment, "–is interesting. Decorate it yourself?"

From the look in his eyes, he is mocking me. "Yes, actually. It's shabby chic."

He suppresses a smile. "You've got the shabby part down."

I frown and say, "I didn't invite you over to insult my apartment."

"Technically, you didn't invite me over at all. I invited myself." He moves toward the couch and gives Mulan's head an abrupt yet affectionate rub. "What time is he getting here?"

My chest tightens. "An hour." I suddenly realize this means Milo and I have an hour to kill. "Sorry."

"It's fine." He explores the room, pausing at photo frames and paintings before moving to something else. His face remains neutral, so it's hard to tell whether he's impressed or displeased.

He stops to examine a picture of my parents, who look surprisingly loved up as Mom presses her cheek to Dad's. It was taken a while back, so there are far fewer lines on Mom's warm brown skin and Dad's pale, rosy cheeks.

Milo studies the picture, but his face remains that same usual look of indifference. "Your parents look nice."

"They are," I say. "I miss them."

He moves to the bookcase and scans the different shelves. "I have a question," he says. "Is this what the inside of your head is like?"

"What?"

He turns, wearing this secretive, playful grin that makes my heart flip. "Chaotic, vibrant. Verging on disorganized."

I'm truly offended. "My apartment is not disorganized."

His eyebrows furrow. "You've got books everywhere. There's no order to anything. Look." He points to a shelf, where I've got a candle resting on top of a dictionary next to a stuffed blue Stitch toy Lucas won for me at a funfair. He picks up the Stitch and says, "No order."

I close the distance between us and reach for the Stitch, but he holds it above his head. I stand on my tiptoes and go to swipe it out of his hands, but I'm no match for a giant.

"What are you, twelve?" I say, but the remnants of a smile on his lips make me laugh. We're standing too close, but neither seems to mind the lack of personal space. "I bet you can't wait to have me bring you your coffee on Monday, can you?"

He lets out a deep, abrupt laugh. "We could always change the terms if you'd prefer something else."

I raise an eyebrow. "Like what, Milo?"

His face remains the picture of innocence. "You could run my errands for me. Get my paper from the printer. Photocopy things that need photocopying."

I hold back a smile. "Look at you practically salivating over me being your slave. You're twisted, Milo."

"I'm twisted?" He gestures around. "I'm not the one pretending to have a boyfriend."

"That was your idea!"

"I know." His eyes turn wicked. "But you still went along with it."

"I guess that means we're as twisted as each other."

"Matchmade in heaven," he agrees.

Something about this phrase warms my cheeks. Milo lowers the stitch and leans in closer, but the knocking on the door breaks us apart. "Shit," I say, turning. "He's early." It feels like the blood leaves my body. I take a step forward, then freeze. "I can't do this."

Without delay, Milo strides past me and opens the door. "Hey, Lionel," he says. He sticks out his hand in an abrupt, orderly fashion, and I can only imagine what Lucas' face looks like on the other side of the door.

"Lucas," he says, and he steps past Milo, somewhat confused, and walks into the living room.

It's as if everything–time, my heartbeat–stops. My first instinct is to close the distance between us and hug him, but those rules don't apply anymore. Lucas and I are no longer two people who hug, kiss, or share tender affection–Lucas is off-bounds.

"Hey," Luke says to me. His voice is soft, and sympathetic, and I'm reminded of all the good times we shared, the bad well and truly forgotten. "Why is Milo here?"

Before he can say anything else, I step in and say, "I'll go get the boxes." Then I hurry into the bedroom and close the door, where I allow myself to have a mini-heart attack.

I didn't think it would be this hard to see him, but it is. It's the hurt more than anything–the betrayal. He'd made promises to stay by my side no matter what, and now here we are, the perfect strangers. It makes the idea of trusting again seem utterly impossible. No one really says what they mean, and no one really means what they say; what is the point?

I take a deep breath, reach beneath the bed and pull out the heavy box. When I head back into the living room, Milo and Lucas still stand awkwardly, not speaking a word.

Milo walks over and says, "I got it," before roughly kissing my forehead. He takes the box from my hand and walks to Lucas, handing it to him. Lucas takes it without a word, then goes to turn before thinking better of it.

"I've got to say, it's kind of surprising the two of you are together," he says. "I mean, Kenny used to go on and on about how much she hated you."

Milo looks over. "Really."

"I didn't go on and on," I mutter.

"Yes, you did," Luke says. "You said he was the grinch of the office. A demon sent from hell just to make you feel uncomfortable. At one point, you even contemplated reporting him to Laurelle for anti-social behavior. It's why I can't see how this–" he tries to gesture but nearly drops the box, "–is possible."

Milo turns and folds his arms, waiting for me to explain. I let out a nervous laugh. "Ha, well, you know what they say. Opposites attract. Right, munchkin?" I shoot Milo a desperate look.

"Right, cupcake." He kisses my cheek before whispering, "A demon sent from hell?"

"I'll apologize later," I whisper through gritted teeth. We pull apart to see Luke looking at us suspiciously. Suddenly, it feels like the word liar is printed on my forehead.

"And how exactly did you realize you guys were destined to be?" Luke asks.

I step forward to speak, but Milo is already hooking an arm around my waist and pulling me closer. "We'd been staying late in the office recently, thanks to this new promotion. We just talked and realized we were a match made in heaven. Isn't that right, Ken?"

I refrain from narrowing my eyes at Ken. "Yeah," I say, smiling at him. "We've been inseparable ever since." There is a second where he looks at me, and I look at him, and I get lost in the blue of his eyes.

Lucas clears his throat, and we both turn to look at him. "Well, thanks," he says, nodding at the box, "for taking good care of my stuff. I mean, thanks for not burning it or whatever. I know you had every right to after the way I just left like that. I'm sorry."

My chest tightens. Lucas apologizing is something I have rarely been exposed to. "It's fine."

"No, it's not," he says, stepping closer. He puts the box down and straightens up. "Can we talk for a second?" He glances at Milo and adds, "Alone."

Milo tenses. He's about to say something, but I put a hand on his arm and say, "Could you just give us a minute?"

Something dark crosses his face. He lets go of my waist, nods and disappears into my bedroom. I turn to Lucas and fold my arms. "What is it?"

"I don't know," he says, closing the distance between us. "I just – something feels different. Coming back to this apartment, it's like it's only just hit me what we had. What I lost. I'm sorry for hurting you, Kennedy. I'm sorry for just leaving like that."

"It's fine," I say tightly. "We both knew our relationship wouldn't survive the promotion. We were stupid to think otherwise."

Lucas runs a hand down his jaw but doesn't say anything. He looks at the wall, at the Stitch toy Milo had picked up moments ago, and he walks toward it. "Remember this?" he asks, and when he turns, he's smiling. "It took me four tries just to win it for you. It made you so happy, though."

I close my eyes for the briefest moments to banish the tears I feel coming. "You can take it with you," I say. "I must have forgotten to put it in the box."

His face falls, and he looks at the Stitch before nodding. Milo comes back out now like he refuses to be banished any longer. He looks at the Stitch in Luke's hands and frowns. "Kennedy and I have dinner plans soon," he says, folding his arms. "It was nice seeing you again, Lincoln."

Lucas' eyes narrow. He drops the Stitch into his box, picks it up, and makes his way to the door. Milo opens it for him and steps to the side, but Lucas pauses. "It was good to see you, Kennedy," he says. "Good luck with the promotion."

Milo lets out a humorless laugh and says, "Bye, now."

Lucas glares at him and steps through the door, which Milo slams behind him. For the first time in ten minutes, I can breathe again.

Across the room, Milo watches me. It's hard to tell what he's thinking, but after witnessing the aftermath of my tragic love life, I doubt it is anything good. I bend down to rub Mulan's head to feel less awkward. She must have hidden as soon as Lucas walked in–I guess she's still mad at him, too.

"Look, that was–" I stop to gather my thoughts, which ricochet like a round of fresh bullets. "I don't know what that was, but I'm sorry you had to witness it. You probably think I'm pathetic. Even more pathetic than you thought I was before, that is." I'm rambling, but I can't seem to stop. I'm still trying to process seeing Lucas after all this time.

"I don't think you're pathetic," Milo says. "How long is it going to take you to get ready?"

I stop stroking Mulan. "For what?"

"For dinner," he says and takes a seat.

A/N

Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed. ❤️

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