Page 32 of Loverboy

“Okay.”

I watched with skepticism as she picked up the first stack of papers off the table, tapping them against the surface so all the sheets were flush.

“Awesome, let’s get started,” she said all too cheerfully, looking down at the first page. “So, Milo. If you are going to hurt yourself again, do you have a plan?”

Fucking kill me.

14

Jasper

I FELT MY brain starting to melt as I scrolled past a paragraph about institutional trust, the words slowly but surely losing all meaning. I always pushed myself past my limit when it came to school and work, and with Milo back in the equation, everything felt impossible to manage. But it didn’t matter how it felt, because I needed to balance it all. And I would, because it was quite literally a matter of life or death.

My commitment to doing whatever Milo wanted in place of Oliver had begun with sitting just like this, lying on the couch with my knees up, Milo’s back slumped against my legs as he occupied the space next to my feet. I was hyper-aware of every restless shift of his body pressed against mine, and completely attuned to every breathy sigh and grumble.

There was a perfectly good armchair for him to sit in, but of course, he chose to invade my personal space instead. I shifted, parting my legs, and he fell through them, the back of his head landing on my stomach. My attention flitted to the phone in his hands, now perfectly in view, and the dating app profile of a woman glowing on the screen.

I didn’t want to seem controlling.

But really.

“Not that one,” I said idly, pretending to read something else on my phone.

Milo tilted his head back to look up at me, eyebrows raised. “What do you mean?”

“She’s not your type.”

“I don’t have a type.”

I snorted at that. “She looks vanilla.”

Milo squinted at his phone, scrolling down to read the bio attached to the profile, seemingly considering my critique. He sighed and swiped left, moving on to the next one. The tension I hadn’t noticed brewing in my muscles released, and I tried to focus on the article again.

He swiped right on a few and got a couple of matches.

“Guys, too?” I muttered.

He shrugged.

Milo didn’t care where he got the attention from, as long as he got it.

I flip-flopped between telling myself it was none of my business and that it was entirely my business. He was my brother. It was my job to stop him from getting himself hurt again, but he was also a grown man, capable of making his own decisions.

Horrible, mind-numbingly stupid decisions.

He hovered over another girl’s profile.

“I don’t think you’ve stayed single after a break-up for more than a week in your life.” It wasn’t judgment in my voice, but something else. Something worse that I prayed he’d never notice.

“That’s not true,” he denied.

“How long have I known you?”

He quieted, scrolling through his phone for a minute before locking it and setting it on his chest. I watched the way his brows creased, his long lashes fluttering against his freckled cheeks as he kept his gaze down.

“A while,” he said finally, fidgeting with his hands in his lap.

I nodded in agreement, watching as he traced along the scar on his palm with his thumb. It made my own palm itch, and I flexed my fingers to chase the sensation away.