“I was messing with you. Are there more root beers?”
I raised my chin, and she stood before I could. “In the fridge, brat.”
Her steps faltered, and she froze in front of me. Tension infused her body as her wide blue eyes shot to my face.
“Mila?”
Her name seemed to shake her out of it, and her face returned to blank.
Before I could push about wherever she’d just mentally disappeared to, she rushed into the kitchen to physically disappear.
I’ll stick to calling her little girl and not brat when I want to get a rise outta her.
She came back a moment later with a root beer for herself and another beer for me. Despite the fact I’d barely taken a drink of the one I held, I accepted the bottle.
Mila flipped through the TV options, her attention on the screen and not the pasta getting cold on the coffee table in front of her.
“Told you already, I don’t care what we watch. But if you take much longer, I’m going to put on the news so you’ll focus on your dinner.”
With a soft eek, she bounced the channels back and forth between two shows before settling on a rerun of some police precinct comedy.
“We can watch the other one if you want.”
Giving me a smile, she shook her head. “We’ll have to watch that one from the beginning to understand.” She jerked her head to look straight ahead. “I mean, you’d have to. I’ve already watched both of these a few times.” Her nose scrunched just slightly as she added under her breath, “Or more because I’m a massive loser.”
If she wasn’t injured.
If she was mine.
I’d take her over my knees.
Because it wasn’t playful self-deprecation in her words. They were packed with quiet, cutting venom.
Since I had no right to punish her, I stabbed my fork toward her abandoned plate in a silent prompt. Once she picked it up, I leaned back and reminded, “You’re talking to the guy who watches the news.”
That got me another small smile. “Good point.”
What the fuck am I doing?
Go to bed, you pathetic fuck.
Walk away now.
I didn’t.
After picking at her food, Mila hadn’t hauled ass up to her room. She’d tucked her feet under her on the couch and settled in to watch the show I’d barely paid attention to.
That hadn’t stopped me from pretending it was my new favorite sitcom every time she’d looked over to explain a previous storyline or share in a joke.
Since that’d only happened a handful of times, the night was spent with her zoned out on the show and me zoned out on her until her eyes had begun growing heavy.
After she’d gone to bed, I’d taken a spot in the loft to catch up on all the work I should’ve been doing instead of pretending to watch a show. I was done, and I should’ve been going to sleep.
I should’ve been checking the news. The gossip. The rumors that floated through Vegas thicker than the cigarette smoke.
Instead, I stood outside of Mila’s door. It wasn’t time for her medication. She hadn’t made any noise that was alarming. I had no reason to be there.
No reason to go inside.