Page 41 of Twisted Shot
The house reeks of cheap beer and artificial fog. Red Solo cups litter every surface like a crime scene from a frat party. Theo cuts through the living room and hears a crunch beneath his feet. He glances down—potato chips, pulverized into the tasteful beige throw rug. Fantastic.
In the kitchen, he pours coffee into hisWorld’s Okayest Roommatemug and watches Jesse point at empty cups like a drunk cruise director.
“JP, my beautiful rookie,” Jesse crows, clapping the poor kid on the back like they’ve known each other longer than six weeks. “You take cups. I’ll take chip bags. Divide and conquer.”
JP blinks, betrayed. “You said we were going to work out together.”
“We are,” Jesse says, already halfway out of the room. “This is your cardio today.”
Theo smirks into his coffee. “When you said you’d handle the clean up, this isn’t what I pictured.”
Jesse shrugs, grinning. “It’s called delegation, my guy. Look it up.”
Theo shakes his head, but before he can fire back with something appropriately dry, the doorbell rings.
“I’m elbows deep in Tostitos!” Jesse says, trash bag in hand. “You get that.”
Still in sweatpants and a worn t-shirt, Theo trudges to the door.
When he opens it, heforgets how to breathe.
Mila stands on the porch in black leggings and an oversized sweater, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. Minimal makeup. Glasses sliding down her nose. She looks nothing like the glittering Gatsby dream from the night before.
And somehow, she looks better.
“Hey,” she says, hugging her arms around herself. “I think I left my phone.”
Theo swallows. “Uh, yeah. Sure. Come in.”
She steps inside, and the second she does, the air shifts. Tightens. Not awkward exactly, but aware.
He gestures toward the kitchen. “You want coffee?”
“God, yes.”
A half-full pot already sits on the counter, but he passes it without a glance, flipping on the espresso machine, measuring the grounds, and setting the milk to steam. Something about doing it right for her feels important, even if it’s ridiculous.
When he hands the mug to her, their fingers brush, and Theo pretends it doesn’t feel like static crackling down his spine.
“Fancy,” she murmurs, lips curling around a small smile. “Thank you.”
They sit at the kitchen island while JP vacuums confetti out of the hallway like a defeated intern. The counter is sticky with vague smears of pink and brown, so Theo grabs a rag and starts wiping it down, grateful for something to do with his hands.
Mila sips her coffee and raises an eyebrow. “Jesse runs a tight ship.”
Theo huffs a laugh. “He’s hazing poor JP.”
She giggles softly, and it hits him like a body check to the chest. That laugh—he wants to bottle it. Keep it somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe.
A pause settles between them. The kind that hums with things unsaid. He should speak. He wants to speak.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his fingers curling around the damp rag. “For leaving last night.”
She looksover at him, eyes steady, curious.
“I don’t do great with crowds,” he continues. “Too many people. I just…needed to get out.”
He doesn’t add,I wanted to be alone with you. Without the noise. Without the audience.
