3

We spend the rest of the afternoon exploring every corner of the motel and discover there's a bar behind the motel that opens at night.

The air is humid and muggy, clinging to my skin. Greta says there'll be a heatwave tomorrow, but the weather app doesn't agree.

Sometime during our adventure, Milo calls his mom to tell her about the delay and hangs up the phone like a man who's been defeated in battle. But when I ask him about it, he shrugs and tells me not to worry. The dismissal makes my skin itch.

By the time we make it back to our room, the sun hangs low in the sky, illuminated in a sea of pink. It's my turn to disappoint my family. Pausing outside the door, I gesture for Milo to go in as I dial my mom's number.

He hesitates for a moment, mouth pinched like he wants to say something. Eventually, he leaves me to it, partially shutting the door on his way in to give me some semblance of privacy.

Mom, as expected, is more concerned about me postponing the family dinner than how the truck is doing. It's not like I expected her to care, she's hated the thing since I bought it, but the least she could do is ask.

When she's finished chewing me out, I shove my phone into my pocket and thunder into the motel room, slamming the door behind me.

I lean against it, fists clenching and unclenching by my sides. Milo is beside me in an instant, the fantasy novel he's reading lying discarded on the bed. It's a big one, something about an orange tree, I think.

"How'd it go?" he says, gripping my arm.

I rub the bridge of my nose, trying to stave off an oncoming headache. His touch burns like a brand.

"Still alive, I guess."

"You look like you need a break."

"I think I need more than that."

Milo grins and lets me go, striding to his backpack. He rummages around for a moment before he finds what he's looking for and he turns to me, holding up two cans of RPM beer. "I've got just the thing."

"Where did you get those?"

"Bought them yesterday in case of an emergency. But I think this qualifies." He gestures to the door. "Come with me."

Milo leads me out of our room, down the stairs, and around the side of the motel, where a small lap pool sits surrounded by a low fence. White plastic loungers in various states of disarray are arranged by the pool's edge, the only indicators that anyone's been here at all.

"I wasn't sure if it'd be empty," Milo says as he slips off his Converse and lines them neatly in front of the fence. "You're in luck, Lawlor."

I grin, kicking off my sneakers and toeing my socks, leaving them haphazardly lying on the tile.

The evening air is filled with the familiar chirp of cicadas and the rustle of wind through the blanket of trees surrounding the motel. A sense of longing sweeps through me.

Like this, I can almost pretend it's just me and Milo alone in the world.

Milo plops down at the edge of the pool, dipping his bare legs in the cool blue water. I settle next to him, legs crisscrossed underneath me, and take a swig of my beer. It's piss-warm but manageable. Beggars can't be choosers.

A broad shoulder nudges mine and I tip my can against Milo's, relishing in his warmth.

"Cheers," he says, dark eyes sparkling. "To our impromptu vacation."

I take a sip, eyes trained on the long column of his throat as he swallows. A faint breeze ruffles through his hair, tickling the strands at the base of his neck. What would it be like to run my hands through them? To tangle my fingers deep and scratch my blunt nails against his scalp?

"Cal?"

Fuck. Focus.

Adjusting my glasses, I clear my throat and stare unseeingly at the rippling water.

"Sorry, I zoned out for a second. What were you saying?"

"I was asking why this dinner's so important to your mom."

The last thing I want to do is air out my family's dirty laundry, but it's Milo. I'd trust this guy with my life, let alone family troubles.

"Elsie thinks it's about a divorce," I say. The words feel unfamiliar in my mouth. I've never said it out loud before.

Milo winces. "That sounds rough. I'm sorry, Cal."

I shrug, hunching over my beer can. "It's been a long time coming. Dad's slept in the spare room for the last six months."

All that's left is to make it official. I take a few swigs of beer, then a few more, trying to settle the tension in my shoulders.

Milo shuffles closer, his face pressed near mine until all I can focus on is his hot breath fanning against my ear. I press our thighs together, drinking in the contact like a man dying of thirst.

It's always been like this between us; a concerning lack of personal space. I'd be lying if I said I didn't like it. The only time I feel real is when we're touching.

"Love is overrated," Milo says, eyes trained on a spot to the left of my nose. "It hurts too much."

"I don't know, dude. What about those old couples who've been married for thirty years or whatever? Don't you want that?"

He hums, gaze still focused on that spot. Frowning, I touch my cheek.

"Is there something on my face?"

"Yeah, let me—"

Before I can do anything, Milo grabs my chin and tilts my face to the left, brushing strong fingers against my skin.

My breath hitches in my throat. The memory I've tried to bury all day floods my mind. All-encompassing heat, the sweet tang of cherry cologne, a hard cock pressed against me. Fuck.

Milo strokes a thumb over my cheek. "People don't fall in love forever. Everybody leaves eventually."

"You don't believe that. What about all those guys you bring back to your dorm?"

"Have you been keeping track or something?"

"Or something." I lick my lips, trying to focus past the feeling of his fingers gripping my chin. "It's not like you're secretive about it."

A strange expression passes over his face like a cloud, his eyes full of an emotion I can't parse. We're so close I could lean forward and press my lips against his.

Then Milo lets go of my chin, shifting away until only our shoulders are touching, and the moment passes. The loss of warmth is almost paralyzing.

"Sex is easy without feelings," he says. "You can't get hurt if you weren't attached in the first place. It makes it easier when they leave. I don't think I could handle it if you—if anyone I cared about left me."

"So, you've never been in love?"

Milo purses his lips and averts his gaze, his cheeks turning a faint pink. "I have."

Something green and ugly rears in my chest. I try to imagine Milo having a boyfriend. Him gushing about his new partner, responding to my texts less, focusing on his new relationship instead of on me. Clenching my fist, I dig my nails into the soft flesh of my palm.

"Enough about me," Milo says, nudging my shoulder. "What about you, Love Doctor?"

"Nobody's been interested. We can't all be sex gods like you."

I've gone on a few dates, but none of them ever went anywhere. Besides, the last girlfriend I tried to have dumped me because I ‘talked about Milo too much'. It's not my fault that the museum she wanted to visit is also Milo's favorite. I thought he'd enjoy the day with us. Wrong call. She texted me the next day saying we weren't going to work out.

That was a year ago, and I haven't been compelled to try again since, not with a girl or a guy.

Milo's expression softens. "It's not all it's cracked up to be. I wouldn't have to do it if I wasn't such a coward."

"Who is it?"

"It doesn't matter, because it's never going to work out."

I knock my knee against his, the movement swirling the water around our feet. Curiosity burns in me like a flame.

"Come on, I won't tell."

But Milo's not having it. One moment I'm dry and comfortable, the next I'm drenched in pool water. Milo blinks at me innocently but doesn't bother hiding his shit-eating grin.

I down the last of my beer and toss the can aside, making a note to pick it up later. Then I shove Milo as hard as I can, pushing him into the water. Hands lock around my wrists. I yelp, feeling myself sliding, but before I can pull away Milo drags me into the pool with him.

Cold water seeps into my clothes and closes over my head like a wound, encasing me in the icy dark. When I resurface, gasping, Milo's laugh greets me like a tinkling bell. The faint smell of chlorine stings my nose and I wipe pool water out of my eyes, glancing at him.

It's not fair. He looks like he's just stepped out of a swimsuit commercial, complete with lithe muscles and a chiseled jawline. His dark hair hangs in wet tendrils around his face. Even the soft dark smudges under his eyes look chic.

I can't help the smile tugging on my lips. "Asshole."

"You're the one who tried to drown me."

"It was self-defense!"

Milo wades closer and cups my face with a large hand. I lick my lips, shivering. The water's freezing but his skin seems to radiate heat, warming me up from the inside out.

"Did I hurt you?"

Shaking my head, I duck away from his hold. I can't do this right now. Every nerve in my body feels electrified, every hair standing on edge. So, I turn to my go-to method when I need a break.

"Let's head to the bar," I say, climbing out of the pool. "I want another drink."

"Definitely not. You know how you get on two beers."

"I resent that slander."

Milo pulls himself out, his wet shirt clinging to his chest, outlining every dip and crevice. The cold water has pebbled his nipples, the twin peaks poking through the material.

"Here." He hands me my glasses and, his eyes flicking down to my chest for a second. But it's enough.

I must look like him, my tee shirt leaving nothing to the imagination. Heat pools in my lower stomach and I turn away, praying he didn't see the beginning swell of my dick.

When Milo speaks again, his deep voice sounds strained.

"Fine," he says, grabbing his shoes. "Let's go party."

*

The ‘bar' is a small blue building with wood-paneled walls and checkered floors, tucked behind the Lakeview . Red neon lights drench the room in an ethereal glow, casting soft shadows into every corner.

We order cheap, easy drinks at the bar and spend a few minutes watching the small crowd of motel guests dance to 80s pop music. I down the rest of my drink and tug on Milo's sleeve.

"Come on. Dance with me."

"This is a new shirt, Lawlor."

But his complaints fall away when we're in the middle of the dance floor. A bright smile blossoms on his face and all I can think as we bang our heads to the music is how good he looks.

Milo isn't the greatest dancer, but what he lacks in skill he makes up for in confidence. The way his body rolls in time with the music is erotic. He dances like we're the only ones on the floor, singing along to the words, carefree and full of life. It makes my mouth dry just watching him.

Maybe it's the alcohol, or this weird tension I've felt since we woke up, but I can't resist pressing closer. Milo hesitates, then slides an arm around my waist. His touch leaves blazing trails on my skin even through my tee shirt.

"You're drunk," he says, lips brushing against my ear.

"So are you."

"A little. Is this okay?"

" Yes , dude." I grip his bicep, loosened a bit from the alcohol. "Stop worrying about my health and fucking dance."

His answering laugh is easy and free, then buried under the music. I love the way he laughs, like it's the last thing he'll ever do. Head thrown back, sharp teeth on display, tiny lines creasing the corners of his eyes. He's so beautiful it hurts to look at him.

I lose myself in the feeling of his body against mine and try to convince myself that getting this drunk was a good idea.

*

Walking back to our room is difficult when the world is spinning around me.

We're on the small stone pathway between the bar and the main motel building, but it's empty. Most of the motel guests have wandered off for the night, leaving us alone.

The tee shirt I changed into after our dip in the pool is already damp with sweat and sticking to my back. Milo's the only thing holding me up, that and my bull-headed determination to make it there in one piece.

He tightens his grip around my waist and tugs me closer. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

"How come you can walk? My legs aren't working."

His chest rumbles. He's laughing at me.

"That's what you get for going over your limit, you lightweight."

"Hey, fuck you."

I shove him hard, which is admittedly not my greatest idea because he's the only thing keeping me up. My foot slips and I stumble forward, sending us crashing to the ground. I collapse against him, my face buried into his chest, his arms still wrapped around me. He feels good underneath me.

"Ouch."

"Yeah, ouch." Milo pats the small of my back. "You okay?"

When my head stops buzzing, I poke his side. "Take that, you monster."

One of my curls rests against my eye, obstructing my view. Milo slips a hand from my waist and wraps the offending curl around his finger, a faint smile on his lips. Something hot ignites deep in my belly.

"It's not my fault the great Callum Lawlor can't hold his alcohol."

"I can hold it just fine, thanks. They must have put something else in those drinks."

Milo chuckles, flashing brilliant white teeth, and all I can think about is how close we are. His face takes up the entirety of my vision. The scent of cherries and booze is a heady mix, clogging my already-addled mind. I lick my lips.

"You never told me the name of this secret lover of yours."

"Callum." His gaze flicks to my mouth, then back up to my eyes. "We need to get to bed."

"I know. Just—"

My lips brush against his, faint and fleeting. Less of a kiss and more of an invitation. Even this little touch sets me on fire. I want to swallow him whole.

Milo groans and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before flinging them open again.

"We shouldn't."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay."

He pauses. Then he leans closer, pressing our mouths together firmly. I sigh, relaxing into the kiss. At first, it's slow and gentle, Milo's lips teasing mine. A stray hand finds my nipple through my shirt and rubs, ripping a gasp from me. Eagerly, Milo licks into my open mouth, swallowing the sound.

Desperate. Searching. Hungry. I can't get enough of it. I want to stay like this until I waste away.

Milo tastes like fruit alcohol and kisses like an explosion, one hand tangled deep into my curls, the other gripping the back of my neck. Every part of us is connected, our hips, our chests, our lips. This is what I've wanted all day.

I slip a knee between Milo's long legs, rolling my hips against his, toes curling at the pleasure sparking in my gut.

It doesn't feel real. I've watched him do this same thing to so many boys over the years, watched as he picked them up at my dorm parties, and left with them.

I press impossibly closer, wanting to erase them from both our minds. Replace them with memories of this, of him clutching my waist like I'll run away, of him tugging my hair, his teeth clicking against mine.

It's over far too quickly. Milo pulls gently on the back of my head until our lips detach. He presses his face against my neck, running his other hand down my back, slow and soothing. I heave in deep breaths and the world rushes in all at once.

We're on the ground at a motel and the sky above us is an oil spill speckled with stars. A stray guest could stumble out of the bar and catch us, but I don't care anymore. It feels too good to stop.

"We're too drunk for this," Milo says against my neck.

"Not drunk enough."

"Come on, man, let's go. If you puke on me, I'll never forgive you."

I can't help thrusting against his hip, just enough to take the edge off. "Sleeping sounds boring."

"I'm serious, Cal." He peels our limbs apart and gently guides me to my feet, clutching my shoulder to keep me upright. "Don't do anything we'll regret."

Despite my hard-on, I force myself to step away. Even in my drunken haze, I know he's right. What the fuck was I thinking? I should control myself better. Just because I have these… feelings about him doesn't mean I should do anything about it. This was a mistake.

If he didn't before, he probably regrets kissing me now. What kind of friend would I be if I didn't respect that?

I can still taste him in my mouth, like an imprint of a memory.