by Tessa Bailey
There was an hour left before he and Milo were scheduled to meet, but Renner didn’t hold any delusions that they were still heading to Manhattan together. Actually, he should be packing, so he could drive there alone and not look back, until the business gave him no choice. Why wasn’t he moving, then? Could it have something to do with the seasickness that started in his belly and swelled to his head at the very thought of not seeing Milo anymore? Because it was real and it was serious. He’d actually taken a Dramamine.
It wasn’t just the sex that had him thinking nonstop about Milo. Renner had been able to say that only one other time in his life—and it had ended with an ax falling, severing his neck. But the way Milo had defended him and hell, come up with a pretty goddamn good idea to lock down the Rocky Mountain Ltd. account, is why Renner couldn’t seem to rise from the table. To do what needed to be done. Leaving would protect him from the inevitable shitstorm when Milo left to go see Travis. And chose Travis. Because he would. Travis would want Milo, too, because he was fucking incredible.
Renner would be left sitting in the coffee shop with the proverbial ring in his pocket.
A knock on the apartment door interrupted Renner’s dread. Hope lit up like a beacon in his stomach at the prospect of Milo coming to see him, although he would give the security guard shit for making the first move, when Renner owed him the apology.
Renner forced down the fist lodged in his throat and crossed to the door, stooping down to look through the peephole. “Samantha?”
“Yes.” She leaned to one side, revealing the wall of muscle behind her. “And Duke.”
Should he feel guilty for being disappointed it wasn’t Milo standing in the hall? Yeah. But he was too weary to bother, so he unlocked the door. “Why didn’t you buzz?”
“I still have my key,” Samantha replied sunnily, taking Duke’s hand and leading him past Renner into the apartment. “I assumed you wanted me to use it.”
“That’s a bit of a stretch,” Renner said, closing the door and locking it. “But I’m not in the mood to argue.”
“Oh no.” Samantha blinked. “Are you sick?”
Did imaginary seasickness count? “No.” Not wanting to court any form of sympathy, Renner courted irritation instead. “I don’t have anything in the fridge but a flat bottle of Pellegrino and a wedge of Parmesan.”
Duke looked like he was in pain. “Did no one teach you two the value of protein growing up?” He kissed Samantha’s hand and lumbered back toward the door. “I have no choice. I have to stock the fridge. What’s your favorite cut of meat?”
Renner started to protest Duke’s mission to buy him groceries, especially because he was leaving for Manhattan and beyond soon, but he couldn’t bring himself to deny the man his joy. Especially when Samantha tucked her hands beneath her chin and sighed dreamily.
“Surprise me,” Renner muttered, earning a grunt from Duke.
When the door closed a second later, Renner turned to find Samantha leaning against the dining room table. “Duke knew I wanted to talk to you alone, but he needed to situate me first.”
“Situate you. How romantic.”
“Isn’t it?” He barely recognized his sister with the heart-eyed canaries circling her head. “I didn’t expect to get here and find you moping, though. Is something…wrong?”
Renner narrowed his eyes at his sister’s hopeful tone. “Why do I get the feeling you already have something in mind?”
“Because you’re so smart,” Samantha responded, in a thick Boston accent. Smaht.
For the love of God. Renner breezed past his sister into the living room, picking up the remote and setting it back down without turning on the television. “Please tell me you didn’t come here to ask me about Milo Bautista.”
“Ding ding ding.” She staggered toward him with her arms out. “I’m imagining myself handing you a giant game-show prize.”
“I don’t want it.”
Samantha dropped her hands and frowned. “Come on, Renner. No one knows you like I do, so maybe they haven’t noticed. But I’ve been watching you watch Milo for months. And then bowling happened.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “What else has happened?”
“Nothing.” He untied his tie with jerky tugs. “Is this really why you came here?”
“Not the only reason.” Samantha smoothed a hand over her stomach. “I’m pregnant and I’m here to ask you to be the godfather.” Her bubbling laugh was pure joy. “I bet you feel pretty bad now for being snippy.”
Renner was suddenly looking at Samantha through clouds. A flash of her as a gangly child rolled through his mind, then she was back, beaming at him in the living room. The tie was still in his hands but not off yet—that had to be the reason he was choking. “Jesus, Sam. Shit.” He dropped the silk material and lunged forward, wrapping her in a hug. “That’s…amazing. Even more amazing because you’re not even…I mean, you don’t seem nervous at all.”
“No.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “I can’t believe it, either.”
“Duke must be going crazy.”
“He ripped the side off the house today so he could build an addition.” She sniffed into his neck. “And I only told him this morning.”
Renner pulled back, holding his sister by the arms. “Shit.”
“I know! Shit!”
They smiled at each other, and several things occurred to Renner at once. His sister had grown. Big-time. So much, she could function normally in a relationship. Something neither of them had thought possible once upon a time, because of her fear of abandonment. And he’d almost stolen that from her by trying to keep her and Duke apart. “Samantha, if you want someone else to be the godfather, I would understand.”
Her smile disappeared. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wanted someone else.” She shoved him in the chest, but didn’t budge him. “Duke wants you, too. It’s a big, mushy circle of godfatherly want.”
Christ. If he kept staring into his sister’s big, happy eyes, he was going to embarrass himself, so he released her and stepped back. But the pressure continued to weigh down on his insides, forcing him to take a moment to speak. “I like Milo in a rather objective way.”
“Try again, bro.”
Yeah. She knew him too well. “He asked me to help him win another man.”
“Oh, fuck.”
“Samantha, watch your mouth around the baby.”
Her hands fluttered. “See, I knew you’d be the best choice.” She turned in a circle, as if looking for what to say. “Maybe there’s an explanation. I’m not wrong about the way you guys…” She wiggled her fingers between them. “There’s all this kind of thing going on.”
“Living in New Jersey has made your hands very expressive. Use your words.”
“Stop making me laugh,” she wailed. “This is a crisis.”
Renner’s eyes strayed to the clock. If his night with Milo was still going to happen, he needed to be getting into the shower by now. But it wasn’t happening, was it? Hell, maybe the guy had wised up and gone on his own.
That possibility was like a dagger being rammed through Renner’s right eye.
“I wanted to help him, you know,” Renner said, because stress was beginning to build below his neck and he needed to give it an outlet. Had he taken his pill today? It was hard to remember. Thinking of anything was growing more and more difficult, the later the evening grew. “I had to figure out everything on my own when I was young. I thought I could…give him a push. But I think maybe I was hoping he would just…”
“Want you instead?” Samantha tilted her head. “Maybe he does.”
“I asked him.” His eye sockets throbbed. “It didn’t go well. You know how I handle things that don’t go well. Or go my way, rather.”
“Yes.” Thankfully, there was no sympathy in her voice. He didn’t want or deserve it. “Remember after the factory explosion, when you shook Duke’s hand and apologized?”
“Nope, I forgot.”
“You did not
.” Samantha softened. “Remember when you followed my husband into the factory, trying to stop him from getting exploded?”
Surprise prickled up Renner’s spine. “He told you that?”
“Of course he did.” Samantha reached out and squeezed his elbow. “There’s another side to my brother. And if Milo asked you for help in the first place, he probably knows it’s there.” She tipped her head toward the door. “Go remind him.”
Chapter Fourteen
Milo had just proven correct everyone who’d ever accused him of being an eternal optimist.
After the workday from hell, he’d dragged himself into the shower and put on the stupid starched-out jeans, which frankly made his balls feel like they were caught in an alligator’s jaw. His hair was wet and finger-brushed, and he’d found a T-shirt similar to the red one he’d bought with Renner, yanking it over his head and fucking up his hair even more. And now he refused to fix it. Because that would have been the final proof that he actually thought his boss was showing up.
It wasn’t happening. No one showed up for a night out with a guy who’d called him a prick. They’d been on uneven ground to begin with. Then the argument had illuminated every single difference between them. Every reason they shouldn’t be friends…or more…to begin with. So as soon as eight o’clock arrived and Renner didn’t appear at his door, Milo would suck it up and go remind him. He’d promised Renner he wasn’t giving up on their friendship, and he’d damn well meant it.
The guy thought he could throw up a wall and Milo would bounce off? Well, he couldn’t wait to see the guy’s face when he kicked it down instead. Not for the first time, Milo’s suspicion that Renner had been burned in the past was tingling. The defensiveness he’d seen the boss man display this afternoon was different from his typical sarcastic derision. If he played his cards right, maybe he could get to the bottom of what made Renner tick.
Milo was the first to admit his romantic life had been confusing—especially of late—but totally pain-free. It was easy for him to cast stones and call people pricks when he didn’t know what a painful breakup felt like. Did Renner know?
Why did he suddenly want to smash things with his fists?
Milo’s gaze cut toward the clock. Seven fifty-nine. The damn thing had crawled toward their original meeting time, then sped up, hadn’t it? Not coming. He’s not coming.
Refusing to listen for the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, Milo went to the bedroom and jerked the hated leather jacket off its hanger, shoving his arms into it. Inside his head, he began rehearsing the speech he would give Renner, soon as the guy opened his apartment door. Surprise, motherfucker. No, that wouldn’t fly. How about, Do these jeans make my ass look big? Tell me on the way to the city.
Lame.
Milo grabbed his keys and cell phone on the way toward the door. Before he could throw it open, however, he heard a creak on the other side.
He froze.
“I can see your feet beneath the door,” Renner called, and Milo mouthed a curse. “Actually, I’ve been out here listening to you abuse hangers and call the clock a bitch.”
How could he want to strangle this man one minute and make out with him the next? “That must have been coming from across the hall.”
“I’ll pretend that’s true if you open the door.”
Milo needed a minute to dim the smile on his face. Opening the door like a high school kid waiting for his prom date would be equivalent to forgiving Renner for being a prick. And while he kind of thought Renner showing up in the first place was the boss’s way of apologizing, Milo wasn’t quite ready to call it even. Pressing his lips together, Milo opened the door and leaned against the jamb, arms crossed. Trying to be aloof. Which was a lot harder than he’d anticipated, because Renner looked…fucking phenomenal. “Well. The door is open.”
“I see that.” Renner gave him a once-over that reminded Milo he’d forgotten to clear the pipes while getting ready, because yeah, that was his dick stiffening into a crowbar. “I also see you were getting ready to go without me.”
Lie to him, the devil on his shoulder whispered. He wouldn’t even have to confirm or deny. Just shrug or stay silent. If Renner had encountered a mirror in his crisp, fitted white button-down shirt and charcoal-gray slacks, his ego could probably use a dent or two. Damn, he was gorgeous. But letting Renner believe something that wasn’t true didn’t sit right with Milo. Nor did it accomplish his goal of getting Renner to open up. “No, actually. I was on my way to you.” Satisfaction warmed Milo when Renner couldn’t hide his relief, the lines around his eyes softening, his huge shoulders deflating. “I was worried I’d get there and you’d already be halfway to Manhattan. For good.”
“I thought about it,” Renner murmured, watching Milo from beneath heavy eyelids. “But I made a deal with someone, and I haven’t met my side of it yet.”
Gravity was trying to suck Milo into the hallway toward Renner, but he withstood the magnetic draw. “I haven’t met mine, either.”
“Yes, you have.” Renner ran a finger along the inside of his collar, sending a woodsy, expensive scent in Milo’s direction, making his belt feel ever tighter. “So. You were right today. I was a prick.” It wasn’t easy for his boss to say those words, which made them twice as meaningful. “I should have…”
“What?”
Renner gave him an exasperated look. “Perhaps a hug was required.” His visible irritation was belied by his unnatural tone, his throat muscles shifting. “I should have told you, before any of it started, that your idea about pitching the competitors was brilliant. I’m…at ease. Because of that idea. Because of what you said…about me. So your end of the deal is complete.” One corner of his mouth jumped. “If I’d known you were so bloodthirsty, I would have hired you to work upstairs.”
“I’m happy where I am,” Milo managed around the papier-mâché lining his throat. “And I’m only bloodthirsty when someone screws with one of my friends.”
His boss was still a moment before putting his hand out for a shake. “Friends.”
Everything about the situation was right. And wrong. At the same time. How was that possible? Where exactly had the wrong turns been taken? Half of Milo was relieved his friendship with Renner was intact, and the other half? Not so much. Shaking hands felt…symbolic. Like this afternoon would be the last time Renner looked down at him and asked, You loved it in general? Or just with me? His feelings about Renner weren’t in focus yet, but Milo knew he wanted Renner to ask him those questions again. Soon.
Just not yet. Which meant he had no choice but to shake, right?
Swallowing hard, Milo took Renner’s hand and squeezed. “Friends.”
…
As predicted, they hit traffic on the way into Manhattan, but Renner was more than happy to put off walking into Phoenix—the club—with Milo. As soon as they walked through the doors, their time together would be divided into before and after. Right now, Renner was the only man who’d touched Milo. The only man who’d spoken to him as more than a buddy. Ten minutes from now, it wouldn’t be that way. There would be interest thrown in Milo’s direction. Probably a shit-ton of it, too, because people were going to respond to the energy given off by the glass-half-full security guard from Boston.
Renner wasn’t a fanciful man who believed in auras or any kind of voodoo bullshit, but there was no denying Milo had an air that wasn’t typical to anyone, let alone a club full of New Yorkers who would cut through a phony facade like warm butter. And Milo didn’t have one. He represented on the surface everything lying beneath. Two blocks from the club, walking on foot from the parking garage where Renner had left the car, men and women were already taking notice of him.
Probably because he couldn’t stop fidgeting with the stupid jacket.
“I hate this jacket.”
Renner had this impulse. It was insane, but he actually had to talk himself out of throwing Milo over one shoulder and heaving him into a cab. His apartment in Gramercy was only
a short ride from the East Village. “Yes, I know you hate the jacket. That much is obvious.” He stuffed his hand into his pocket to keep from holding Milo’s hand. “Why did you wear it?”
He could sense Milo smiling. “You want the truth?”
“Always.”
“Well, I was hoping if I showed up at your apartment wearing it, you would laugh. And then our argument would be halfway to over.” Seriously. This time of night, they could be at Renner’s place in no time. “When you showed up, I forgot to take it off and now I’m stuck with it. So there you go.”
Up ahead, Phoenix came into view, and Renner’s gut rebelled. “Is your accent getting thicker?”
“Yeah.” They stopped at the corner to wait for traffic to pass, Milo scrubbing at the back of his neck. “It happens when I’m anxious.”
“Don’t worry,” Renner said, striving for casual. “It’s going to work in your favor.”
“Huh.” Milo eyed him. “So what’s going to happen when we get inside? I probably should have asked on the way over, but I liked that music you were playing.”
“Really.”
“Yeah, really.” Milo gave him an elbow in the ribs. “What was it? Sounded old.”
Renner should have felt like a high school student, talking about his musical taste, but he didn’t. He…wanted to share something with Milo. Probably because he was getting ready to walk into a club and share Milo with everyone else. The crossing signal turned green, and a pounding started in his temples. “Robert Johnson, and yes, it’s very old.” He took Milo’s elbow and guided him past a crowd of loud twentysomethings blocking the sidewalk. “There’s a legend that says Johnson sold his soul to the devil and asked to become the best blues player in the world.”
