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That was just my head that felt like it was spinning out of control.
Milo was still bundled up in his red coat, just as he was when I d seen him
after the game. I smiled at the memory. He didn t smile back. His expression
was blank, and his eyes looked tired, but his soft, dark locks were framing
his face perfectly. If I thought I could actually move without getting dizz
y, I probably would have reached out to touch it.
You have paint all over your face, he finally informed me. And, you re
drunk--and you don t even have a coat.
And you sound like someone s mother, I responded with a scratchy throat,
slowly sitting up to look out the front window, wondering where we were. I
wasn t expecting to see the front of Milo Trust s house. The porch light wa
sn t on, and it looked like a large shadow against the dark sky, but I reco
gnized where we were. I glanced at the clock, reading two thirty on the das
h, and my eyes widened. Oh shit.
I couldn t wake you up. I didn t want to bring you home like that, and I co
uldn t carry you up my stairs.
I glanced over at him, sighing. Sorry... how long have we been here?
Just over an hour, he replied calmly, turning to face his house. Do you
think you can move now? We can go inside, but we have to be quiet because J
uanita s home, and she sleeps on the first floor.
Yeah, I said slowly. I was still feeling pretty drunk, but not so much tha
t I didn t feel bad about this situation. I d wanted to see Milo more than a
nything, I just hadn t expected him to show up at Brandon s; and now, I d de
stroyed the opportunity that I d been waiting for. Look, do you have a phon
e? I can call my brother. He ll come get me.
Isn t it a little late for that?
He s probably just going to bed, and I m not really into walking home from
here, I replied, turning my head to meet his eyes. Hey... sorry, I said a
gain. I didn t think you were going to show up.
Would that have stopped you from getting wasted?
I considered. Probably not.
Milo was silent for a moment before responding. Why were you passed out
in my car, anyway?
I smiled wanly. Your seats are comfortable...And, my friends sort of ditch
ed me.
Seriously?
Hmm... no big deal. I think they thought I wanted them to.
Milo waited for more of an explanation than that, but when I just smiled a
t him, because he looked so damn sexy with that studying expression on his
face, he just shook his head at me. Can you move? Quietly?
I sighed, and as Milo shut down his vehicle I opened my door and tried to ge
t out, only to be held back by a force against my chest. I landed back in my
seat with a grunt, and Milo snorted as I looked down to find that I d been
buckled up at some point. I said quietly, he remarked, but couldn t quite
maintain a straight face.
I rolled my eyes at him and unbuckled. If my shoelaces are tied together, I
warned, there s going to be retribution.
Yeah, can you see me shaking? he remarked, smirking. Just get out of the
car--and be careful.
Getting out of the car, into the house, and up the stairs, was easier said t
han done--for Milo. I ll admit it. I was acting like a complete ass, or a bu
ttmunch, which is what Milo called me several times on the way. I couldn t q
uite seem to help it. With my head swimming, it was all I could do to keep o
ne foot in front of the other as I followed my host. I didn t do too bad, un
til I reached the stairs and almost tripped on the first one. Milo had to pu
t an arm around me to help me up the rest, which I wasn t going to complain
about in the slightest. He smelled good, as usual, and I kept turning my hea
d to smell his neck. He d shudder and glare at me, and I d laugh in response
. It was the laughter Milo seemed the most concerned about. He kept covering
my mouth with his hand to silence me, and was not amused when I took it upo
n myself to suck on his palm each time. We made it up to his room, though, w
here Milo ordered me to wait while he went to get the phone. I was more than
happy to, when I realized that he was painting again. His room wasn t as sp
ectacular as the first time I d seen it, but there were three unfinished can
vases present. I was a little too busy dizzy to move from one to another, bu
t I d backed myself onto his bed, and I studied each one from there.
It looked like he d been to Hangman recently. As with everything else, his p
ortrayal of an oncoming winter over the lake was done perfectly. The first p
ortrait looked dark--menacing almost, with the storm clouds gathering over t
he water, and the trees looking sad and lifeless without their leaves. The s
econd was just the beginning of a tree, but I had a feeling that by the time
he was finished with it, there would be a dark, haunting scarecrow hanging
from its branches. The third canvas was different, but not something that I
disliked. In fact, I liked it very much. I saw the scene outside of my kitch
en window every morning. It wasn t finished, but I was stunned at his abilit
y to capture detail from memory the way he did. As far as I could tell, not
a single apple tree had so much as an apple left behind from summer out of p
lace.
I became disoriented as I studied it. The trip up the stairs and my spinning
head was getting to me, and I found myself rolling onto my side, taking comfo
rt on the soft mattress as I made sure that I could still see the portrait, a
nd tried to imagine what it would look like when it was finished, just as muc
h as I tried to imagine what Milo had been thinking about as he painted it. I
found myself hoping that it was me; that afternoon we spent together at my h
ouse.
When Milo suddenly returned and found me ogling his work, he made a point t
o turn the easel around, blocking my view. I frowned at this, but didn t co
mment as I slowly sat up when he approached me, holding out a bottle of wat
er and a folded washcloth in one hand and a couple of aspirin on the palm o
f the other. I looked over the items momentarily before looking up to meet
his eyes, the emerald in them focused on me. You forgot the phone, I said
quietly, and reached out to take the water, and then plucked the pills fro
m his hand. I was learning to keep my voice down. My throat ached from all
of the screaming I d done during and since the game, and I risked completel
y losing my voice if I didn t. But I guess it didn t matter what I said any
way, because instead of responding to my words, Milo went to close his bedr
oom door before returning to lift himself onto the foot of the bed, next to
me.
I did my best not to spill or dribble any of the water, but I wasn t exactly
coordinated and I ended up with a large wet spot down the front of my white,
long-sleeved shirt. Milo laughed at this, and I rolled my eyes at him as he l
ifted the washcloth. Obviously, I thought, he d figured that I d need it. I r
eached for the small towel, but didn t get the chance to take it as he sudden
ly lifted it to my face and dragged it over my right cheek. The cloth was dam
p, obviously not for my mess, and I dropped my hand, staring at him as he pul
led the cloth away, taking a good amount of paint with it before he folded it
over and brought it back to my face.
I stared at Milo, intrigued and confused by this behavior as he avoided my
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