Page 25 of Stepbrothers with Benefits
I ignored his sarcasm, recognizing it for anger bait. “I did say there was nothing concrete. You know damn well if he’d actually done something bad, I would have brought it up. That’s why I’ve kept my mouth shut, because there isn’t anything definitive. And for the record, I’m not saying he’s shallow, but I think his feelings toward you are. There’s a difference.”
“It comes to the same thing,” he said, looking away, upper lip twitching. “It means our relationship is shallow.”
I sighed, because what the hell was I going to say to that? Milo was emotional and impulsive, but he wasn’t an idiot. He had taken my statement, which I had meant strictly at face value, and traced it to the logical conclusion I hadn’t thought of before he’d brought it up. Now it had been brought to that point, I couldn’t deny it, and doing so would come off as false and piss him off all over again.
“Look,” I said, dropping onto the bench and looking sidelong at him, smiling a little. “So what?”
Surprise flashed over his face, and he looked at me. “Huh?”
“So what if your relationship with him is shallow?” I asked.
“Who the fuck wants to say their relationship is shallow?”
“I’m sure there’s plenty of people. I bet we could call Mason and ask him how many of his relationships have been shallow.”
That got a laugh out of him. “He’d say most of them. Pretty sure he has at some point.”
“Probably most of his relationships were shallow,” I said with a shrug. “And it’s not like that’s a bad thing. I mean, who the fuck said that every relationship has to be meaningful, or going somewhere important? If it’s shallow, let it be shallow, enjoy it.”
He raised a brow. “Alright, sure, fine, whatever. But that still doesn’t address why you dislike him if it’s okay for us to have a shallow relationship.”
“Mmm, good point,” I admitted. Anyone else, and I would have tried to come up with something on the spot to cover my ass. But it was Milo, he’d see through my bullshit and get mad all over again. Plus, if I was going to be open with anyone, it might as well be the guy whose hip had practically been fused to mine for nearly two decades. “Maybe because he still gives off douche energy to me? Or maybe because I’m fine with you having a shallow relationship with someone, but that doesn’t mean I like someone having a shallow one with you?”
“That’s a little hypocritical, don’t you think?” he asked, but he was smiling and clearly okay with it.
“Probably,” I admitted with a shrug. “But he, and anyone else, isn’t you. Maybe that makes it hypocritical, but I don’t really care.”
He laughed, his arm wrapping around my upper back, his hand settling under my armpit and squeezing me. “I love that you really don’t give a shit if you’re not being reasonable.”
“And why do you love that?” I asked, my arm around his lower back, fingers resting gently on his hip. It was as familiar to me as the back and forth of our conversation. Physical touch was something I’d never been fond of; it left me feeling...itchy, and jittery. I had been like that for as long as I could remember, though there were a few dim recollections of my mother constantly touching me, and I didn’t remember associating the memories with discomfort. Even my siblings knew I wasn’t much of a toucher, and did their best to avoid it.
Except for the now-happy idiot parked on the bench next to me. I couldn’t say when I noticed he touched me more than most people, but by the time I had, it was too late to do anything but shrug and accept it because it had been going on for too long to complain. Plus, it was...well, it was different when it came to Milo, just like so many other things in our lives. The only people I was comfortable with touching me were my girlfriends or sexpartners, and even then, I could be distant, which admittedly had been one of Eva’s biggest hangups when we’d been dating.
Not with Milo, though, but it was sometimes hard to tell him no. Not because he was pushy, he did things so casually and naturally that noticing what was going on was delayed. It was only in moments like this, when I was more aware of everything in my head, that I noticed how comfortable I was with him touching me. Yet there were scores of times when I didn’t notice, or if I did, I simply accepted the touch without a flicker of unease.
Most of the time, it was moments like this, his arm wrapped around me as he leaned in close, his body warm and his touch comforting. Other times, it was his legs in my lap while he screwed around on his phone or watched TV. Other times, it was just his hand resting on my arm, his knee pressed against mine as we sat beside one another. Sometimes he would come into my room while I lay in bed, sit in front of me, leaning back and pressing his weight into me while he chatted. Little moments of touch, bigger ones, all of them just...were. I knew he thought about it less than I did, and there wasn’t any expectation on his part, like I needed to accept it, but for whatever reason, I didn’t just accept it. I enjoyed it.
“I love it,” he began, pulling me from the same zoned-out state he’d been complaining about. “Because you’re normally the reasonable one. If someone’s going to make a perfectly good point without a hint of trouble, it’s you. Except sometimes you say shit like that, shit that could be called hypocritical, and you just...don’t care. You said what you said and that’s all there is to it.”
“This is one of those times when I listen to you and understand why people find you so confusing,” I said with a snort.
His fingers tightened against my side as he laughed. “Well, what can I say? I am what I am.”
“Yeah, you are,” I snorted, giving him a little shake. “And that’s why I am the way I am. I don’t care what you do, man. I just want you to be happy, and I don’t want to see people mistreat you. So I guess if that makes me unreasonable, eh, fuck it.”
He looked at me with a shy smile, his eyes coming to life with a light I couldn’t remember seeing before. Then it was gone, and he looked away with a private laugh. I felt his arm draw away from me, and only as I pulled my arm back did I realize he had caught himself off guard. I wasn’t exactly sure about what, but I was left with the lingering suspicion that he’d wanted to say or do something, and, embarrassed, had pulled away to shake himself off. Sure enough, I watched as he stared thoughtfully into the distance, vaguely tracking people on the sidewalk, something he did whenever he had restrained an impulse he realized would embarrass or shame him.
I opened my mouth to ask him what was wrong and felt the question catch in my throat. Confusion flashed through me as I sat there, lips parted, my perfectly normal question stuck in my throat. There was no reason to hesitate when I saw something bothering him. Except...I did, some part of me I couldn’t name, let alone control, had its hand on the wheel, and I was left to sit there, probably looking like as much of an idiot as I felt.
He glanced at me, blinking and cocking his head when he saw my expression. Only to straighten as his phone chirped and he pulled it from his pocket. “Oh, hey, food’s done!”
“Good.” I recovered quickly, still confused about what had just passed without understanding between us, but feeling helpless. “I’m starving.”
“I’ll be right back,” he hopped up and disappeared around the corner, leaving me to my confused thoughts.
Weird moments with Milo were as common as rain in the northwest. Maybe I was just as weird as Milo, or I was used to him being a little odd. So when something weird did happen between us, it stuck out, as vibrant and impossible to ignore as a peacock in a crowd of turkeys.
I could only think we were more shaken up and uncomfortable about our little fumble last week than I had thought. Sure, it had felt like some barrier had been breached at the time, one we had both known about subconsciously and avoided slipping even so much as a toe over. I had dismissed the thought at the time because, Jesus, I was embarrassed and a little ashamed, so it had felt too dramatic to take seriously. Now I was wondering if maybe it had been that serious.
