A Toast to the Good Times

Chapter 16



The train ride back to Boston is torturous.

It’s weird how the last time I was on this train, just a few days ago, I was running from Mila and the chance to be with her in any substantial way.

I’m pissed at myself. I’m pissed that I wasn’t brave enough or smart enough to grab her when I had the chance. I’m pissed that she opened herself up to me and I crushed it. I’m pissed that I let other things, other people, get in the way of letting her know my full, absolute commitment to her in every way. All I needed was one day of reassuring behavior before I could have gone back to Boston with her. But I screwed it up, and it might not be fixable.

I hope to god it’s fixable.

But I’m not sure it will be. Because every mile closer I get to Mila, I’m that much further from having any clue what to say to her to make things right.

When I finally stick my key in the lock, it occurs to me that there’s a good chance Mila may not even be here. I knock my forehead on the door and squeeze my eyes shut, saying the closest thing to a prayer there is for an a*shole like me.

There’s no reason to hold out hope that she’ll be standing on the other side of the door, waiting for me to get home, especially after seeing me and Heather.

Damn it.

If she’d only given me a minute to explain…that I’m an a*shole. That I was confused. Scared.

Mostly just that I’m an a*shole.

I unlock the door, and let it creak all the way open until it hits the wall.

And then I feel myself deflate.

No Mila.

Of course.

I stumble toward my bedroom, checking each open door to see if she’s curled up in a chair, her legs tucked tightly under her, reading a book the size of a brick.

I kick the half-closed bathroom door open, not caring if I walk in on her.

I crane my neck into the cramped kitchen, but it’s a longshot. If she’d been in there, the smell of charred food and billows of smoke would have announced her presence before I ever needed to look.

I stalk back into the living room and yank the curtains open like the desperate idiot I am, as if I can give myself hope, just for a flash of a second, that maybe it’s just too dim for me to see her. Maybe she’s sitting on the couch, in the shadows, and I can tell her everything, anything, that will convince her to give me a second chance.

It occurs to me that I may be losing my mind in a very serious way.

I just have to accept facts. She’s. Not. Here.

I let my backpack slide off my arms and hit the floor with a thud. I don’t know why, but I really thought she’d be here, waiting for me. I thought I’d have my chance to explain. Instead, the drawing I gave her for Christmas is on the counter and the apartment is empty. At least her things are still here. I guess that means she’ll be back at least once more.

But that can’t be it.

She wouldn’t actually move out, would she?

F*ck.

I lie back on my bed that I’ve been missing so much the last few days, but it doesn’t feel like I want it to. Because I’d rather be crammed on that damn futon, fighting for covers and more than four-inches of space to myself with Mila in my arms, than sprawled out on this damned California King.

I flip over and reach into the top drawer of my nightstand. I need to try to find Mila before this goes too far. Before she runs into Reggie and he sweeps her off of her feet and takes her to Comic-book-land or wherever.

I find a Sharpie in my drawer and dig around for a piece of paper to write Mila a note telling her to stay put in case she comes home while I’m still out looking for her.

Instead of a Post-It, I find a check.

The check.

From Mila.

Before she left the bar that first night I met her, she insisted on getting my address so that she could pay me back for the drinks. A few days later, I had a notecard with Snoopy on the front, a quick thank you scrawled inside, and a twenty-dollar check from Mila.

I never cashed it.

Having drinks with her that night was worth every cent and more. I see that now, but the fact that I never even shredded the check, what does that mean? What about the fact that I hung on to it all this time? That I didn’t just give it back to her?

I trace my finger over my name in her handwriting.

I loved her before I even realized I did.

That’s what it means.

Why else would I have this in here? I’m not a nostalgic guy. I don’t surround myself with little pieces of my youth or hold onto many things for sentimental value. But I held onto this check, from this girl, because...she felt like home the minute I met her.

She’s why I never ran back to Jersey. Not because she made things easy or gave me good reasons to stay. Because she was home, immediately. Because I never even had to fall for her; I loved her all along, since the first time she smiled at me.

I’ve loved her from the second she ordered that Tom Collins. From the minute I asked her to be my roommate and she clapped her hands together and squealed like such a typical girl.

I’ve loved her every time she burned French toast, but still insisted on making it for me anytime I had a bad day because it’s the only thing she halfway knows how to cook and I’ve let her believe it’s her specialty.

I love her in all the little ways that seem inconsequential, and all of the big ways that make my heart want to explode with passion and pride because she’s as amazing as she is and she still chooses, day after day, to hang around with me.

I love Mila.

“Hey, Landry,” Mila says.

And there she is, standing in the doorway, leaning against the wall like it’s no big deal that we’re here, together, finally.

She’s wearing her yoga get-up and glistening a little from a thin layer of sweat on her forehead. Her hair is piled on top of her head in some kind of messy bun, and I don’t think she’s ever been more beautiful to me.

“You’re here?” I say it like it’s not obvious that, yes, she is standing right across the room from me.

I want to run over to her and kiss those sweet lips, but the look on her face tells me everything I need to know. And that’s that it’s a bad idea.

She crosses her arms and pinches her lips together. “Yep. I just got home.”

She touches her hair self-consciously, and I want to tell her how goddamn beautiful she is, how I’ve never been more turned on by any girl, ever, than I am by her right this instant.

“I was, uh...just...I was leaving you a note,” I stammer. I start to hold up the check in my hand as evidence, but catch myself and slide it back into my drawer.

She nods slowly, and the painful squint of her eyes tells me that this whole conversation is sheer torture for her.

“Oh, yeah?”

I have to ignore how uncomfortable and stilted this is. We have something. Something amazing, and I’m not willing to give up on it. No matter what.

“I was going to go look for you…”

“Well, here I am.”

She shrugs, and, from the bite in her voice, anyone who didn’t know her would think she couldn’t care less. But I know Mila inside out, and I know that she’s hurt as hell but maybe, just maybe, might be willing to listen to my argument for why she should let me have a second chance.

I start to cross the room toward her, but she screws her eyes shut, shakes her head, and holds up her palms to stop me.

“Look, Landry, please, let’s just get this out of the way so we can forget about it all, and brush the awkwardness under the rug, okay? What happened in Jersey was…”

Mila pauses, presses her lips together, twists the cap off her water bottle with shaky fingers and takes a gulp before she continues.

“It was a mistake. Obviously. A big mistake. I mean, you said it yourself before you went home.” She takes another sip, and blinks her eyes too fast. Is she blinking back tears? “You and I just don’t work.”

I come closer, careful not to get too close too quickly. But I want her to know that I’m here.

For her.

That I’m not going anywhere. And that she can forget every idiot thing I said before I came to my damn senses.

“Yes we do.”

Mila purses her lip and flings her hands up in exasperation.

“Landry, it’s fine. I mean...it’s not, you’re such a jerk…” She presses her hands to her temples, and I wonder if she even realizes she said the words out loud. “But it’s okay, because I knew that going in. You don’t do relationships. So, really, I guess...”

She tries to swallow back the low, strangled sound deep in her throat. When she looks up, her eyes are shiny with tears. She wipes them with the back of her wrist and takes a deep breath. “I guess I’m the jerk.”

The thought of her crying pushes every single crazy panic button in my brain, and I run full speed, breakneck towards fixing this before it all crumbles in front of me.

“It was just like, this blip, like this moment of confusion, Mila. I swear to you. That’s it. Everything was just so much...it was all so fast.” I try to look at her, but she’s staring at the floor, arms crossed over her chest in a tight knot. “But you, you’re what I want. And nothing happened with Heather. I swear to you, Mila, I thought about what it would be like to be with her again, but nothing happened. It’s not her that I want.”

My voice is shaking, close to cracking, and it was all wrong.

It was everything I wanted to say, but the way I said it was wrong and twisted and sounds lame and stupid.

Mila’s eyes snap up at me, sparking and narrowed, all remnants of tears replaced by pure fury.

“Nice, Landry,” she scoffs. “Thank you. Thank you so much for proving my point. You’re a f*cking jerk, you know that? A heartless, bastard jerk.”

Her insults are meant to pack a punch, but they dissolve with her tears, and leave me drowning, not sure what to say or do. I’m losing this. I’m going under.

“I...I’m just trying to be honest here, I swear to you,” I try, desperate for her to listen, to open up to me again. I move to take her hand but she whips it back and pierces me with such a broken-hearted look, I feel like my knees might give out.

“Oh, I see. You’re just trying to be honest? Wrapping yourself around your ex the second she crooked her finger your way is your idea of honest? Well, great, Landry. That’s just fantastic, really. I mean, as long as you’re being honest, right? What are we even upset about? I guess all’s forgiven now.”

She paces across the room when I take a few steps in her direction, shakes her head at me, and bites on her lip from a distance. Her eyes are sad and her shoulders droop like she’s tired, done with fighting and heartache.

“Look, I’m not going to cry because you can’t love me like I wish you did, Landry. There’s someone out there for me, and I know that. There’s someone worthy of my tears. Or, better yet, there’s someone who’s gonna make me laugh my ass off instead of cry. I definitely like that version better,” she says with a sniffle and a tiny smile. She stares at me, presses her eyebrows together, and shrugs her thin shoulders. “But it’s not you.”

I know she’s lying. I know it because as she says the words, a single tear breeches the rim of her eye, and slides down that gorgeous face.

I can’t listen to any more of it. I can’t watch her cry over me.

I close the space between us, pull her in, whether she wants me to or not, and press my mouth to hers, cutting off the words. She doesn’t immediately pull away, but her kiss is stiff and guarded. I reach up to her face without opening my eyes, and wipe the tear off her cheek with my thumb. She rolls her forehead against mine and lets out a shaky breath.

“I should go,” she says, her voice a scratchy whisper.

I tighten my arms around her waist and kiss her again.

“Don’t,” I plead.

“Yeah, I need to go.”

She puts both hands on her chest and pushes, like she needs to physically move herself away from me. I grab her wrists and kiss her again, kiss her until she’s kissing me back, until we’re both lost in the feel of it. Just before it gets too crazy, I tear my mouth away and look into her shocked, wide eyes.

My voice rips out of my throat, choked and shaky with every uncertainty, every hedged bet. I can’t think about this not working, about her deciding to walk away and leave what we have.

“Mila, you’re it for me. You’re everything. You’re the champagne.”

She blinks and tries to interpret what I said, but it just makes a line furrow between her eyes. “Landry, what does that even mean?”

“It means...I love you.”

The words reverberate through me, and knock an off-guard gasp from her lips. She draws back, but this time I don’t think it’s to get away from me. I think it’s to see me better, to see if she heard correctly, because she looks suspicious, so I repeat it, loud and clear.

“It means I love you so damn much, Mila. It means that I’m not leaving. Ever. Not until you make me go away. And even then I’ll go kicking and screaming, because I love you.”

Her hands, flat on my chest, shake and she’s blinking fast like she’s trying to process what I just said. She wrenches her body away from my hold and points a finger, shaking it at me.

“No! No. No, you don’t. Do not make me fall for that. Don’t lead me on. Landry, you want what’s right in front of you, when it’s right in front of you. When it’s easy and convenient. You don’t even believe in relationships, remember? You told me that the first night I met you and people don’t change. They don’t.”

She’s nodding furiously like she wants to make herself believe what she’s saying, but her face is crumpling with tears she can’t control.

I want to scream, I want to yell and tell her that she’s wrong, that this is all wrong, but I drop my voice and speak softly, slowly. Because she’s on the edge, and I don’t want her leaping over to get away from me. I hold my hands up, surrender style.

“You’re right, Mila. You’re one hundred percent right about the fact that I was jaded as f*ck, but you…you’re what I believe in. And I already changed. Even if you walk out that door, even if I f*cked up beyond the ability to fix this, you changed me, and I will love you until the day I die for that. I will never regret a single second I spent with you, because you are responsible for all the good stuff, all the brave stuff I’ve finally been able to do.”

She opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, then clamps it back shut, and I have no clue, no idea at all, if she’s planning on sticking around, or if she’s going to walk out of that door and my life for good.

Maybe walking away would be the best thing for her, but I’m selfish enough to want her to stick around and stubborn enough to know I’d never let her down if she gave me this one last chance.

Yeah, I’m the first to admit I was living with blinders on for the last few years. But now, everything feels scarily, impossibly real. What I feel for Mila has left my memories of the relationship I had with Heather scrambled and distorted, right down to the way I felt when I slept with her. What I used to remember as hot and exciting is skewed into something I don’t want to remember at all.

Because it’s all meaningless. None of it meant anything before Mila, and I’m scared as hell none of it will mean anything after her.

I don’t want Mila to end up like one of those girls, just a random picture in some forgotten box of someone I used to know. I just need her to forgive me.

“I know you need proof, Mila. I know me just saying this shit doesn’t mean anything. I’m ready. I’m ready to show you. I’ll walk over hot coals. I’ll climb Mt. Everest. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“I don’t want any of that.” She frowns and her face falls like I failed.

Because I’m not showing her that I love her. That I want to be with her for who she is and what we are together, not because she’s the random girl in front of me.

So I can’t make random, generic promises.

I can’t promise things we both know I’ll never deliver on.

This was my ace in the hole for later, but I realize I have no more cards in my hand. I need to use this one now.

I take a deep breath and just say what I need to say.

“So, there’s this comic book thing, like a convention, and the really big one is in San Diego—”

“Comic-con,” Mila sighs, but she uncrosses her arms, and I notice the barest glint of interest in her eye.

“Right. Well, you had to pre-order tickets for next year, like, the day after the convention closed down this year, and that happened in July. So I did some research, and even though San Diego is huge and amazing, it’s also kind of commercial and crowded.”

“Really?” She cocks one eyebrow my way, but the right side of her lips is curved into the slightest half-smile.

“That’s what the blogs say,” I tell her, and that smile goes immediately from half to full.

“You read blogs?” She laughs.

My heart hammers at the sound.

“I do for you.” I clear my throat. “So, there’s one in New York, like a convention that’s all comic-bookish. And I snagged two tickets. I wanted it to be a surprise for Valentine’s—”

“You were going to give me tickets for a comic book convention for Valentine’s Day?” She’s gone sweet and soft.

“I hate that you’re using the past tense. I’m still planning on giving them to you on Valentine’s Day. Now it just won’t be a surprise.”

She looks up at the ceiling, closes her eyes, and moves her lips like she’s maybe praying.

“I have to be honest with you,” my mouth says as my brain screams at me to shut the hell up. “I snaked the idea from Reggie.”

Mila tilts her head to look at me, puzzled. “Reggie the DJ?”

I nod. “I’m not proud, okay, but I want you to know, you...have options other than me, Mila. I thought I could do this, but I don’t want you to be with me now, then regret it later if you ever find out...this is weird for me to say, but...Reggie thinks you’re sexy as hell and he wants to date you.” I rush the last words out and shake my head as I do.

Am I an idiot? I’m an idiot.

“I know that.” Mila’s confession is quiet.

“Um, what? You do?” I had assumed that Mila didn’t know. That she never realized that she was so desired.

“Landry.” She walks over to me, her hips swaying back and forth, her eyes big and dark. “I’ve had a lot of admirers. I’ve been asked out. I just...said no.”

“You did? Why?” My brain is scrambling to lock onto the logic of what she’s saying.

She’s so close, I can smell her hair, can see her pulse, beating frantically on her neck.

She looks up, and her face is serious and a tiny bit sad.

“Because I’m not an opportunistic dater. I set my sights on one person, and I put all my efforts into making it work.”

When I reach out to hold her hands, she doesn’t pull back.

“So you chose me?” I rub my thumbs over her knuckles.

She nods.

“What about the guy at the library? And your ex-boyfriend?”

“My ex was special. He was my first, so seeing him get married...that did burn,” she explains, then tries to hide her smile by biting her lip. “The guy from the library? He may have been someone I alerted you to because I wanted you to know I was a girl guys wanted. And, also, he was getting a little aggressive, and you solved that better than I could have.”

“So you used me?” I run my hands up to her elbows, loving the way it makes her shudder a little. “So you’re saying that maybe, all that time, I saw what I thought was happening, and not what was really happening?”

She rolls her eyes.

“I guess it might be a little like when you saw me with Heather? Maybe you were seeing who you used to think I was, not who I really am right now,” I point out.

Her lips curve up in the briefest twitch of a smile.

“Touché, Landry. So maybe we both have some things to learn about being with someone we really care about.” She wrinkles her forehead and looks at me with serious intent. “Do you swear to me that nothing happened between you and Heather?”

“If it did, would I be standing here now? Begging you not to leave? Please. I don’t want to give you up, Mila. Not now, not ever. Please believe me on this.”

“So you want me? Even when there are other girls around? Even when you have the chance to be with any of them?” she demands.

“Don’t joke with me.” I pull her close and kiss her neck, salty with the slick of sweat. “It’ll be all I can do to handle you.” I grin when she tilts her head back and gives me a better vantage to continue kissing her.

We start somewhere between the little dining area and the kitchen, but it feels like makeup sex. It feels like something unleashed itself and is rolling and tumbling out of us with some kind of mad, unrestrained passion. Mila locks her arms around my neck and we stumble past the couch, her tongue hot and slick over mine, her hands grabbing at the hem of my shirt and yanking.

We shed clothes like we’re leaving a trail, but I realize I have no interest in finding our way back from where we’re headed right now.

It’s back to her bedroom.

Where I left her like an a*shole.

She breaks the connection for a single second and pulls me to her bed, the bed I plan on spending a whole lot of time in. One tug and I’m on top of her, my breathing uneven, my hands working extra fast to shed her stretchy yoga clothes, which are more difficult to get off than they seem.

“Ouch, Landry...you’re pulling my arm...just let me, no, here let me...” Mila is laughing and trying to bend her arm so I can get her tank-top, which appears to be made out of cloth but is actually made of some kind of industrial strength spandex, over her head.

When it finally springs off of her, she pulls my head down against her face, laughing so hard, I wind up kissing her teeth. And there’s no sound in the world I love more than the sound of her laughter. Except maybe that small amount of time when we’re naked and she’s not laughing at all.

Which is where we wind up quickly.

“Do you think we’re moving too fast?” she asks as I run my hands down all the perfect curves of her body.

I back up, tearing my hands away with superhuman willpower. “Are you uncomfortable? Because we can stop, anytime. No problem.”

She slinks one hand down my body and grabs my already hard dick. “Really? No problem?”

“No problem some lotion and a tube sock won’t fix,” I groan.

Her laugh rings out loud and clear. “A tube sock, really?”

I lay on top of her, pressing my body against all the perfect velvety softness of her. “Nah. Usually it’s just your towel.”

“Landry!” Her laughter leaves her breathless. “Are you teasing me?”

“That’s a very ironic question, Mr. Eby.” I kiss her shoulder. “I’m perfectly content with getting my Jergen’s on, but is there anything I can do for you before I go?”

She stops laughing and brushes my hair back off my forehead with her fingers. “So you really love me?”

“I do.” I kiss her chin. “I’m crazy about you.”

“I have something I need to tell you.” Her voice is very low and serious. I wait, breath held, limbs stiff with anticipation. “I love you. I love you, too, Landry.” She lets out a long gasp of air. “Thank god. Oh, that feels so good. I’ve wanted to say that for so long.”

Her declaration makes me giddy. “So, you love me?”

“I do, I do, I do,” she says, and then her talking gets tangled with her kissing, and then the words are eclipsed by the sweep of her tongue on mine and the pressure of her mouth.

I stop and check over and over. When my hands coast over the swells of her curves. When my mouth dips farther down than I’m sure is within her limits. When my fingers creep closer to the silky slickness between her legs and start their rhythm, it first leaves her breathing haggard, then stiffens every muscle and makes her claw and grab me closer, and, finally, leaves her body so relaxed it looks liquid boned.

“I want you,” she moans with a lazy, crooked smile. “I want you now.” She flops one arm in the direction of her nightstand and feels around for the crinkle of the familiar wrapper.

She hands it over to me, and I fit the condom on, and then take a minute to drink her in, all long, supple limbs and sex-kitten yawn.

“Tired?” I ask, my voice unsteady.

She nods. “But more frisky than sleepy.”

She wraps her legs around my waist and pulls my hips close to her body. My finger traces a damp line, and I lead my dick deep inside of her with one sure press of my body against hers.

Her reclining form suddenly comes to life. She twines her arms and legs around me, holding tight as I press deep into her and pull almost completely out. I’m taking things slow, letting this build up gently, reining in what I want to do and how

She nips my earlobe between her teeth, lets go when I moan and whispers, “Harder, Landry.”

It’s the last thing I expected to hear, but it’s a nice surprise. Because there’s a lot that the two of us went through tonight and over the last few days, and sex has been...amazing between us. But I want to give over to her, to let myself fall into her completely and lose my mind in bed with her.

“You’re sure?” I ask, closing my eyes and locking my jaw.

Instead of answering, she grabs onto my ass and fists her hands, pulling me closer and tighter to her. I drive in and she bucks up close to me.

I gasp and she moans. I draw out and she whimpers. Keeping the pace slow is my way to let this all last longer, but she’s not having it. Her hands tug at me, increasing the tempo and she arches her back against the quick, pulsing rhythm.

“So good, Landry, so much, I love you, I love this,” she pants, words running into one another, gasps escaping her lips and interrupting the flow whenever I hit just the right spot.

I’m trying to keep my body in tune with hers, trying to run against her at the perfect angle to feel her come hard against me, but it’s not as easy as I thought it would be.

Mila is an interactive lover, and she moves against my body with such quick, constant motion, it’s difficult for either one of us to establish any kind of pace.

But I’m not complaining. Not at all. I love the unexpected slip of her skin on mine, the twist of her body under my hands, the sudden jerks and grabs and pulls. She rolls over and grinds down on me for a few minutes before pulling me back on top of her and encouraging me to pump faster and harder into her.

“Landry, mmm, I’ve thought about this a thousand times.”

“What if I didn’t convince you to get in bed with me?” I demand against her ear, licking and nipping at her skin until I can feel the beginnings of her tell-tale quivers.

“I would have...there, right there.” She shifts under me, her thighs squeezed around my hips. “I would have closed my eyes and pretended it was you every time.”

I love and hate that answer. My hands are in her hair, pushing it back, so I can watch her as she loses it, her thighs pressing hard then falling open, her body pressed completely against mine, then dropping back against the mattress, cries of perfect contentment echoing out of her lips.

I run my hands over her face and slow down, just slightly. Now that I know that she’s satisfied, now that we’ve ravaged each other to our hearts’ content, I try to enjoy what little self-control I have left.

It’s not much at all. Her gorgeous face, her warm, soft body, the slickness of her that I helped bring on all conspire and leave me quaked with the ultimate release. I gather her in my arms and crush her close, not willing to leave the bed for anything.

“Will you open the bar today?” she asks sleepily.

“Maybe. Will you come sit on the stool and keep me company?” She links her hand through mine and drifts off to sleep.

“Yes,” she mumbles. “I like to watch you...bartending...so sexy.”

I chuckle and kiss her temple, brushing sticky strands of her hair off of her face.

“I love you, Mila Eby.”

She tucks herself close to my body. “Love you...more. And wookies.”

I laugh, but she can’t share the joke, because she’s out cold. I crush her close and thank whatever deity is responsible for bringing her to me for the luck I have, getting to laugh and love and live with this girl I know I’ll never let go.