My voice was tight, irritated and maybe even a little angry. I hated guys like Milo. Guys who went around playing with girls’ emotions as if they were disposable. He must’ve sensed my agitation because he grew silent for a long moment until he opened his mouth.
“Let me change your mind.”
“You’re not my type.”
“What is your type? Football players?”
I rolled my eyes. “Human.”
“The type of human who likes to kiss pretty blonde cheerleaders?”
I almost dropped my charcoal. Milo’s words stung harder than a bee sting. I didn’t like being reminded of Eddie’s betrayal, but more importantly, how did Milo know Eddie cheated on me? Milo seemed to be well informed about my life, and I’m pretty sure Dawn had been filling his brain with Alexis 101. She’d been spending so much time with Dylan, she probably saw Milo every single day.
“You deserve better than that,” he said sounding sincere.
“And Scarlet doesn’t?” My voice was cold and harsh. “You flirt with other girls when your girlfriend is not looking. Talk about hypocrisy,” I added quickly.
“It’s not hypocrisy when the other person is just—”
“A friend?” I said cutting him off.
“Something like that.” If I wasn’t already repulsed by Milo, I was even more now. He was such a player.
“How can you… ” I stopped trying to find the right words.
“My intentions are always clear about what I want, every girl I’ve been with knows that.”
So he and Scarlet were friends with benefits.
“What are your intentions with…me?” The words escaped my mouth before I could process them. I bit my tongue. Did I really just ask him that? If there was a hypocrite in this room, it was me. One minute I’m expressing my distaste for his lack of morals, the next I’m swooning over him? I could feel him smiling on the other side of the easel.
“My intention is...” he began. Would he be so bold to tell me exactly what he really wanted? “To get your phone number. In exchange, for posing,” he finished.
I let out a sigh of relief.
Well played Milo. Well played. If I learned anything from being cheated on; a player knew how to play the game.
“Broke my phone the other day.” For once in my life, I was happy I didn’t have a phone. “I don’t think I’m getting one any time soon. They’re too distracting. I need to focus on school if I want to get out of here.”
“Where are you going?” Milo asked.
“As far away from here as I can get.”
When I finished my sketch, it felt like something was missing. Looking over the easel, my eyes fell on Milo’s unfurled pearlescent black wings. They were large enough to cover his entire body and looked nothing like the white angelic wings displayed in famous paintings.
I sketched his wings without taking my eyes off them. When I finished, I felt a sudden urge to touch them; to feel the feathers under my fingers. I placed the charcoal on the desk and walked toward Milo, fully aware of his eyes, monitoring my every move.
“Can I touch them?”
“Go ahead,” he replied softly.
Milo’s wings tensed when I reached for them slowly, almost too afraid to touch them. Lightly brushing my fingers along the wing, the feathers felt soft and smooth like fur. Milo closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, as the tension in his body relaxed. A soothing sensation washed over my body as I continued to stroke his feathers. All my fears and worries melted.
“Wow,” I said, leaning closer. “Can you feel my touch?”
Milo opened his eyes, and whispered, “Yes.”
When my eyes found his, I couldn’t help but catch my breath. He watched me intently, his eyes pulling me in like seductive magnets.
“Why are they black?” I asked, breaking eye contact. “Shouldn’t your wings be white?”
Milo glanced away with a troubled expression, and lost himself in thought. Why would such a simple question bother him? When he looked back at me, his face softened. He leaned in closer, our eyes level, as he tilted his head like he was going to kiss me.
No. This can’t happen. I don’t even like Milo—or did I? Yes, I found him very handsome, sexy, and so hot, and maybe there was a small part of me that wanted to know what it was like to kiss an angel, but the other part— probably the upper logical part of my body—found him egotistical.
My mind swirled with contradicting emotions as I braced myself, waiting—maybe a little eager—for Milo to kiss me. I wondered if I should stop him. But before I could, his face was an inch away from mine, so close, I could feel the heat in his breath.
Suddenly, the door burst open, we both jumped. Mrs. Mercury dropped a box full of art supplies and covered her mouth.
“Oh, dear lord!”
Milo flew through the window shattering glass all over the floor as I held on to the bar stool for balance.
I couldn’t believe I almost kissed Milo.
Minutes later, Mrs. Mercury was sitting in her desk with her glasses on examining every inch of my sketch as the janitor cleaned up the glass—Mrs. Mercury told him there was a crack in the window that finally broke.
She lowered her glasses when she finished, then placed a hand over her chest as if she were trying to control her breathing.
“Oh my, I love your portrait,” she finally said. “His wings are”—she cleared her throat—“enormous!”
I blushed, embarrassed. “Is he your boyfriend?”
“No. Definitely not my boyfriend,” I answered shaking my head.
“Oh, that’s a shame. He’s beautiful,” Mrs. Mercury gushed.
Beautiful or not, Milo and I were never going to happen.
CHAPTER
14
I rushed past the front door when I got home, my backpack heavy with Milo’s clothes and boots. I was halfway up the stairs when my mother came out of the living room and called after me.
“Where are you off in such a hurry?” she asked.
“Uh—uh,” I stammered trying to hide the guilt I felt in my voice as I searched for any excuse to give her, so she didn’t grow suspicious. “I’ve got homework. Tons of it.”
“What is that?” She pointed at my arm.
My body went stiff. “What?”
“Under your arm?”
“Oh. It’s my sketch pad, for art class,” I said, gripping it tightly.
“Can I see it?”
An anxiety-ridden lump formed in my throat. “I need to get started on my work—”
My mother reached for the sketch pad and took it from under my arm before I could stop her. The blood drained from my face. I stood there helpless watching as she thumbed through the pages inching closer to my latest drawing. She stopped to admire some of the sketches for The Girl in the Black Mustang. And just before she flipped to the next page, there he was—a naked Milo—dangling underneath her arm. I had to distract her, I didn’t want to risk room confinement for the rest of my life.
“I heard about Mrs. Mercury’s unorthodox way of teaching. Does she still hire models for your class?”
“Sometimes, not always,” I said reaching for the sketch pad. “Mom, I have two papers due tomorrow…” My mother’s bewildered expression caught me off guard. “What’s wrong?”
“You called me mom.” Her eyes glossed over, and her lip almost curled into an awkward smile, but once she realized what she was doing, she straightened herself and continued flipping the pages on the sketch pad.
The last time I called my mother ‘mom,’ I was nine years old. We lived in sunny southern California surrounded by the love of our family and my dad; she was happy then, full of life, she laughed a lot and hugged us every day. Since marrying Paul, she turned into a pessimistic woman drained of life. I don’t remember the last time she told me she loved me or turned out to one of my soccer games. Nowadays she resembled an empty shell; she hardly smiled, and when she did, it was forced and detached. I missed my mom. And I feared
I would never get to see that person again.
Luckily, a knock from the front door stopped her from going any further. My mother opened it and found Jane smiling.
“Hi, Mrs. Torrez. Is Alexis home?”
“Jane?” I asked surprised. “What’s up?”
“Did you forget? We have to paint the peep board for my booth,” she said holding up a basket of paint.
Like all the other school social events, I forgot about the Dixon Fall Fest. In exchange for rides to school, and the occasional lie to my mother about going to the movies when in reality I was hanging out with Dawn and Julian, Jane enlisted me in extracurricular activities I wasn’t too crazy about. My mother didn’t like my friends, and the only person she trusted—even if she found her obnoxious—was Jane.
Less than an hour later, Jane had me painting a mural of a farmer and a scarecrow on a large piece of plywood. As I painted the orange pumpkins, flashes of Milo’s bare skin played over my mind. I loved the way his muscles flexed with every move he made. Just thinking about him caused a fluttering effect inside my stomach. There was definitely an attraction there on my part, even if I didn’t like he was an angel.
“Jane,” I began. “Would you ever consider…dating an angel?”
She put her paintbrush down and gave me a baffled look. “Of course not. Why do you ask?” A look of realization crossed her face. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking about dating one?”
“No. I was curious if it ever crossed your mind.”
“I’ll admit, it has a couple of times”—she smiled— “but I could never,” she said, shaking her head as she struggled to lift the piece of plywood off the floor. “It’s unnatural. Besides, you wouldn’t want to mix with their race. You’d taint your DNA with theirs and have weird looking babies.”
I helped her lift the board and placed it against the tree.
“I thought angels couldn’t procreate?” I asked.
“Well, not that we know of—yet.”
“Would that be so bad, though?” I asked. “Having a relationship with an angel?”
“And risk being branded a quill lover? No thank you.”
I thought about it for a second. “You’re right.”
“Does this have anything to do with the angel in the school parking lot?”
“You saw him, too.” I frowned.
“Everyone at school saw him. With or without his wings, I knew he was one of them.”
Shame suddenly seeped into my veins.
“It’s weird though, they know they’re not supposed to set foot inside Dixon.” Jane’s tone of voice implied she knew more than she let on. I eyed Jane quizzically, searching her eyes for any hint of it but she remained poker-faced.
“Is there a law that doesn’t allow angels in Dixon?”
“What?”
“You said the angels can’t set foot in Dixon.”
“Oh, no, I’m assuming they’re not welcome here since Mayor Dixon has made it abundantly clear how she feels about them,” she said brushing my suspicion away.
I wasn’t buying it. I had a feeling Jane knew more than she was telling me. What if Mayor Dixon and Pastor Hayle were part of the Knights Army? The most notorious angel-hate group in all of Georgia? And if Jane was telling the truth, why would Milo and the other angels risk coming to Dixon if they knew they weren’t allowed?
Things didn’t make any sense. There had to be more.
“How does your dad feel about them?” I asked.
“He never talks about them, actually. But between us, I think he hates them just as much as Mayor Dixon. He’s just too Godly to raise judgment.” Jane turned back to her painting which told me she was done talking. I wanted to ask Jane more questions, but I had a feeling she wasn’t going to tell me anything.
After Jane left, I took my dinner, a sliced cucumber with lime, salt and Valentina hot sauce sprinkled with potato chips, to my room and ate on my bed contemplating whether I should continue sketching my storyboard or do homework. As I wrestled with the thoughts, I noticed Milo’s leather jacket hanging out of my backpack inconspicuously sitting in the corner of the room begging to be searched. I stared at it. The jacket stared right back, taunting me. I refused to look through the pockets. But what if I found a clue that could lead me to my sister?
My curiosity aroused, I slipped the jacket over my shoulders. I ran my hand along the smooth leather; it felt so soft underneath my skin. I walked over to the dresser and admired my reflection in the mirror turning from side to side. Even though the jacket was too long for my frame, I loved it.
Milo’s scent was everywhere. I breathed in the leather and earthy musk to the point of dizziness. It almost felt like he was in the room beside me. I stuck my hands inside the pockets but frowned. They were empty.
I was so distracted, I barely heard my mother calling for me. I shoved the jacket back into my backpack, and rushed down the stairs, through the kitchen and down the hallway where I found the front door wide open. My mother was outside talking to Dusty from The Bone Yard who was lowering my car off his tow truck.
I gasped. The ‘Stang was fixed. The windows had been repaired, and a fresh coat of black paint covered the body.
“What’s going on, Dusty?” I asked.
“A young man with long hair came by last week and fixed your car. He also paid your fees,” he said handing me a clipboard and pen. “Sign here, please.”
Milo. It had to be. But how did he—I sighed—Dawn.
Of course.
“What young man?” my mother asked, eyeing me suspiciously.
“No one,” I replied brushing her question aside.
Taking the keys, I ran to the driver side and opened the door. In the seat, there was a black walkie-talkie with a white tag that said TURN ME ON.
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help but smile. Of course, it was Milo. He was the only guy who could make me blush even when he wasn’t around. I took a seat in the ‘Stang and turned the walkie on once my mother had gone inside the house.
“I was afraid you weren’t going to answer.” Milo’s voice crackled through the walkie.
I pushed the talk button and replied, “you’re distracting me.”
“I hope it’s a good distraction.”
I was grinning from ear-to-ear. “How did you know about my car?”
“I heard it from a very chatty little bird.”
“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”
“I wanted to,” he said. “When can I cash in on the bet?”
I shuddered thinking about the stupid bet. “I don’t know,” I said trying to find an excuse. “Sometime when my mother lets me out of her sight.”
“How about now?”
I almost dropped the walkie. “Like, right now, right now?”
“Go to your room.”
Oh no! He was here. I felt like I was going to be sick. I tucked the walkie into the back pocket of my jeans and rushed to my room. Taking a peek through the curtain, I saw Milo standing on the balcony. I turned to my dresser and quickly checked myself in the mirror running my fingers through my hair untangling the mess. I grabbed a rose-tinted lip balm and applied it to my lips. My hands trembled as I tried to control my breathing.
When I opened the door, Milo looked down at me and smiled lazily. I felt my face turn red. He looked good in his black torn jeans and white V-neck that exposed his toned collarbone, but it was tough to keep his naked body out of my mind. I glanced away shyly trying to shake the image. The excitement returned inside my stomach. Why was I so nervous?
“May I come in?” he asked in a deep rich voice.
I hesitated a moment. I didn’t want to let him in. Not with my mother downstairs but my body involuntarily moved out of the way. Milo walked past me and strolled around my room examining every inch of it, almost like he was trying to piece together my personality.
The room was a jumbled mess of teenage angst, random objects I’d found at thrift stores or art I made. The walls were cove
red in movie posters—Goodfellas, The Crucible, and Cry-Baby among my favorites. A collage of pictures of my friends hung on a cork board over my desk and posters of rock bands wallpapered my closet door. The floors were painted an elephant gray, and all the mismatched furniture came from yard sales or consignment shops. A string of Christmas lights zigzagged across the ceiling giving off a festive vibe.
He stopped in front of a large bookcase overflowing with DVD’s. “Interview with a Vampire. The Lost Boys. Carrie? You’ve got bloody taste.”
I blushed at his compliment, and proudly said, “Thank you.”
He traced the spines of a few DVD’s with his fingers as I waited, holding my breath, my mind swirling with questions. What was he thinking? Did he think I was a dork for watching too many movies? And when did I suddenly care what Milo thought?
“Pride and Prejudice? Romeo + Juliet?” he asked, with one eyebrow arched I wasn’t sure how to interpret. Was he impressed? Confused?
“What can I say? I’m a sucker for complicated and tragic love stories,” I replied. “And Leonardo DiCaprio was so hot as Romeo.”
I observed Milo as he continued to look around, he picked up the Super 8 Dawn gave me, admired it for a while then gently placed it back. Milo crossed over to my bed, sat down, his dark eyes staring at me, I couldn’t help but feel nervous again. I really hated the way I felt around him. Anytime he was around, I acted like a love-struck schoolgirl.
“You have my jacket.”
“Right, yes…” I scrambled for my backpack on the floor and handed him the jacket. “I have your pants also, and your boots.”
“Leave them here. I might need them later,” Milo said with a smooth smile.
For what? I wondered. Slumber parties with the opposite sex in my room—not happening.
“Do you want to go somewhere?”
“Uh…” I stalled. “It’s a school night.”
“I promise to bring you home by midnight.”
I stood there hesitant to go anywhere with Milo. I was afraid he might take me straight to Skinny after leaving the races last night without paying. But my curiosity piqued.
THE TRAGIC + DIVINE, Book 1 Page 12