Isolation: Book 2 of The Quarantine Series Read online

  Holy hell.

  She is freshly showered and changed, wearing black yoga pants and a plain white shirt. She has no makeup on, but her face is still glowing. She looks clean, fresh and… sexy as all hell.

  Her dark hair is damp from the shower. The excess water from her hair is running down her neck and trailing her arms.

  I stare at those droplets with an immense need to lick them off her arms, along with every bit of her skin. I want to lick every inch of her. Her whole damn body.

  It’s impossible not to feel this way if I am around her. Why wouldn’t it be? It’s unfair for any human being to be this beautiful and unattainable.

  She reminds me of a book we once read in school: Helen of Troy. I wonder if she ever read it. There was a famous saying in the book.

  Was this the face that launch’d a thousand ships?

  “What?” Raven frowns at me.

  I realize that I am staring. I try to snap out of my mental reverie filled with admiration for the woman in front of me. Shaking my head, I grab the brown kraft bag from the floor.

  “Nothing. Ready to go?”

  “Let’s go.”

  -----------

  Raven

  Milo and I are walking to a park I used to frequent in my teen years. It’s one of my favorite places in this neighborhood. The park is hidden, with a beautiful koi pond next to it.

  “Here,” Milo points under a tree by the pond.

  He takes his jacket off and lays it on the grass. Milo opens the small kraft bag he brought along with him.

  I peek over his shoulders curiously while he pulls out the items from inside. He keeps blocking my view with his body so I focus on the koi pond instead.

  It’s beautiful.

  As soon as Milo finishes setting up, I divert my attention back to him and peek at the spread.

  “Boxed wine and saran wrapped sandwiches,” I list the items sitting on top of his jacket.

  “I said I was going to wine and dine you. Wine,” he points at the extra miniature boxed wine. “And dine,” he points at the two sandwiches.

  I stare at Milo for a heartbeat and then burst out laughing.

  The kind of laughter I haven’t let out in years.

  The kind that has tears leaking out of my eyes.

  The last time Milo did an over the top gesture, it was… well, overwhelming. Goofy gestures are more my speed.

  This really wasn’t that funny, but he knew that I’d find this funny. I always called Milo “bougie.” Boxed wine is definitely not his style, but humor is mine.

  “It wasn’t that funny,” he defends his gesture when my laughter has still not subsided.

  I hold on to my stomach and grin. A dork exists under the cool godlike CEO surface. I can’t help but look at that dork with… affection. Tender affection.

  I feel nostalgic. I am looking at the playful goofy man I grew up with, the one I have been seeing more and more of lately.

  There is something else too. I can’t put my finger to it, but something is different with him today than it was yesterday. It’s hard to explain.

  We sit down on the jacket that Milo laid out. I start unwrapping the sandwiches while Milo twists off the cap to the miniature boxed wine.

  “Okay, stop.” I hold up a hand. “I lived in Paris for four years. This is considered a disgrace to my cultural immersion experience. You have made your point and you have made me laugh. Can we please be adults now and drink actual fucking wine instead of piss?”

  Milo still pours the wine with a grin. The tiny box is only enough to fill the two disposable cups he brought along. Reaching into the bag, he also pulls out two water bottles.

  “Piss?” he passes me one of the bottles. “Your lady-like vocabulary precedes you.”

  “Piss. Cocksucker. Fucker. Motherfucker. Cunt.” I count off curse words with my fingers.

  “Classy, Rave,” he sneers. “We need soap to wash out your potty mouth.”

  “That’s not even the worst of it.”

  “I am almost scared to ask,” he leans in curiously. “What’s the worst of it?”

  “Moist,” I shrug without a trace of humor.

  Milo chokes on his sandwich and I grin cockily, feeling satisfied with my delivery.

  “How the hell is that the worst word? Explain!”

  “Ask any woman. Moist is the worst word in the English dictionary. Women cringe when they hear it. Hence, moist. The most offensive word and the worst of them all.”

  Milo bursts out laughing.

  Loud, hearty laughter.

  I. Fucking. Missed. This.

  I. Fucking. Missed. Us.

  I missed our laughs. Our teasing. I missed all of it.

  I return my attention back to my sandwich. I am sure Milo brought me here for more than a gag date. If he insisted on getting me out of the house, it’s likely that he wants to have a talk.

  Appropriate social measures, before embarking on awkward conversations, suggest small talk while dancing around the bigger issue at hand. So.... “I realized that I know very little about your company. Tell me about it.”

  Milo decides to humor me and dives into the nitty-gritty of his company. He even explains the most mundane aspects of his job with enthusiasm.

  “You work a lot,” I state the most obvious observation.

  “It comes with the territory of owning your own business. Plus, the numbers don’t lie. The more I work and the more I promote the app, the better our profit margins are.”

  “Why do you need so much money?” I bite my tongue when the rude question slips out. I need to work on my filter. Ever since I hit my head, I have a foot in the mouth syndrome. “Sorry,” I try to recover. “I meant you are already well off. So, is it ambition or is it about making ends meet?”

  Milo gives me a long look. He looks... lonely. “You know, people think that if you have money then all of your money problems disappear. It’s not true. The more money you have, the more expenses you accrue and the more responsibilities land on you.” His half smile is nothing more than an exhausted smile. A sad smile.

  “Expenses? You mean your bougie apartment?” I tease, hoping to cheer him up even though I am not sure what’s bothering him. “Or does the responsible Milo Sinclair secretly harbor expensive vices that none of us simpletons are aware of?”

  He still only gives me half a smile. But when he runs a hand through the long hair partially covering his eyes, his hair moves, letting me see that his eyes are now lit up.

  Taking the challenge to heart, I suddenly want nothing more than a genuine smile out of him. “What is this secret expensive habit of yours, Milo? Ooo… Do you spend all of your money indulging in expensive whores?”

  “Hey,” he scowls at me, “that’s not cool.”

  “Oh right, they are called high class escorts,” I nod once with mock understanding.

  “Rave,” Milo warns.

  “No?” I tilt my feigned confused face. “Lady of the night?”

  Milo’s face finally splits open with a genuine, gorgeous fucking smile. He plays along with me. His pretend exasperated voice doesn’t hide his amusement. “Sure. Why not?”

  “That’s too easy of an admission so it’s gotta be something else. Gambling problems?”

  “Amongst other things,” he says casually, with an air of feigned mystery.

  “What other things? Crack? Heroin?”

  Milo playfully lifts a bored shoulder.

  “Expensive mail order brides?”

  “Sure, Raven.”

  “Midget tossing?”

  “What?” Milo’s mouth drops open at my ridiculous suggestion.

  “Haven’t you seen Wolf of Wall Street? It’s in the movie and it’s a very expensive habit.”

  “Raven!” Guardian Milo’s disciplining voice is out. “First of all, please use less offensive terms in your references, such as a little person or someone with dwarfism,” he corrects my less than politically correct language.

  “You are right. Sorry, little person tossing,” I correct myself and Milo rolls his eyes.

  “Second of all, that’s an awful thing to do,” he chides.

  “Versus the crack, cocaine, heroin, and the ladies of the night?”

  “You didn’t mention cocaine,” he counters. “And none of those included tossing an actual human being as target practice. That’s inhumane.”

  “Well, obviously I think it’s uncool,” I defend my honor. “It was the men in Wolf of Wall Street who did it.”

  “That’s the peer pressure sentiment,” Milo tsks at me. “If all of your friends jump off a bridge, would you jump off a bridge as well?”

  “You tell me, Milo! All of my friends just died jumping off a bridge, and now I am pretty fucking depressed. So, maybe!”

  Milo looks at me with his mouth wide open and bursts out laughing, almost toppling over at my comment. I put on a smile as well, realizing my joke might be of poor taste… to myself.

  Milo stops laughing and casually reaches over to open up my fist. I didn’t realize that I was digging my nails into my palm again. It’s a nervous habit I picked up over the last few years. Neither of us comment on it as he affectionately entangles our fingers to hold my hand.

  “You know,” I say in a prying tone. “If you give me an answer to my question, then I’ll stop coming up with all these inhumane guesses. Just give me an example.” I am feeling genuinely curious and nosey at this point. Why does he work so damn much? “For example…” I trail off by moving my hand in a waving motion, encouraging him to finish the sentence.

  “For example,” Milo sighs, “both Mia and Reid’s tuitions have gone up. I pay for some of Dad’s expenses, but he is not working for the coming months. So, I am picking up more than usual. I had to make a healthy donation to get Tessa started on that clinical trial. It came highly recommended even though it’s clearly ineffective, which means I might have to pay for a new program. I am giving a hefty loan,” he uses air quotes for the word loan, “to—”

  Milo cuts himself off, as if realizing what he was just about to spill.

  “To my parents,” I finish his sentence with an understanding small nod.

  Milo doesn’t deny or confirm the statement, presumably to relieve me of the shame I feel over Milo taking on my family’s financial burden. I wish I could help them instead, a thought that only makes me want to work harder every day. In the meanwhile, Milo is their only lifeline.

  In fact, Milo is the only lifeline for this whole family. Nothing has changed even after all of these years. Everyone still shamelessly exploits Milo. He spent his life taking care of this family. He studied so hard, he worked so hard, and the struggle is still not over.

  It never ends for him.

  I can’t wrap my brain around the weight of his never-ending burden. This damn family is a pack of vampires, sucking one human being dry.

  When will this toxic-as-fuck family stop needing him?

  Apparently, my attempt at making small talk is fucking terrible. Our exchange dwindles after that little statement. I am personally too distracted by the information he just disclosed.

  Milo playfully punches my shoulder. “Stop it, Rave.”

  “Stop what?”

  “You look like someone just died,” he grins. “Don’t worry. I am still a very wealthy man. It’s not about the money. It’s about—”

  “The expectation for you to lessen the burden of others?” I give him a sad smile, feeling bitter on his behalf. “Milo,” I say softly, “Why are you doing this? It’s not your responsibility.”

  “I like helping my family,” he says it as if it’s no big deal.

  “They are not your family,” I argue.

  That comment earns me a scowl, and a look that I hate to see on his face.

  “I mean,” I quickly add, “of course, we are family. You know what I mean. You have your own parents to take care of. You don’t need another set of parents to take care of.”

  “Rave,” Milo says quietly, “no one asked me for this. But I would never rest easy knowing that I could do something to help in their given situation. I am doing this for myself.”

  Milo was right. I forgot, but he reminded me of exactly who he truly is. Milo will probably take care of this whole family till his dying breath. He would do it all, and without a single complaint.

  I look away. My heart is tearing open for him right now. I wish I could somehow fix this for him. It’s frustrating to watch someone you care for suffer, without having the ability to change their situation. I want to take over his responsibilities to give him a break so he doesn’t have to wake up every single day of his damn life doing something he doesn’t want to. I want to give him his freedom and somehow relieve him from the captivity of this poisonous family.

  “It’s unfair that you don’t have your own support system,” I mumble under my breath, bitterness seeping through. “Someone who splits the responsibilities with you and lessens your burden for once. I hate that so much.”

  Milo turns to me in surprise, almost in reflex, pinning me with a weird look. He is studying me curiously, but he doesn’t expand on his thoughts. He simply holds my gaze.

  The morbid thoughts have me staying quiet. Milo is watching me from the corner of his eye, unimpressed by my mood. I’m trying to be better company, but I can’t get my energy level up. Since my attempt at small talk is terrible, we might as well get to the real point.

  “Anyways, what do you want to talk to me about?” I ask him directly.

  Milo gives me an ominous smile. “Why do you assume I have something to talk to you about? I can’t take you out without needing to have a talk?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if you were trying to woo me, you would have done something fancier. You are doing something neutral because you want me to feel comfortable enough to talk to you.”

  “Woo you?” Milo marvels with amusement. “Who even uses the word woo anymore?”

  “Well, I just used it,” I indignantly cross my arms over my chest.

  “It seems like your English has become outdated since your travels to the foreign lands.”

  We both laugh at that. Milo’s hair falls back over his forehead, partially covering his eyes again. It might be sexy as hell, but it’s irritating not to be able to see his eyes.

  “I want to talk about what happened last night,” he finally confesses.

  “Pass,” I drawl. What is his obsession with this topic?

  “Raven,” he warns in a silky tone.

  Fine. Two can play at this game. “How old were you when you lost your virginity?”

  No one, and I mean no one, ever dares to ask Milo about his sexual past. I was sleeping with him and I still didn’t dare ask. We used to hear about his “conquests” through the girls, never through Milo himself. He is a private person.

  But if he wants me to share then this is a two-way street.

  Milo fixes me with his “don’t start with me” look. It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. I see the irritation flashing in his eyes before he looks away.

  “What’s going on with your new business?” He gives me a sideways glance. Another change of topic. This time it’s a neutral topic that makes neither of us uncomfortable.

  I reward him with a big smile and throw all kinds of details his way. “I also uploaded all of my work on Instagram,” I add to my ramblings. “It’s linked to the website Alexa helped me create. She is a magician. She set up my website with an online store. People can go on my website to choose one of my designs. They can customize the outfit, put in their measurements, and place the order. If I get too many orders, I can even pause the website till I get caught up. It’s a pretty simple streamline.”

  “How many dresses have you sold?”

  “I have sold five total. I want to finish and ship them out within seven days of the purchase date, so I can ask the clients for a good review.”

  “That’s an awesome idea, Rave.” Milo beams at me with a proud look on his face. My heart immediately skips a beat.

  “I am even thinking of hiring seamstresses and overseeing them making the dresses. Then I can accept more orders and ensure quality assurance,” I add for no fucking reason.

  Honestly, I don’t know if I will hire people. I just want to see that look of pride on his face again. I used to crave that look when I was younger. I never thought it could still have the same effect on me. Suddenly, I want nothing more than to impress him. I want him to see me as the light he doesn’t have to take care of, unlike the rest of them.