Page 88 of Isolation
“I already gave you a pity kiss on one cheek,” I tease.
“Pity kiss? You cried your eyes out until I conceded and let you kiss me. Count your blessings that I threw you a bone. I usually charge people for kissing me.”
“So, you are a prostitute?” I ask curiously.
“I believe the term islady of the night,” Milo tsks.
“Then you are the world’s worstlady of the night,” I say with a severely straight face. “First, you are not a lady. Second, who whores out their cheek for money? It’s like the worst service you can provide. And who the fuck would even pay for it?”
“You would.”
I can’t even with this man. He is crazy. I say nothing more and just smile to myself.
When he doesn’t hear a response out of me, he speaks again on his own accord. “Are you doing that thing where you stay quiet, and you act like you are not about to burst out laughing?”
I bite the inside of my cheeks to stop the laughter from rolling out.
“If you just kiss my other cheek, I’ll probably open my eyes again.”
Fine! I stay quiet, but move to kiss his other cheek. In a pure Milo move, he moves his face as soon as he feels my proximity and takes me in a lip lock instead.
“Are you happy now, princess?” I say against his lips.
Milo tilts his face. “Are we back to that? If I am a princess, then you are my lady-in-waiting, and I demand to be catered to.” He claps his hand. “Let’s go. Cater to me.”
“Oh? And how would your highness like to be catered to?”
Milo looks lost in thought for a moment. “You can start by feeding me breakfast.”
I give him a peeved look. “You are a grown-ass man. Feed yourself.”
He cheekily grins. “You are a rude ass lady-in-waiting. I might have to dock your pay.”
I decide to humor his crazy ass and locate the knife and fork. With a fork in one hand and knife in the other, I cut through the now soggy French toast. I lift the fork to his mouth and inwardly grimace.
Thatdoesnotlook appetizing. I don’t know why he is insistent on eating the soggy French toast.
Milo takes a bite of the toast, and his stupid poker face crumbles. “That’s disgusting.”
I try to act offended, but I can’t hold it in. The laughter rips through me. “Hey, I worked really hard on that.”
“Really, baby? Did you work hard on that or did you just order it from Sordi and then put it on a plate?”
My whole face splits open. I have no fucking idea on how to make French toast. Milo loves French toasts, and Sordi is his favorite breakfast spot.
“I cut up the strawberry and put it on the toast myself,” I proudly announce while Milo chuckles. “And the coffee,” I add. That has to count for something. “And the orange juice.”
“You mean you poured orange juice from a bottle into a glass.”
“Well, I held the glass while Mom poured it.”
Milo’s laughter echoes through the room. “Baby, you are pathetic in the kitchen.”
“That’s not true,” I try to make my case. “What happened to, it’s thought that counts?”
“People only say that when they do thoughtless things.”
I feign a dramatic show of leaving. I get up from the bed, but Milo quickly grabs my elbow to halt me.
