Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 140184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 701(@200wpm)___ 561(@250wpm)___ 467(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 701(@200wpm)___ 561(@250wpm)___ 467(@300wpm)
Instead, I dig my phone back out of my purse and plug his AV cord into it so my phone plays on his speakers.
“What are you doing?” he asks cautiously as he looks over at me.
“I’m going to play some good music for you.”
“Oh, God,” he says on a playful groan.
I grin. “You’re gonna love it. Trust me.”
“I’m too old to listen to anything you consider good music.”
“Hey, give it a chance, you might like it.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” he says, but he’s smiling again, and that makes me happy.
I scroll to one of my favorite playlists, one packed full of current music he’s going to hate so much, but I have that Metallica song I liked on here, too. I want to see how surprised he is when it starts to play, but first, he must suffer through Olivia Rodrigo’s jilted wrath and aching heart.
___
“Oh, whatever. You loved it.”
“Loved is a word. Not the one I would use, but it is a word.”
I grin and use Milo’s key to unlock the front door as he hauls all my bags toward the house. “She’s your new favorite singer. You’ll be belting her songs out in the shower when I’m not here, but you’ll never admit it.”
I’m barely inside the foyer when I hear the sound of bags dropping behind me.
I turn around, but before I can do more than gasp, Milo’s strong arm is locked around my back, pulling me tightly against his hard body. I grin, and his greedy lips crash into mine. His hands slide under my ass and he lifts me, moving forward until my back is pressed against a wall.
My fingers delve into the soft locks of his hair, my eyes closing as I kiss him back.
“Dad?”
My heart drops, and Milo puts me down immediately.
I’m on my own two feet when his son comes through the arch into the room, but we both probably look like people who just got caught kissing.
I expected it to be Jet, but my heart drops even more when I see Jonathan Granville standing there, regarding us both through a narrowed gaze. His focus drifts to the pile of shopping bags, lingers on the big one from Victoria’s Secret.
“I didn’t see your car,” Milo says. “Didn’t realize you were home.”
Jonathan’s gaze shoots to his father’s, still skeptical. “Yeah, I can see that.”
I consider my flushed face and guilty appearance, the bags of things Milo bought for me today. I know how this must look to a skeptical son, especially one who thinks I might be dating his brother.
“Is Jet here?” I ask.
Jonathan’s gaze narrows on my face. I can see a spark of dislike that wasn’t there before. “No.”
I suppose it makes sense. It’s harder to place blame on your own father. It’s easy to blame me, someone he has no particular fondness for.
He’s reading this totally wrong. I glance at Milo, unsure whether I should explain, or if he’ll do it.
I expect him to fix this, or at least let me know it will be fixed, or at the very least haul me upstairs away from the judgmental looks of his eldest son so we can go through all the stuff he bought me. He joked earlier about wanting another fashion show when we got home, and I’ve been eagerly anticipating what fun we might have in the comfort of his house where we can’t be caught.
But I guess we can be caught here, too.
It shouldn’t matter. We weren’t doing anything wrong. He’s single, and so am I. All Milo has to do is explain to Jonathan that Jet and I aren’t dating, so there’s no reason we can’t kiss or fuck or do whatever else we feel like doing with each other.
He doesn’t.
He looks at me and says, “Didn’t you say your mom was working tonight?”
It takes me a second to realize what she has to do with anything.
Then it hits me, and my stomach drops.
The only reason I can’t go home—the only reason I have to be here—is my mom being home.
He wants me to leave.
That stings. I wish it didn’t. I’m mad that it does, but it definitely hurts. “Oh. Yeah, I should probably be getting home,” I say, even though home is the last place I want to go.
Milo nods. He looks relieved that I’m taking the hint, and my heart bends and twists.
I try to ignore the ache as he goes back to the bags and fishes out my headphones.
“Thanks,” I murmur, tucking an unruly lock of hair behind my ear before taking the box from him. I try not to look betrayed as I gaze up at him, but his eyes have the faint glint of guilt, so I must not be too successful.
Logically, I know he doesn’t owe me anything.
Hell, I don’t even want to be somewhere I’m not wanted. I don’t want to be home, either, but that’s not his problem.