Page 72 of Mila: The Godfather

“Now I do, baby.” He steps closer. So close that I can almost feel the heat radiating off of him. I notice he has an issue with not understanding personal space. Does he realize how close he is? Is he that close on purpose? Does it mean something? Part of me wants to believe it means he likes me, but I immediately throw that notion out the window. It was ridiculous. He was an older man. A god made of flesh, and I was…well, young, quirky, and well, I’m sure I’m not his type at all. He seems like a man who enjoys a confident woman. A woman just like him. Strong, independent, and well, closer to his age. But what do I know?

I wanted him to like me. I want him to smile at me like he is now. I want things I don’t quite comprehend, yet I just know it feels right.

He feels right.

In such a short amount of time, he has touched me in ways his hands haven’t.

Most of my life, I felt out of my element in certain situations, mostly when I am around other people, given the fact that the only time I am ever truly comfortable is when my nose is stuck in a book, and my hands are busy either tending to my plants, baking or painting. The rest of the time, I’m uncomfortable being around people, especially people I have never met. Being around people makes my skin feel too tight, makes my head feel too full of thoughts and sensory stimulation. When there’s a lot of chaos in my surroundings, my thoughts tend to run even faster, which makes me feel anxious, and I tend to shut down completely and distance myself from a person or situation. Men, especially, confuse or overwhelm me, but he does neither.

I also don’t know how to relate to others or get them to engage with me. I read on the internet that jokes help in the process of making friends. I don’t know how to crack a well-timed joke. Or make some pithy commentary. That is why I offer fun facts. It’s the only way I know how to engage with others without making them uncomfortable with my silence.

I’m an introvert.

But Riagan? He clearly isn’t.

Extroverted people make me edgy, and this man in particular, has got the fire hose in my brain turned on full blast. He’s so tall and handsome it makes me question my own eyes, my sanity, and my existence. Men like him don’t end up with girls like me. Not in real life anyway. Yet he’s here with me. At times, I find myself spacing out, thinking to myself that he can’t be real. Can a man this sweet truly exist? Yet here he is, in defiance of all logic. Standing so close to me. The top of my head comes to his chest. I am so close that I can even count the freckles on his skin where there isn’t any ink. Right on top of his heart.

Then I remember he called me… baby for the second time.

Baby?

I am not an infant child, so there is no logic for him to call me that.

Men in books call their lovers baby, but there’s also no logical explanation to him calling me that.

We are not in a romantic relationship, nor does he love me. That begs the question, why is he calling me baby?

Sweetheart, I understand.

People tend to use the terms of endearment a lot.

Butterfly, I also understand because of the circumstance of our first encounter.

But the word baby? I do not.

“Mila.” Riagan speaks, getting me out of my head…again.

All too often, I find out that I have missed a social cue, overlooked a hint, or missed a subtlety in a situation. This is, in many ways, a defining characteristic of mine. Sometimes when others are talking, I have to remind myself to tune in. To pay attention.

Like right now.

I curse myself mentally, realizing I’d spaced out—or what others termed spacing out, but which was really just my mind spiraling off into a maze of interconnected thoughts.

“Can I touch them?” I blurt out, trying to distract him from my embarrassment. I look away from Riagan and point at the sweet dolphins, but then a long moment passes where Riagan doesn’t say anything,

Nothing.

At all.

The only sound is that of the sea and its sweet creatures swimming joyfully around the boat.

Anxiety creeps in for a second, but then it quickly disappears as if I never felt it when I feel his gentle touch on my chin.

“You don’t ever have to ask. You want to do something? You do it. You want something? Take it.”

“I don’t think that’s how life works for most people.” I frown, trying to understand the meaning behind his words, but I am not so sure I truly understand. Riagan is like a box of surprises. Like a puzzle, I can’t wait to finish to be able to understand what the picture is.

He taps my nose sweetly. “You’re not most people. You’re mine.” My breath hitches, and he notices quickly adding. “You’re mine to protect from now on. You’re my…” He clears his throat and his face changes. I notice he grinds his teeth like people do when they don’t want to say what will come out of their mouth next. “Friend. You’re my friend.”

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