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New Novel: In That Moment Season 1 Episode 6

Chapter Six

“Little Red Riding Hood?” Mila cocks an eyebrow at me, a whisper of a smile flitting across her full lips.  I nod.
“For some reason, that’s how I think of you,” I admit to her.  “You were strolling out on the beach, all alone, and came along just when I needed you.”
My eyes are glued on her face.  I know that there is someone else in the room, but to me, it’s just me and Mila.  She stares at me uncertainly.
“That would make you the Big Bad Wolf,” she points out.
I laugh.  “Now you’re catching on,” I tell her.
Her gaze remains locked with mine, her eyes clear and dark.  My gut wrenches at the sight of her clean and clear expression. There is no drug induced haze in her eyes, a marked difference from my usual companions.  It’s both refreshing and terrifying.  I’m not sure how to interact with her.  But since I woke up this morning craving her company, I knew I had to seek it out.
So here I am.
“Is this for me?” Mila motions toward the shopping bag and I nod.  She delves into it with interest and then her face lights up when she sees all of the sweaters.
“They’re all red,” she laughs.  “Every one of them.”
I feel my lip twitch. “Of course they are.  I have to keep you in character somehow, don’t I?  I didn’t know what style you liked, so I bought you a bunch of them.  I wanted you to be fully stocked the next time you come along and save me.”
She visibly startles and stares at me, her movements frozen, her fingers dangling limply at her sides.  I can’t help but notice her slender hourglass figure.  She’s proportioned absolutely right to drive a man crazy.  Full tits, tiny waist, lush hips.  My groin tightens.
Fuck.  I quickly think of dead puppies, nuns and cold pork.  It seems to do the trick and my dick calms down.  For now.
Mila is still staring at me, an intense, charged gaze.
“Do you need saving?” she asks quietly.
The air between us practically crackles with energy as we stare each other down.  Her eyes are fathomless and deep, the kind of eyes that a man could fall into and lose himself.  Permanently.  I am flustered for a moment, trying to find the words to answer her when the other person in the room clears her throat.
An escape.
Thank you, God.
I turn gratefully to find another woman there, a pretty blonde woman that I’ve seen before, but I can’t place where.  She seems to be waiting for an introduction, but Mila isn’t giving her one.
I hold my hand out.
“Hi,” I tell her.  “I’m Pax Tate.”
She shakes my hand firmly.  Perhaps a little too firmly.
“Madison Hill,” she answers. “Mila’s sister.”
Oh.  Then her stern handshake makes sense.  Big sister is looking out for little sister, trying to protect Mila from the Big Bad Wolf.  I can’t really blame her.
Madison is staring at me now with blue eyes that are nothing like her sister’s.  In fact, nothing about her resembles Mila, except for maybe the shape of her nose.  She’s tall and blonde, while Mila is petite and dark.  Mila is sexier, although for some reason, I’m guessing that she doesn’t think so.  She’s quiet now, allowing her sister to do the talking.  It is clear that she is used to her sister taking charge.
“So are you feeling better?”
Madison cocks an eyebrow, her question a not-so-subtle way of telling me that she knows that I OD’d the other night.  That she thinks I’m a f**k-up who isn’t good enough for her sister.  I can see that in her icy blue eyes.  The thing that she doesn’t understand, though, is that I don’t give a shit what she thinks.  She doesn’t know me and that is my biggest pet peeve- when people judge me without knowing what the f**k they’re talking about.
“I am, thank you,” I tell her.  I smile pleasantly.  I won’t bow to her.  She’s crazy if she thinks that.  “Your sister was a lifesaver.”
Madison doesn’t know how to respond. I can see that she wants to say more, but there’s really no way she can without seeming completely rude.  She’s disgruntled as she turns and kisses Mila on the cheek.
“I’ve got to get back to The Hill.  I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” she looks pointedly at her sister, as if to silently warn her away from me.  Then she glances at me.

“What is it?” she asks, her eyes not leaving mine.
“You’ve seen me at my worst.  Maybe you should see me at my best.”
My words hang between us, heavy and charged, and I don’t know what the f**k I am doing.
“When are you at your best?” she asks hesitantly.  And I can see from the determined look on her face that she is trying hard not to feel intimidated.  I’m impressed.  She’s like a kitten standing up to a lion.
“In bed.”
My answer is simple.  And her eyes shoot sparks in response.
“You’re kind of arrogant, aren’t you?” she demands, her hands on her slender, paint-spattered hips.  “A simple Thank you for saving my life would suffice.  I don’t need for you to carry me off to your bed to show your gratitude.”
I pause for a minute before I try to smooth her ruffled feathers.
“Calm down,” I tell her quietly.  “I’m sorry.  It’s a habit.  I was just joking. Sometimes I have an inappropriate sense of humor.  Thank you for the other night. I’m sorry I didn’t say it before.”
She purses her lips and then sighs.
“It’s okay,” she answers.  “And you did say it in the hospital.  You didn’t need to come here and say it again.  I have been wondering though…” and her voice trails off.
It’s her turn to stare at me now and her gaze is contemplative.  I stare back unflinching.
“What?” I prompt.  “What have you been wondering?”
“Why did you do it?” she asks softly.  “Why would you do that?  It seems like you have a wonderful life.”
I’m surprised again.  This girl is very direct and doesn’t hesitate to say what she’s thinking.  And she thinks that I purposely tried to kill myself.  What the f**k?
On the one hand, her direct attitude is refreshing.  I have a feeling that she doesn’t play games.  But on the other hand, it’s annoying as hell.  Because sometimes I like to get lost in games so that I don’t have to provide any real answers.
But I have a feeling that Mila doesn’t tolerate bullshit.
“It was an accident,” I shrug.  “I was being careless.  It won’t happen again.”
She’s still staring at me and I fight the urge to flinch.  It’s like she’s looking inside of me, trying to pick me apart and examine me.  I don’t like it.
“Really?” she asks. She sounds doubtful, unsure.  “I hope not.  If you’re lying, I hope you get help. I might not be there next time to save you.”
She turns on her heel and heads for the back room.  And just like that, Mila the artist with the wholesome smile walks out of my life.
I’m surprised by how much I don’t like the feeling.

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