Page 44 of Loverboy
“You hear me, loverboy?” He rubbed my shoulder soothingly. “Let her go. You deserve better.”
“I hear you,” I whispered, voice fracturing even more.
He tipped my chin up with his other hand, his expression dark and serious.
“Tell me you’ll let her go. Don’t text her. Don’t call.”
“I won’t, I swear.”
“Good,” he said tiredly. “Because I will kick your ass.”
20
Milo
I WAS DRAPED over the couch like a Victorian widow, buried beneath bags of chips and candy. My shameful state was illuminated only by the glow of a romcom on the television that I’d stopped paying attention to within five minutes of turning it on.
This was the longest week of my life. I wanted to party, get hammered, maybe even finally get the nerve to do something casual and fuck someone, no strings attached. If I couldn’t self-destruct the usual way with Jasper’s monitoring and that silent judging thing he did with his face, I needed some other outlet before I went insane.
I tried to be quiet. Really, I did. The first hour passed without issue, but as the evening dragged on, I thought I might spontaneously combust. I was ready to set my brother’s laptop on fire just for something to happen.
“If I don’t see people soon, I’m going to die,” I announced.
Jasper eyed me with scrutiny from behind his laptop, surrounded by a small library of textbooks on each side of the armchair. In the reflection of his glasses, I could see the screen and the outline of an open document with way too many words. It made me glad I’d dropped out of school and pursued photography, because I’d rather walk into traffic than write that many words.
“If I tell you that you can invite Oliver over, will you leave me the hell alone?” Jasper sighed.
“Probably not.” I plucked a stray sour peach candy off my chest and popped it into my mouth.
“You promised you’d be quiet if I sat out here instead of in my room,” he said sharply. “Call your little bitch boy over.”
Rude.
Still, I pulled out my phone and shot Oliver a text.
The living room had turned into a cardboard war zone with Jasper’s moving boxes, the vast majority of which were books. The more of his things we brought over, the more at ease I felt. It was proof that he was staying, at least until my lease was up. Then we’d move back to Mom’s.
Secretly, I wanted to convince him to renew the lease here instead. The whole situation reminded me of when I first moved in with him after my birth mom passed away, when every night felt like having a sleepover with your best friend. Only this time, without Mom and Blane, it was just the two of us, in our own little pocket of the universe.
It wasn’t long before Oliver texted back, agreeing to come over. I grinned and stuffed a handful of potato chips into my mouth, one of the few foods my stomach didn’t protest.
“What are you looking at?” I frowned, catching Jasper still watching me.
“Your face. Isn’t that obvious?” he snarked.
“What about my face?” I squinted at him suspiciously, wiping my mouth with the sleeve of my sweater.
“You’re eating more today. It’s good.” He gave me a sharp nod and immediately looked back at his laptop, jaw clenching like he regretted the compliment the second it left his mouth.
Heat rose to my cheeks, my eyes suddenly stinging. It was overkill to get emotional over a stupid little observation like that, but I couldn’t help it. Compliments always felt wrong—like my body didn’t know where to put them—especially when they came from him. My first instinct was to ruin the moment before it could turn into something heavier, more vulnerable.
“It’s just junk food,” I muttered, crumpling the bag and tossing it on the coffee table.
Awesome. Nailed it.
Dumbass.
Jasper shook his head and rolled his eyes as I sat up noisily, all of my snacks falling off my chest and scattering across the couch and floor. I escaped to the balcony and lit a cigarette, letting the autumn air shock me back into emotional regulation. I was still sensitive, my nerves raw from heartbreak. It was fucking humiliating to be near tears over being told that I was eating more.
