“What?”
“Never mind. I forgot you don’t watch the classics.” I slide past him onto the concrete and let the door close behind me. “So, wait. Why were you waiting for me?”
“Because you don’t have anywhere to stay.” He crosses his arms over his chest, clearly ready for a fight. It seems he’s met me a time or two.
“I told you I’m getting a hotel.” It’s technically not a lie. I did tell him that. I’m just not actually doing it.
“Not here you’re not.” His tone is too self-assured for my liking.
“What do you mean?” This conversation is useless. I just need to get somewhere private to call Jenna and arrange for her to come to my rescue. Like the child I clearly still am. Then I need to call the cops and report my things stolen—unless Maria is to blame. Maybe that explains why she wasn’t rude to me. Hmm.
“Places south of Wilmington are all booked for the trade show.” I can’t make out his features anymore, and I think that’s a good thing.
“Then I’ll get one in Wilmington.” Why does he care?
“Just how long do you intend to keep lying to me?” He’s got a bit of that growly impatience that makes me want to pick a fight with him for some reason I’m not willing to explore right now.
“I’m not lying,” I lie.
“Okay. So, where’s your purse?”
Dammit. My lips firm, and I fix him with a glare he probably can’t see.
“That’s what I thought. Come on.” He throws a thumb over his shoulder, and I hear faint sirens in the distance. Maybe they’re chasing my robber as we speak.
When I don’t move, Milo gestures again with his stupid chin.
Then something occurs to me, and I narrow my eyes at him. “How do you know my purse is missing?”
“Because I’m the one who took it, Sunshine,” he says as he turns and walks his ass to the end of the alley, casual as can be.
What the actual…? My mouth gapes as I chase after him. “You stole my stuff?”
“Simmer down. I didn’t steal it. I put it in your room.” For a guy with a limp, he sure does walk fast.
My feet grind to a halt on the sidewalk. Why am I following this guy? “My room?”
“Well, Felicity’s, but it’s yours until you don’t need it anymore.” He glances over his shoulder and when he realizes I’m not following him anymore, he stops and turns.
“I’m not staying with you.” I reset my glare in case he missed it before.
He throws his arms out, a bit of that familiar frustration bleeding through. “Then tell me, where exactly are you planning on staying?”
I can’t admit to him that my plan had been to call some dude named Zeb to whisk me away to my broken-down car to sleep—before I discovered my purse had been stolen, that is. And the call to Jenna. I should still make it. I fish my phone from the top of my dress with awkward hands and hover my thumb over her contact. I know Milo is watching me, but I try to ignore him.
“You don’t need to read anything into it.” His voice drops along with his hands like he’s tired of fighting with me. “I’ve got the room, you need a place to sleep, and you don’t have to stay any longer than you want.”
It’s the tone that gets me, and I finally raise my gaze to him again to see him eying me carefully. My teeth tear at my lip while I try to decide what to do. “Why are you doing this? Being nice to me, I mean.”
A half-smile breaches the dark hair on his face, and I have the sudden urge to sigh and lie down on the sidewalk by his feet for a ten-hour nap.
“Maybe I have a soft spot for stranded movie stars.”
My smile feels broken.
“I’m not a movie star, Milo.”
He shakes his head, almost imperceptibly. “I wouldn’t count yourself out yet. I’ve heard lots of movie stars wait tables until their big break.”
We both know my big break isn’t ever coming. The one shot I had blew up in my face. And Milo was the one to light the ignitor. But I’m too tired to be mad about old wrongs. And I know full well if I was really meant to be an actress, I wouldn’t have let a couple failed endeavors make me quit so easily.
“I’ll have to take your word on that.”
I drop the hand holding my phone to my side, and we stand in silence for a few seconds before I find my voice again. “If you’re still offering, I think I’ll take you up on that good night’s sleep.”
Milo throws his chin to the side, and I follow him down the sidewalk.
“That was the best shower of my entire life.” I sink onto the couch cushion and fold my feet under me. We haven’t said much of anything to each other, first because we were on his motorcycle and couldn’t hear anything, and then because I retreated to the shared bathroom (the one Felicity failed to mention) to shower the ten hours of sauerbraten off myself the moment we walked in the house. But while the hot water pelted my back and did its thing, I resolved to be kinder to Milo—and less suspicious of his motives. Maybe he’s turned into a regular old nice guy who just happens to hurl insults now and then.
Milo glances my way from the other end of the couch, and a little part of me—way, way, way deep inside—is disappointed he doesn’t let his eyes linger on my bare legs. What is wrong with you, Jill? You accuse the guy of stalking you, and then you’re bummed he didn’t check you out? Nice.
Not that I’m dressed anything like I was this morning when I was executing my phone charger plan, but I think I still look cute in my “This nap ain’t gonna take itself” t-shirt and sleep shorts.
He still hasn’t said anything, so I take it upon myself to lead the conversation. “Who’s playing?” I nod to the TV where some football game is on.
“Nobody. It’s just the news wrap-up.” His eyes stay glued to the TV.
“Oh.” I scan the room, taking in the sparse furniture and walls that could use a good paint job. There’s nothing homey in the least about the place—no family photos, no knickknacks from favorite destinations, not even a few measly seashells to pay homage to the whole beach-house thing. It’s a little depressing. “So, how long have you lived here?”
Truthfully, I know little about the man besides the fact that he drives a motorcycle and he used to put Cheetos on his sandwiches.
“A while,” he responds in the most unhelpful manner possible.
“A while like a few months or a while like since we met?”
This has him finally turning my way. “Look, can we not do this?”
“Not do what? Have a civilized conversation?”
“No. Yes. The small talk.”
“Sorry. Just trying to be polite. Sheesh.” I shake my head and look around the room again.
I can see him shift in his seat. “Forgive me if I’m too tired to interpret all your mixed signals.”
This sets my head back. “My mixed signals? I wasn’t the one lurking in the alleyway outside your work asking you to come stay with me.”
“I knew this was a mistake.” He gets up and limps to the kitchen, leaving me to stew in front of his stupid football wrap-up thingy.