11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

MILO

I pull the collar of my jacket up and shove my hands deep into my pockets, replaying the kiss over and over again, which is doing fuck all to convince my dick to chill, but at least it's keeping me warm. The sun is already starting to go down, and only a few blocks from Ink Slingers, I regret walking away instead of just hopping on the back of Piston's bike.

My chest vibrates with the loud purr of a Harley and my pulse spikes. I look over my shoulder, but instead of Piston on his teal bike pulling up along the sidewalk, it's Jag on his hot pink one.

"It's going to be a long-ass walk to my place." He has to shout so I can hear him through his helmet and over the roar of the engine.

"Didn't Piston text you?"

He shrugs. "No clue. My phone is in my saddle bag. I just had to make a quick pit stop at Basket Case Bikes to pick up an engine valve and spotted you." I brace for him to ask what the hell happened with Piston and why I'm walking home instead of on the back of his Harley on my way to Jag's place like we talked about twenty minutes ago, but he just jerks his head towards the open seat behind him. "Get on."

It's not like I have anything better to do for the rest of the night. I brace against his shoulders and swing my leg over to settle on the seat. Jag revs his engine and then guns it, peeling away from the sidewalk with screeching tires.

"Shit," I mutter, grabbing the back of his leather jacket as he flips the bird at any and all traffic laws on his way out of town.

The cold wind whips at my face and I hunch down a little so his helmet will block the worst of it. Businesses and houses turn into corn fields, and eventually Jag turns down a heavily wooded road. The trees block out the last of the fading daylight, plunging us into eerie darkness. The next turn seems like an unpaved side road at first, but then the trees give way to broken-down cars and mountains of scrap metal. We slow to a stop in front of a small single-story house that looks like it's seen better days. But I don't even have a house—hell, I barely have a bedroom of my own—so who am I to judge?

We hop off the bike and Jag pulls off his helmet.

"You want anything? Whiskey? A joint? Some poppers for the road?" he asks.

I open and close my mouth, trying to work out a response to such a weird offer.

"I'm just kidding," he says, still totally stone faced. "I don't share my weed."

Finally, his expression cracks into a teasing grin and I chuckle.

"I'm good. Thanks."

He nods, then strides over to flip a switch on the outside of the garage. Floodlights illuminate the yard around us brighter than daylight. I blink against the sudden shock of the blinding lights, letting my eyes adjust.

There's a high-pitched chittering and the sound of gravel being scattered, and seconds later a squirrel bursts out of the bush next to the garage and runs right towards Jag. When it's close, it launches itself into the air, latching on to the fabric of his pants and scrambling up him like a tree.

I yelp and jump back.

"Shit, is it rabid?" More importantly, what exactly is my duty here? Am I expected to grab a possibly rabid rodent to save a guy I barely know, even if he is a pretty chill dude?

Jag throws his head back and laughs, reaching into his pocket as the squirrel stops to perch on his shoulder.

"He asks an important question, Fuzz. We haven't had you tested recently," he says solemnly, pulling a shelled peanut out of his pocket and offering it to the squirrel.

I let out a relieved breath, my shoulders sagging. "He's your pet?"

"Pet, furry freeloader, nuisance, take your pick."

I extend my hand slowly, so I don't startle him, and the little guy eyes me while he nibbles on his treat.

"Hey, fella." I greet him in a soothing voice. He flicks his tail and chitters again, dropping the remnants of the peanut shell, some of them clinging to Jag's jacket.

"He's friendly," Jag assures me.

Sure enough, the squirrel happily jumps off his shoulder onto my outstretched arm and scurries up. He darts from one shoulder to the other, then down my body and into the house through a doggy door.

"That's fucking cool. Where'd you get him?" I ask.

"Tree blew over last spring and his nest was in it. His siblings didn't make it, and I tried putting him back in another tree, hoping his mom would come back, but she never did. He kind of adopted me when he realized I had the food and warmth and all that good shit." The taunting, sarcastic smile I've seen on him all day turns softer as he talks about his pet.

"That's cute."

He chuckles. "Yeah, I'm adorable. Anyway, let's get that car for you."

I follow him over to the garage. He opens it and we go inside.

"I should have the keys around here somewhere, just give me a minute." He starts pulling various boxes and storage containers off of the steel shelves that line the back wall.

I lean against his workbench and take in the artful chaos of the space. There's a half-disassembled Yamaha that I eye. Obviously, a car is more practical with winter right around the corner, but damn would it be nice to get another bike. I walk over to it and kneel down to check out the pieces of the engine scattered across the floor. The frame itself still looks like it's in great shape. A few scratches and dings, but nothing that couldn't be easily fixed.

"She's a beauty, isn't she?" Jag says.

I look over my shoulder to see him with a key dangling from his finger now.

"Yeah, she is. I had one just like it back in Colorado, but I left it behind." Along with everything else, is the part I don't say out loud. Not that I had a whole hell of a lot to abandon. Some secondhand furniture, an apartment that was already overpriced and set for another rent hike next month, and a few other odds and ends I stuck in storage and told my mom to sell if she felt like it.

"I'm doing a full engine rebuild and kind of taking my sweet-ass time with it, but if you want, I'll let you know when I'm finished up and we can talk about a price."

"Yeah?" I light up. "Fuck yeah, that would be great."

Jag tosses the car key at me and I catch it before straightening back up to full height.

"Thanks for the car too. I don't know what kind of deal you guys worked out, but I'm happy to pay for it if you're cool taking payments." I duck my head and drag my fingers through my hair. I thought by almost thirty I would have my shit figured out, a decent job, maybe some savings in the bank. Instead, I'm the same aimless fuckup I was ten years ago.

"Don't worry about it, sweet cheeks," Jag says. "Although, if you're dying to pay me something , I'll happily trade in gossip." He flashes me a shit-eating grin.

I snort a laugh. "Any old gossip? I just got to town, so I doubt I have anything that will interest you, although some of my friends back in Colorado were messy as fuck, so I can probably come up with something."

"I was thinking more like, did you and Piston smash before you met Hero? And how big of a moral crisis is it causing our poor Dudley Do-Right to keep whatever happened from his besties?"

I choke on a cough. "Uh… sorry, I think I'm going to have to just owe you for the car."

Jag juts his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. "Ah, fuck. You're all moral and shit too, aren't you?"

"Eh." I tilt my hand back and forth in a so-so motion.

He waits for me to say anything else, maybe to inadvertently at least confess that something is going on there, but I keep my mouth shut, and after a minute Jag rolls his eyes and sighs.

"Fine, keep your secrets. We're on for Saturday though, right?"

I clench my hand around the key, feeling the sharp edges of the metal dig into my palm. My mouth tingles and my skin heats with the memory of Piston's jealous, claiming kiss behind the shop earlier. If just the thought of me going out got that response from him, then actually going has to be the cheat code to getting another kiss… or more.

Is it shitty to make him jealous on purpose? I don't know. Do I care? Not really. If it gets Piston's hands all over me again, I'll do just about anything.

"Yeah, we're on for Saturday."

"Kick-ass." Jag grins. "Come on, let's get your car."

PISTON

I pace back and forth, stopping to peek out the window with each pass. I shouldn't have let Milo walk away like that. I figured we could both use a few minutes to clear our heads and that it was a short walk back to my place, but it's been two hours now and if he got hit by a car or ends up with hypothermia from walking around in the cold too long then Hero's going to kick my ass. Hell, I'll let Hero kick my ass.

A pair of headlights come down the street and turn into my driveway. My heart jumps into my throat and I hurry over to the front door. By the time I pull it open, I can already hear the echo of the car door closing and see the silhouette of Milo's lanky frame and messy hair backlit by the streetlight.

I stride out into the cold with only my socks on my feet.

"Where the hell were you?" I demand, looking him over for any signs of injury as soon as I'm close enough to actually see him.

I don't stop coming until I'm close enough to touch him though. He looks perfectly fine, but I pat him down anyway, running my hands along the back of his neck, over his shoulders, and down his arms before pulling him in for a hug.

Can he feel the way my heart is thundering with the fear that's been eating me up for the last hour? He grunts as I crush him to me.

For a minute, I put the kiss and all the guilt and shame that followed completely out of my head and just enjoy the feeling of him safe in my arms. I bury my face in his shoulder and he puts a hand on the back of my neck, brushing his fingers soothingly up and down my exposed skin.

"Hey, sorry, I didn't mean to worry you. I should have texted. I just didn't think about it. Jag spotted me walking home and gave me a ride over to his place to get the car," he says.

I drag in a breath and pry myself off of him.

"Right, that makes sense. Sorry, I just thought…" I look down the dark street and shiver, not because of the cold but because of all the horrible thoughts that ran through my head when he didn't show up when I expected him to. Not just worries that something horrible happened to him, but fears that the kiss pushed him over the edge, and he decided to head to the nearest bus station and take the first one back to Colorado.

"I'm fine," he assures me.

My throat tightens and we just stare at each other in the dark for a minute. Fuck, I want to kiss him again. I didn't want to stop kissing him earlier. I want to lick every moan and gasp out of his mouth and taste every inch of his skin. I force myself to pull my hands off him.

"Listen, about earlier…"

Milo puts a hand up to stop me.

"We don't have to post-game that shit. Let's just order something for dinner and start the new season of Umbrella Academy. "

I let out a breath and nod. "Sure."

See? This is fine. Milo didn't read anything into my momentary lapse in self-control. As long as I can keep my hands off him from here on out, everything will be fine.