Page 17 of Twisted Shot
They spill into view like characters entering stage left—Jake, tall and windburnt, arms crossed; Natalie in a fitted denim jacket, sunglasses perched on her head and a tray of something warm and cinnamon-scented in her hands; and Mila, dressed in all black, oversized sunglasses hiding her eyes, iced coffee in hand, mouth curved in a tight smile.
Theo’s stomach dips.
“Oh wow,” Natalie says as she breezes past him, already peering into the front room. “You undersold this place, Jesse.”
Jake whistles. “Holy shit, Theo. I thought Jesse was joking when he said you had a wine fridge and a bidet.”
Theo clears his throat, cheeks flushing. “I don’t have a bidet.”
“Yet,” Jesse calls from the kitchen.
“I—wasn’t expecting guests,” Theo says.
“Sorry to barge in,” Mila says as she steps inside last, offering him a smile that makes his brain skip like a scratched record. “But I’m driving back tonight, and we’ve got things to cover.”
She looks...gorgeous. Pulled together. Hair in a low bun, gold hoops glinting when she tilts her head, tablet tucked under one arm. Nothing like the sleepy, rumpled version of her from this morning with the endearingly crooked ponytail and sweats. That version was adorable. This one looks like she could end someone’s career before lunch.
He feels underdressed. And overexposed.
They gather in the open-concept kitchen. Natalie finds a serving platter that Theo is positive he’s never seen before and starts unpacking baked goods like she’s in her own home. Jake leans against the fridge, already in coach mode. Mila claims the stool at the island with a kind of casual command that makes it impossible to argue. Jesse’s still spoon-deep in peanut butter, looking like he hasn’t changed shirts since yesterday.
Theo crosses his arms, partly to look composed, mostly to keep from fidgeting.
“Theo, I can’t thank you enough for taking Jesse in,” Natalie says, unwrapping what looks like banana bread. There are scones too. She’s been busy.
Jake adds, “You saved us all from having to fish him out of whatever frat house he would’ve landed in.”
“It’s nothing,” Theo says. But it doesn’t feel like nothing—not with everyone in his space, inspecting the curated life he’s never explained to anyone.
“So,” Natalie says, clapping her hands. “Crisis debrief.”
“I preferSave the Idiot’s Necktask force,” Mila replies, tapping her tablet. “SIN, for short.”
Natalie snorts. “Catchy.”
Theo leans against the back counter, fingers curling around the edge of the granite. He doesn’t know how to host. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Should he offer them something to drink? Coffee or tea? Does he evenowntea?
Natalie has finished piling baked goods on the tray and is passing around plates and napkins she must have found in the pantry.
He glances at Mila.
She’s scrolling through something on her tablet, eyes sharp, lips pursed in thought. She has said little to him, which helps and hurts in equal measure.
She looks up, her face all business.
“We got the video pulled,” she says. “It won’t stay buried forever, but we’ve flooded the tags with safe content. Old game footage, fan edits, sponsored posts. That sort of thing.”
Jake nods. “GM saw. Said he was impressed how fast it was handled.”
Mila smirks. “Tell them to hire me next time. My rates are appalling.”
“You’re a PR ninja,” Jesse says through a mouthful of banana bread. “Like—bam. Crisis over.”
“It’s not over,” she replies. “It’s…slightly less radioactive.”
Theo watches her work, listening to her take control of the room. It should make him nervous. And it does—but not in the way he expects. He’s used to avoiding attention, staying out of sightlines. Watching people like Mila from the corners of parties and bar booths, always from a distance. Now she’s in his kitchen, and all he can think about is how good her voice sounds in this space.
“Thanks for letting us crash your posh palace,” she says, one brow arched.
