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I knock my knee against his, the movement swirling the water around our feet. Curiosity burns in me like a flame.
“Come on, I won’t tell.”
But Milo’s not having it. One moment I’m dry and comfortable, the next I’m drenched in pool water. Milo blinks at me innocently but doesn’t bother hiding his shit-eating grin.
I down the last of my beer and toss the can aside, making a note to pick it up later. Then I shove Milo as hard as I can, pushing him into the water. Hands lock around my wrists. I yelp, feeling myself sliding, but before I can pull away Milo drags me into the pool with him.
Cold water seeps into my clothes and closes over my head like a wound, encasing me in the icy dark. When I resurface, gasping, Milo’s laugh greets me like a tinkling bell. The faint smell of chlorine stings my nose and I wipe pool water out of my eyes, glancing at him.
It’s not fair. He looks like he’s just stepped out of a swimsuit commercial, complete with lithe muscles and a chiseled jawline. His dark hair hangs in wet tendrils around his face. Even the soft dark smudges under his eyes look chic.
I can’t help the smile tugging on my lips. “Asshole.”
“You’re the one who tried to drown me.”
“It was self-defense!”
Milo wades closer and cups my face with a large hand. I lick my lips, shivering. The water’s freezing but his skin seems to radiate heat, warming me up from the inside out.
“Did I hurt you?”
Shaking my head, I duck away from his hold. I can’t do this right now. Every nerve in my body feels electrified, every hair standing on edge. So, I turn to my go-to method when I need a break.
“Let’s head to the bar,” I say, climbing out of the pool. “I want another drink.”
“Definitely not. You know how you get on two beers.”
“I resent that slander.”
Milo pulls himself out, his wet shirt clinging to his chest, outlining every dip and crevice. The cold water has pebbled his nipples, the twin peaks poking through the material.
“Here.” He hands me my glasses and, his eyes flicking down to my chest for a second. But it’s enough.
I must look like him, my tee shirt leaving nothing to the imagination. Heat pools in my lower stomach and I turn away, praying he didn’t see the beginning swell of my dick.
When Milo speaks again, his deep voice sounds strained.
“Fine,” he says, grabbing his shoes. “Let’s go party.”
*
The ‘bar’ is a small blue building with wood-paneled walls and checkered floors, tucked behind the Lakeview. Red neon lights drench the room in an ethereal glow, casting soft shadows into every corner.
We order cheap, easy drinks at the bar and spend a few minutes watching the small crowd of motel guests dance to 80s pop music. I down the rest of my drink and tug on Milo’s sleeve.
“Come on. Dance with me.”
“This is a new shirt, Lawlor.”
But his complaints fall away when we’re in the middle of the dance floor. A bright smile blossoms on his face and all I can think as we bang our heads to the music is how good he looks.
Milo isn’t the greatest dancer, but what he lacks in skill he makes up for in confidence. The way his body rolls in time with the music is erotic. He dances like we’re the only ones on the floor, singing along to the words, carefree and full of life. It makes my mouth dry just watching him.
Maybe it’s the alcohol, or this weird tension I’ve felt since we woke up, but I can’t resist pressing closer. Milo hesitates, then slides an arm around my waist. His touch leaves blazing trails on my skin even through my tee shirt.
“You’re drunk,” he says, lips brushing against my ear.
“So are you.”
