Wide Open (7 page)

"Never had it," I confessed and turned fully to find a grimy, dirty mess of a man with Milo's face underneath. I found myself biting into my lip.

He smiled, but realized he was still in his work clothes. He chuckled with embarrassment and rubbed his hair. "Yeah. I have one of those dirty jobs. Sorry. I was just grabbing dinner before going upstairs."

"No, it's fine. You should be proud of it," I told him and felt my smile stretch. I remembered my dad coming home so dirty, from other work obviously, but still dirty and still proudly displaying a day's work.

"Where did you go?" he asked and looked at my face closely as I daydreamed. I cleared my throat and half-smiled. He smiled back and shrugged. "You looked like you went somewhere you wanted to be."

"My dad, he…" Just saying his name made me want to cry. So much for being over it. "He always came home dirty, too. He worked construction."

He pressed his lips together in sympathy. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay. Like I said, it was a different kind of dirty." I looked him over and felt my breaths come in and out at how different it really was. His arms had spots of black grease on them, but it didn't cover up the fact that his arms were huge. That wasn't uncommon, actually. Addicts usually found ways to keep busy, exercise being one of them… I was analyzing him. I had fallen way down if my gawking of this hot-guy turned into analyzing him like a freaking desperate caller.

I looked up to find him watching me look him over. He had this smirk on his face that showed me my gawking had been more than a couple acceptable seconds. I licked my lips and smiled coyly. "Um, your um…" I pointed at his arm. "You obviously work out. That's good. It's a good tool for recovering addicts."

He laughed under his breath, the movement shaking his chest. "Uh, thanks."

"And," I continued stupidly, "you're eating out before going home, which is good, too. It's less temptation when you're not out in the party and club nightlife of the city."

"So, do you usually bring your work home with you or do you interrogate everyone? Is this not special treatment?"

My blush burned up my neck. "Sorry. It's habit."

"It's fine. I'll totally take those suggestions under advisement." He grinned.

I realized then that he hadn't looked away from me yet. Not once. He was so attentive—even seemed…enthralled. "It's ready, miss." I looked over to see the woman placing my bag on the counter. She looked up and smiled big. "Milo, the usual is coming, yes." She looked between us. "You want a cookie? You could share, split it with pretty girl?"

He laughed at her obvious attempt at matchmaking. "Oh, thanks, Mrs. Ming, and I'll definitely take you up on it another day." He looked back at me and smiled cockily. "But I was told I'm not allowed to share a cookie with this pretty girl for forty-four more days. Two years, isn’t that right, Maya?"

"It's more of a guideline," I started, but stopped. There was no point. I smiled and shook my head. I walked and took the bag from the counter before turning back to him. "I'll see you on Friday?"

"Never saw you as a rule breaker," he mused, mocking me.

"For the meeting, beefy." I laughed. "For the meeting."

He seemed to be mulling it over with a grin, or stalling, either way. "I'll be there, gorgeous."

My heartbeats physically skipped a little at that. I smiled as best as I could and made my way to my truck. He watched me from inside and I prayed it would crank. It did, but barely. It was the first time in a long time I was embarrassed about my crappy truck as I sputtered from the lot to our apartment.

On Friday, I was cornered by the only true rascal in the bunch. Most of the people there truly wanted to get better and stay that way. This guy, however, thought the sympathy card was a free ticket to every girl's underpants. He never got aggressive; it was just beyond creepy. He put his hand on the wall by my head and I sighed before weaseling my way out of the cage he'd made. "Just listen. I know the guy. He'll give us a great deal on a two-for-one lobster dinner. What do you say? You and me."

"Perry, I've told you several times that I'm not interested."

"Yeah, but you don't even pretend and use the old we-can't-date-our-patients line that they all use, which makes me think you're just playing hard to get." And cue creepy smile.

"No, I'm not going to lie to you. I think you need to find someone that the feelings are on both sides. And stop offering cheap lobster as a bargaining chip. You're just hurting yourself with that one, Perry"

I walked away and he yelled across the tiled room just as I saw Milo come through the doors. "Keep playing hard to get, sweetheart. One of these days we'll share a lobster!"

I pressed my lips together and shook my head. Milo's brow arched as he made his way to me. "Has your heart been stolen since the last time I saw you?"

I laughed and tapped his arm with my fist. "Shut up. Don't get him started."

"So…" He looked down at me sideways.

"So, beefy." He smiled at my nickname. "I think this is where we drum on about our boring lives. How was your week?"

"Oh, just fine," he played along. "I work at Tom's Garage. He's slowly teaching me the biz. Learning a lot there. How was your week?"

"Oh, just fine," I copied mockingly. "I didn't have to talk anyone from the ledge, proverbial or physical, so that's a plus."

He leaned back against the table where the coffee was set up and crossed his arms. "So you answer the phones and talk to people who call in with problems?"

"Not just any problem. We're an addiction counseling center. We're supposed to only deal with people who are calling in about their addiction and either in denial about it or wanting to come to meetings, but we get other stuff sometimes. Technically, we're supposed to field those callers somewhere else, but when a woman calls and says her husband hits her and she doesn't know what to do about it, it's hard to tell her to go call someone else instead of saying that she needs to leave that scumbag. Mostly, I tell people that though getting help is hard, it's worth it. And that old saying about how you can't go home again is crap. More often than not, their families welcome them with open arms when it's clear they're trying to do better."

He nodded. "You're braver than I am. I wouldn’t know what to tell those people. I don't even have my own problems taken care of."
"You'd be surprised how easy the answer comes when you've been through it." His gaze jerked to mine and I shook my head. "No, no, no. We are not getting into that."

"Fair," he stated. "It's a bad omen to spill your guts and bad deeds before the first date anyway." I felt my lips part. He smiled and moved a little closer, putting the knuckle of his finger under my chin to close my mouth gently. "You didn't think I was giving up, did you?"

I could smell him and I inhaled subconsciously to breathe in more of him. My words sounded more like breaths. "I don't know what I'm thinking. I've never had someone ask me out twice before. Other than creepy Perry."

His smile was slow. "Are you going to make me ask a third time?"

"You think it's a good idea…for two people with addiction in their pasts to get together?"

"Is that you or the pamphlet talking?"

I couldn't help but giggle a little at that. "Mostly the pamphlet," I confessed. "I haven't had an issue in a really long time. I'm positive I won't have a relapse anytime soon, but positive people fall off the wagon every day."

"The thought of dating me makes you want to fall off a wagon?" He quirked a wry brow.

"No." I pushed my hair behind my ear. "You're going to be one of those persistent guys, aren't you?"

He moved close again. "Why? You don't like being chased?"

I swallowed, stalling. "I've never been chased before."

"Well, Maya," he started and seemed surprised about my comment, "I'm about to remedy that."

"Okay," I breathed and then bit into my lip, closing my eyes at the fact that I just said that. "Milo?"

I opened my eyes to find him looking thoroughly pleased. "Yeah?"

"What exactly does that mean?"

He shook his head. "You'll have to wait and see." He leaned back and looked at the group before looking back to me. "I've got some things to do at the garage, so I'll see you next week."

I nodded, knowing he was shirking his addict duties, but suddenly didn't mind. "Bye."

He backed away, his adorable limp barely noticeable, smiling. "Goodbye, Maya."

After catching my breath and thinking on that for a few needed minutes, I focused on the group again and tried to forget the guy with hazel eyes who decided I was worth chasing.

The week passed in blinks of time that flew by faster than they had in a long time. Will seemed to be doing well this week, so I didn't feel so guilty that my mind wasn't constantly on him as it usually was.

When Thursday came around, I wasted no time with Milo, hoping to get him to see what the meetings were all about and stop cutting them off before they could really begin.

"Where are we sitting today?"

He smiled. "Oh,
we're
sitting?"

"I figured we may as well." I turned to him and had to look up to see his face. He seemed taller. "You see, it's cheating if you stand in the back or sit in the back row. Like I said, they're afraid to commit, so I figured we could sit today. I haven't committed in a long time. Can't hurt."

He seemed to be thinking about it. Like actually thinking, not goading me.

"So let's commit," he finally said and smiled, but it was different. I wondered what had happened to cause the change.

When we sat down in the middle aisle seats, he put one ankle over his knee and fidgeted as they got the meeting started. He followed the guy who made his way up front with his eyes the whole way. It came to me. I'd forgotten that he'd never been to a meeting. I didn't even know his story. I was being an awful counselor. I leaned over and put my hand on his arm to steady myself. His face was so close when he turned to look at me. "I'm sorry. We can stand in the back. It's not a problem. I was just joking anyway, for the most part. We can take it slow."

"Nah," he waved it away, but gulped. "This is how we're supposed to do it, right?"

"Okay," I said, but didn't feel right. He looked a little green.

We listened. The guy started his story with him dropping out of high school, him losing all his friends because no one wanted to be around a mooch, his dad getting so angry with him that he'd call the cops on him when he showed up because he stole things to sell. When the guy started to tell us about his brother and how they hadn't spoken in years, Milo cursed and got up, practically sprinting to the exit.

I followed him, gripping his arm before he could make it out of the foyer. We were out of the meeting room. No one could see us unless they came looking. He stopped in his tracks, not turning to face me, his muscles so taut my fingers felt like they were gripping stone.

"Milo," was all I could say.

"I can do this on my own." He turned slowly, his face tight and angry, but I could tell it wasn’t with me. "I've done it without the meetings for almost two years. I don’t need this. I don't want to listen to someone complain about their life. That's not what I signed up for."