Take Me

Chapter Nineteen: Bearings

Close to one in the morning, Milo stumbled into his Paris hotel room exhausted and running on fumes. Fashion Week swept him up in a whirlwind of shows, parties, press conferences, luncheons—anything that had to do with clothes he had been there, and the week was only halfway over. He still had a whole host of events to attend with Cassandra and the Rebel team, including a gala the magazine was hosting.

That year his heart wasn’t in it. What used to be fun just seemed routine. His movements were mechanical. He accomplished all his tasks efficiently, for sure. Cassandra had no complaints. Yet each day seemed like an out of body experience. As if he watched himself working instead of actually being a hundred percent present. Hollow was his middle name.

Not bothering with changing into something more comfortable, he toed off his shoes and shrugged off his jacket. Both articles of clothing were left on the floor as he stumbled his way onto the bed. He didn’t even waste energy with tie removal as he landed face down on the sheets and pillow.

The dark oblivion of sleep claimed him. The dream came soon after.

Large hands ease him onto his back. He went willingly, sighing with relief at being arranged into a more comfortable position. Long fingers comb through his hair, massaging his scalp as they went. He moaned in appreciation, which was cut short by the press of lips against his.

A series of soft kisses coaxed his mouth open. A tongue darted between his teeth, inviting his into a dance as old as kissing itself. The bittersweet taste of bourbon jolted him out of the dream like a flash of lighting. Kaz tasted of burnt apple and clove. Scotch and cigarettes. And come to think of it, the smell was different too. Instead of the spicy musk that never failed to turn him inside out, a cooler scent entered his lungs from cologne he was all too familiar with.

His eyes sprang open as he splayed his hands on an unyielding chest and pushed, effectively breaking the contact between lips. The light he had left on at the entryway illuminated the intruder. Lush brown hair, day-old scruff, and bright green eyes.

“Tommy?”

In response, his friend closed his fingers around Milo’s wrists and secured his hands above his head. The position brought back memories of the night he had broken his world. Panic rose as the relentless drumbeat of his heart. His breathing hitched. He struggled for air. But before he could protest, Tommy’s mouth was on his again. The kiss was punishing. Milo wouldn’t be surprised if he had a bruise in the morning.

As a way of defending himself, Milo did the only thing he could think off before his mind shattered, he bit down on Tommy's lower lip. Hard enough to cause pain but not hard enough to actually puncture the skin. As expected, his would be molester backed off with a startled yell.

He used the momentum of Tommy’s fall to sit up. Not allowing the other man who positively reeked like an unclean bar to regain his bearing, Milo grabbed Tommy by the collar and hauled him to the bathroom where he was shoved into the shower closet. With a twist of the knob, icy droplets rained down on Tommy, eliciting a yelp that was soon followed by shivering and harsh breathing.

When the drunk tried to get away from the spray, Milo kicked him back down and said, “You’re not going anywhere, Mister.”

“What the hell?” Tommy blubbered out, hair plastered to his head, suit ruined, lips trembling.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

Pushing away the strands that covered his face, Tommy looked up at him. “I love you.”

The three words came at Milo like a physical blow. If he wasn't holding onto the glass door of the shower he was sure he would have stumbled back.

“Excuse me?”

“What don’t you get? I said I love you.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m sober enough to know I’m telling the truth.”

“This can’t be happening.” Milo rubbed a hand down his tired face. “Please tell me this can’t be happening.”

“Why the hell not?” Tommy pushed to his feet, but he made no move to step away from the spray.

The warning glare Milo sent him was enough to keep him in place. “Because I don’t have the emotional strength for this bullshit right now.”

“It’s not bullshit. I’m just telling you the truth.”

“Then why now?”

Milo questioned his sanity in that moment. Had he stepped into an alternate dimension? Or he was dreaming. Yeah. It had to be some sort of sick dream. He pinched his arm. A red welt rose over pale flesh.

“What are you doing?” Tommy asked, concern marring his handsome features.

“It hurts,” he said dumbly.

“I would imagine so.”

“Then this is not a dream. I’m awake.”

Tommy bowed his head and chuckled. “I don’t know whether to be hurt or insulted.”

“I’m the one who should be insulted.”

“Ouch! Low blow.”

“Not low enough.” Milo eyed his friend’s groin, sorely tempted to aim a well-placed knee in its vicinity. “What the hell do you think you’re doing coming to my room drunk, taking advantage of me while I slept, and now confessing that you love me? Did you hit your head on the bar you were at before you stumbled your way in here? And how the hell did you get in any way? I know I locked the door.”

“Spare key.”

Two simple words. Of course. He always gave his spare key to Tommy and vice versa in case one of them lost their key or forgot to bring it. Milo never regretted that practice until that night. He massaged his forehead. An aching throb began behind his left eye.

“Answer me this,” he said, meeting the sincerity in his friend’s gaze head on. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Will you at least let me step out of the shower first?” Tommy asked back. “I think my lips are turning blue.”

His lips were indeed turning a pale shade of blue.

Taking pity on the wretch, Milo stepped aside and threw a towel at him, which he caught without missing a beat. Then he backed away until he reached the doorway, needing the safety that space provided. He crossed his arms as a precaution against the urge to throw a punch. He would reserve those for later. Depending on the answer to his question.

Tommy draped the towel over his head and began removing his clothes.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Milo blurted out, an unexpected blush creeping across his face. He had seen Tommy naked before. Why should that instance be any different?

“Uhm?” Tommy gestured to his sodden suit. “If I want to dry myself I need to remove my clothes. I still have to walk the Yves Saint Laurent show tomorrow. Wouldn’t want to be sick while doing it.”

He had Milo there. As ludicrous as the situation had been so far, he didn’t want to be the one to blame if one of the top models in the business called in sick.

Taking a bracing deep breath, he said, “Fine.”

Tommy made quick work of peeling off every article of clothing until he was down to his boxer briefs.

“Those stay on or I’m calling hotel security and kicking you out of here,” Milo said when Tommy’s thumbs hooked into the waistband.

“Harsh.” But he complied, reaching for one of the bathrobes and putting it on. Only then did he start drying his hair. “You’re a total mess.”

Milo’s eyebrow arched up. “What’s that got to do with you suddenly feeling the urge to confess?”

“Let’s face it I’ve been in love with you since that b***h Celeste left.”

“I’m having a hard time believing you. Maybe this is my mind playing tricks on me. I think I’ve been working way too hard.”

Tommy gave him a drawl stare, hair still dripping. “Then there’s that bastard Japanese guy. And don’t deny that there’s nothing going on there because you were an absolute zombie the next morning. You’re forgetting I know that look very well.”

“So you think because I’m a mess that it’s the right time to tell me how you feel?”

A long pause followed his question. Tommy brought the corner of the towel to his lips. Milo’s brow crumpled. Why did he have to look so damn good in that moment? Staying mad at him would have been so much easier if he were less attractive and not his friend.

“I’m sick and tired of putting you back together after someone goes in and breaks your heart,” the insane man standing in front of Milo finally said.

"Then you end the friendship. Don't decide to say ‘I love you!'"

The glare he got for his exclamation stabbed right through him. “Do you honestly think I’d walk away now?”

“Tommy . . .” Milo returned to rubbing his forehead. The lack of sleep was getting to him. He was seeing double. “You’re not making any sense. Let’s say I even believe what you’re saying. You’re the biggest manslut I know. What makes you think a monogamous relationship would work? Or do you think I’m the type who would tolerate cheating?”

Again another chunk of silence followed. This one brief.

“And don’t even think of justifying sleeping around,” he headed Tommy off.

“I’m not,” came the unexpected reply.

That night was getting more and more insane by the minute. Milo didn’t know what to believe anymore. And he thought his relationship with Kaz had been complicated.

“Then you need to clarify because I’m not a mind-reader.”

Tommy looked him in the eye when he spoke. “I’m saying I’m willing to try if you let me.”

“Let you what?” he had been almost too afraid to ask.

“Let me love you.”

There was that word again. It seemed to steal all the air in the room.

“Tommy.” He sagged against the doorframe. His legs barely kept him upright. “I honestly can’t deal with this right now.”

“Is it because you have feelings for that Japanese guy?”

“Kaz. His name is Kaz.”

“I don’t need to know his name.”

When Milo sighed, his shoulders slumped forward. Then he shook his head. “What can I say to make you understand?”

In a rush of movement, Tommy was on him, grabbing his arms and towering over him. “Tell me you don’t have feelings for him.”

The last of his strength fled. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not? It’s simple. I’m here. He’s not.”

“Until when will you be here?” Milo challenged. “You’re as busy, if not busier than I am. How do you think a relationship between us would work?”

“Are you saying you’re willing to try?”

Having had enough, Milo shrugged out of Tommy’s hold. “Don’t twist my words around!”

“Then you have to at least let me try. I know I can be a better boyfriend than that—”

“If you call him ‘Japanese guy’ one more time—”

“You’ll what?” Tommy interrupted his interruption.

“God!” He rubbed both hands over his face. “I’m too tired for this. I have to get up in a couple of hours.”

“This would all be simple if you just gave in.”

“Give in to what?” Milo fell back onto the couch and leaned forward until his elbows touched his knees. He cradled his heavy head in his hands.

“Let me love you.”

“Don’t you touch me,” he hissed as Tommy laid a hand on his shoulder.

“You know what . . .” The gorgeous model raised both his hands in surrender. “Maybe this was all a big mistake.”

“You’re kidding right?”

“Actually, I’ve never been more serious in my life.” He threw the towel over the back of the couch and began walking toward the door then he stopped. “You know. All those people I f****d? They were just warm bodies to share my cold bed. Every time I was in someone—man or woman—I imagined you. All I ever wanted was you.”

Milo stared at the space Tommy occupied long after his friend had left, trying to make sense of the bizarre conversation. So much for getting any more sleep.