There’s no rules. And sure, I’m not asking you to go bare-assed. Wear what you want under it.
But as soon as I typed that, my brain was filled with images of Milo in various stages of undress, a parade of all the possible underwear options. He probably wore boring mono-colored cotton boxers like all the jocks seemed to favor, but my brain enjoyed the mental fashion show waiting for his reply way too much.
Good. I have some white compression shorts. I’m probably overthinking this, right?
Yup. I’d been right. Jock gear. But there was something almost…vulnerable in his reply. Like he was worried about something more than ending up commando under a toga. I added a frazzled-looking emoji with steam coming out of its brain. Quite possibly. You’re nervous?
I don’t get nervous. Just don’t like public humiliation.
Well, okay then. Nice to know how he saw cosplay. My fingers hammered out my retort even as my back tensed with a thousand unwanted memories. Except when you’re handing it out.
I kind of expected that would end the exchange, and indeed there was a long pause, but the bubbles kept showing like he was typing. However, no message came, and I gave my mom a hug and headed out to my car. Still little bubbles, as if he was typing and erasing. And damn it, I was curious enough to wait a few more minutes while the car warmed up. Finally, the phone buzzed.
I’m sorry. You got a raw deal in school for sure. I was a shit. We all were. And I know it means dick now, but I’d do it differently if I could.
My chest did a weird flip as my hand tightened on my phone. He’d said sorry the day before, but I hadn’t believed him. And honestly, I didn’t entirely now either. He was likely only regretting that he needed my help and that I hadn’t forgiven him easily. But at least he was owning that he was an ass back then—him and his lousy friends.
Even now, I could remember his jock buddies and their stupid jokes and the way Milo had always stood there, mouth a tight line, eyes grim, shoulders stiff like he was next on the chopping block. Except he never was. He’d been a golden boy for the popular crowd, and I refused to let my brain process the idea of him doing things differently. Because what if we’d never argued? What if we’d stayed friends? What if he’d stood up for me? Too many what-ifs for my head to hold, that was for sure. And I just wasn’t ready for a world where Milo might have genuinely changed. Even if his apology felt good, believing in it—or him—would be beyond foolish.
Chapter Six
Milo
“I’m not late,” I announced, out of breath as I barreled through the hospital lobby to where Jasper stood. He was loaded down with a couple of bags, a large gold scepter, and a disturbingly accurate giant frog mask. My leg already ached from the fast walk from the bus stop, and I was pissed at it, missing the days when I could have easily jogged up to the hospital.
“Barely.” Jasper was smiling, but my chest was still tight. I’d been worried he’d assume I was going to bail and call the whole thing off. I’d had another message from Bruno the night before, underscoring how badly I needed Jasper’s help.
“Sorry. Bus took forever to come, but I made it.” Inhaling slowly, I tried to resume my normal voice without sounding too defiant. Didn’t need to start this thing off with my bad mood ruining our uncertain truce.
“That you did. And you actually beat some of the others. Come on, let’s get changed.” Jasper adjusted his bags, and I instinctively reached for two of them, leaving him with the props and his usual backpack. My hand grazed his shoulder, which was a miscalculation on my part. He was warm and solid and smelled like cedar, facts that my body took way too much notice of.
“Here. Let me help.” My voice was huskier than it needed to be as I shouldered the bags.
“Okay. Okay. Careful. The red one has all the intro decks we use for playing the kids.” Jasper strode across the lobby toward the restrooms, pausing near a soda machine to turn toward me. “And why don’t you have a car?”
Oh, how I hated questions like that. I got enough shit from my friends over my reliance on the area’s spotty transit. “I have a car. Just don’t like taking it out, especially in winter.”
That was true enough. My car was a classic Mustang that I’d spent hours restoring with my dad, and it was hardly a winter workhorse. But that wasn’t the whole story, wasn’t why my insides twisted up every time I had to drive, especially in bad weather. And I really hated caring what the hell Jasper thought, didn’t know quite how to take his shrug as he entered the restroom.
Jasper glanced around the empty room as he pointed to the blue bag. “Your stuff is in here. I’ll take the other bags in with me. Can’t risk someone walking off with the cards.”
“Yeah,” I said weakly. Couldn’t lose precious cards. For the billionth time since the weekend, I called myself all kinds of idiot. We exchanged bags and I headed into a cramped stall to change. It was weird, being back in a hospital with that distinctive medicinal cleaner smell, memories of my recovery and other less-than-pleasant associations making my injured leg tense further. My leg was already stiff from the too-fast walk from the bus stop, and the tight quarters didn’t help. I took a minute to rub my leg as I took off my shoes before stripping down to my shorts. It was chilly in the restroom, and despite being behind the locked stall door, I felt weirdly exposed.
Unfortunately, the costume didn’t help with that feeling as the thin fabric was all floaty as it draped over me, skimming my pecs and midsection before brushing my thighs and swishing around my knees. Bare arms. Bare legs. I’d worn a pair of compression shorts that I usually wore under baggier workout or soccer gear, but the toga was still rather…breezy. And strangely sensual. I’d never had silk sheets, but this fabric slid against my skin and made me aware of my nerve endings in a way I wasn’t entirely comfortable with.
“Don’t forget your accessories,” Jasper called from the next stall.
Oh, yeah. Ornate crown. Gold arm gauntlets. Gaudy seashell belt. And…earrings?
“I don’t have pierced ears.” I tried to sound regretful, not relieved.
“They’re magnets. And they’re tiny. Not gonna steal your dude bro cred, promise. I’ve seen NFL players with earrings.”
“Diamond studs are one thing. Seashells are…” My voice trailed off as I realized I wasn’t going to win this one and in fact was probably decreasing my chances of help after we were done. “Whatever. Putting them on.”
The magnets provided an odd pressure on my earlobes, like someone was tickling my neck and ears, but I tried to ignore them as I struggled to put on the lace-up sandals. No matter how I arranged the gold laces, my scars were still partly visible. Damn it. And of course Jasper noticed as soon as I emerged from the stall.