Page 9 of Unexpectedly Wanted
“Well, goodnight.” She stepped around me and began walking to the back of the house. “Remember, I’m a light sleeper. I do hope it’s not too noisy in the house tonight.” The statement was tossed out with an obvious warning behind it.
It was only seven. Hardly time for bed. And I had a feeling Milo hadn’t eaten since lunch. Which hadn’t been much, given that he’d only managed to take a few bites of his sub.
“I’ll be making dinner,” I said brazenly. “I won’t have Milo going to bed on an empty stomach. We’ll do our best to keep it down.”
She didn’t acknowledge me as she headed down the hall and out of sight, Harold trailing behind her.
When I looked over at Milo, he had a strange expression on his face. One I couldn’t read, and I wasn’t entirely sure he knew what it meant either.
“You don’t have to cook—”
“I am,” I said, cutting him off. “Now, I can make baked chicken or pizza, it’s your choice. I brought over the ingredients for both, including everything I need to make homemade dough for the pizza.”
His eyes lit up the smallest amount, and I knew what his answer was going to be.
“Pizza,” he said. He stepped closer to me as if he were about to share a secret. “But don’t think that will make whatyoudid okay.”
He turned and headed for the kitchen.
“Just remember, you love me, schoompsie poopsie.”
He stopped in his tracks. His face looked as if he were about to get sick as he turned his head to look at me.
This was going to be so much fun.
As I moved around his kitchen, only hesitating a few times while I tried to remember how I’d organized my things in here, I felt Milo’s eyes on me. He stood on the other side, right by the entryway into the room. I imagined he was torn between wanting to stay and the need to run for his life. He was uncomfortable with me in his space. Something he hadn’t done a good job of hiding in front of his parents. With any luck, they’d just think it was part of his bizarre behavior and rather normal for him, even when in a relationship.
I held back a snort thinking about Milo actually in a relationship. The concept so foreign and strange that it was actually funny. I’d never seen Milo act as if he’d liked anyone he’d been around. So the thought of him in a relationship where he wanted to be around someone nearly every day was like picturing a tiger in a bunny suit. Then I began to wonder if Milo ever let his guard down long enough to let someone in. If he’d ever had a friend, or at least someone he didn’t scowl at seventy-five percent of the time. Hell, maybe he was one of those people that didn’t like other people at all. I could see that, and it made me think for just a second that maybe I’d done more harm than good here.
But then I very distinctly remembered him saying he was gay. His words firm, standing by that label as if he was certain that it was the one for him. So… maybe he’d had other boyfriends before. Other, meaning real boyfriends. Which we were definitely not, so I suppose ‘other’ didn’t really apply here. If not boyfriends, then maybe he’d at least had an attraction to other men enough that he knew how he felt and what he wanted.
Sigh.
This felt wrong on so many levels. I wasn’t trying to define or explain his sexuality for him, because that wasn’t something one should ever do for someone else. I merely wanted to understand him so I wouldn’t make him feel uncomfortable.Moreuncomfortable.
“Do you want to help?” I asked, making sure to keep my tone on the suggestive side so he didn’t feel like it was something hehadto do.
“No,” he said. I glanced over my shoulder to see him staring at the things I had placed on the counter with horror in his eyes. “That’s not a wise idea. And… and I don’t want to.”
“Okay,” I said with a nonchalant shrug.
Even though he’d seemed terrified and trying to keep his distance, his feet began to shuffle forward.
I put my focus on making the pizza dough.
“Is it… hard?” he asked.
“No,” I said, lifting my hands into the air as I measured out each ingredient. This way, he could see over my shoulder.
I went through the steps, saying them one by one as I added them into the bowl.
“Then you mix,” I said. “It’s a bit sticky at first.” I lifted my hand, globs of dough glued to my fingers. “But there’s something about getting in there and mixing it by hand. I’ve just always loved to do it this way.”
“You make… doughy things a lot?” he asked.
I nodded without looking at him.
“I love making dough. My grandpa taught me and my brothers how to make bread when we were young.”
