Page 9 of Twisted Shot
Theo nods. “Trying.”
As Carter returns with another round, Mila’s phone buzzes against the table. She glances at the screen, and her expression falters—subtle, but Theo sees it. She flips the phone screen down and slides it into her purse with pursed lips.
He leans in slightly, voice quiet. “You okay?”
She startles, as if she forgot he was there. Then gives him a tight smile. “Yeah. Just my ex.”
He hesitates. “Is he bothering you?”
“Only in the passive-aggressive sense,” she mutters, swirling her drink. “Says I’m being dramatic for leaving town this weekend. Thought I’d stay home and ‘work through it.’ Like I’m the one who cheated.”
Theo stills. He can’t have heard that correctly. “He cheated on you?”
She snorts, bitter and short. “Oh yeah. Found out when the girl sent him nudes with a ‘when is she leaving’ caption. So subtle.”
His jaw tenses. “Jesus, fuck.”
Mila’s eyes flick to him, surprised at the heat in his voice.
He looks away, avoiding her stare as the words tumble out, fast and tangled. “I—you’re smart. And funny. And beautiful. How could anyone cheat on you?”
Her cheeks flush pink, but she hides it with a sip of cider. “You’d be amazed how creative mediocre men can be.”
“Apparently.”
She sets her drink down, quieter now. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
She doesn’t answer. Just smiles, small and genuine.
Theo wants to say more. Wants to ask if she’s okay, to tell her she deserves better, to offer something that doesn’t sound like a line from a greeting card. But the words snag in his throat. So he stays close, letting the moment stretch between them like a bridge they’re both quietly standing on.
Jesse, already half-lit, starts flirting with a trio of women hovering near the booth. Mila teases him ruthlessly, egging one girl on to ask for an autograph on her forearm in eyeliner.
“You’re up, Prince Theo,” Carter yells, his voice cutting through the din, speech slurring into a drawl. “Buy us another round, good sir.”
The booth erupts in messy applause when he stands. Jesse’s latest admirers squeeze in, crowding around like it’s their private VIP lounge. One of them is practically in Jesse’s lap, twirling a curl of his hair and laughing loudly.
Theo collects orders, trying to keep them straight in his head: two ciders, three lagers, four vodka sodas with lime, something pink and dangerous for Pavel because he was dumb enough to say “surprise me.”
“I’ll help,” Mila says, already sliding out from the booth, brushing against Theo as she stands.
He stiffens as if she zapped him. “Uh—okay. Yeah. Sure.”
They walk side by side toward the bar, weaving through the packed crowd. Mila moves easily, exchanging nods with staff, laughing when a guy yells, “Go Whalers!” Theo, on the other hand, feels like a brick wall with legs. He shoves his hands into his pockets and keeps his eyes forward.
“So,” Mila says, glancing sideways. “You surviving all the chaos?”
“Yeah,” he mutters. “It’s fine. Just…a lot.”
“You mean the part where Jesse’s fan club is forming in real time, or the part where Carter lost the ability to use his indoor voice?”
He chuckles, then shrugs. “Both, I guess.”
They reach the bar. It takes a minute to flag down the bartender. Mila leans her elbows against the counter, relaxed, while Theo stands stiffly beside her, agonizing over where to put his hands. He rests themawkwardly on the edge of the bar, then immediately pulls one back, almost like the wood burned him.
“You always this comfortable in chaos?” he asks without looking at her.
