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The air is humid and muggy, clinging to my skin. Greta says there’ll be a heatwave tomorrow, but the weather app doesn’t agree.
Sometime during our adventure, Milo calls his mom to tell her about the delay and hangs up the phone like a man who’s been defeated in battle. But when I ask him about it, he shrugs and tells me not to worry. The dismissal makes my skin itch.
By the time we make it back to our room, the sun hangs low in the sky, illuminated in a sea of pink. It’s my turn to disappoint my family. Pausing outside the door, I gesture for Milo to go in as I dial my mom’s number.
He hesitates for a moment, mouth pinched like he wants to say something. Eventually, he leaves me to it, partially shutting the door on his way in to give me some semblance of privacy.
Mom, as expected, is more concerned about me postponing the family dinner than how the truck is doing. It’s not like I expected her to care, she’s hated the thing since I bought it, but the least she could do is ask.
When she’s finished chewing me out, I shove my phone into my pocket and thunder into the motel room, slamming the door behind me.
I lean against it, fists clenching and unclenching by my sides. Milo is beside me in an instant, the fantasy novel he’s reading lying discarded on the bed. It’s a big one, something about an orange tree, I think.
“How’d it go?” he says, gripping my arm.
I rub the bridge of my nose, trying to stave off an oncoming headache. His touch burns like a brand.
“Still alive, I guess.”
“You look like you need a break.”
“I think I need more than that.”
Milo grins and lets me go, striding to his backpack. He rummages around for a moment before he finds what he’s looking for and he turns to me, holding up two cans of RPM beer. “I’ve got just the thing.”
“Where did you get those?”
“Bought them yesterday in case of an emergency. But I think this qualifies.” He gestures to the door. “Come with me.”
Milo leads me out of our room, down the stairs, and around the side of the motel, where a small lap pool sits surrounded by a low fence. White plastic loungers in various states of disarray are arranged by the pool’s edge, the only indicators that anyone’s been here at all.
“I wasn’t sure if it’d be empty,” Milo says as he slips off his Converse and lines them neatly in front of the fence. “You’re in luck, Lawlor.”
I grin, kicking off my sneakers and toeing my socks, leaving them haphazardly lying on the tile.
The evening air is filled with the familiar chirp of cicadas and the rustle of wind through the blanket of trees surrounding the motel. A sense of longing sweeps through me.
Like this, I can almost pretend it’s just me and Milo alone in the world.
Milo plops down at the edge of the pool, dipping his bare legs in the cool blue water. I settle next to him, legs crisscrossed underneath me, and take a swig of my beer. It’s piss-warm but manageable. Beggars can’t be choosers.
A broad shoulder nudges mine and I tip my can against Milo’s, relishing in his warmth.
“Cheers,” he says, dark eyes sparkling. “To our impromptu vacation.”
I take a sip, eyes trained on the long column of his throat as he swallows. A faint breeze ruffles through his hair, tickling the strands at the base of his neck. What would it be like to run my hands through them? To tangle my fingers deep and scratch my blunt nails against his scalp?
“Cal?”
Fuck. Focus.
Adjusting my glasses, I clear my throat and stare unseeingly at the rippling water.
“Sorry, I zoned out for a second. What were you saying?”
“I was asking why this dinner’s so important to your mom.”
The last thing I want to do is air out my family’s dirty laundry, but it’s Milo. I’d trust this guy with my life, let alone family troubles.
