"We shall," he grunted, flipping the safety on and tossing the gun into the bed of the truck as he jogged after her. The red tint that stained his face was slowly fading, but was definitely still there.
"Lemme see, búp bê," Baylee said once they were inside of the building. He gently tilted her chin up with his pointer finger to get a better view of her face. "How badly does it hurt?"
It was hard to keep a straight face, but hell did she try. The entire left side of Mila's face was an angry red, the print of Jacob's hand purpling at the very edges. He had hit her hard. Her lip thankfully had just reopened the old wound, but it did look like it twinged. Mila's blue eyes swam with unshed tears and it was obvious that she was flexing her jaw to keep those tears from falling.
"It's not so bad." She whispered, turning her face away from Baylee's gentle gaze. For some reason she really just couldn't handle how he was looking at her. She wanted to scream and cry and just sleep for a million years. Mila fit her key into the lock of her front door on the second landing, jiggling the stubborn lock. "I should have a first aid box in my kitchen somewhere. Do you think you could help me with my lip at least?" She continued, pushing the door open. her hands were shaking terribly, and looking down she discovered her knuckles had split on Jacob's stupid face.
Once inside, she dropped her keys and duffle on the small counter. Her studio apartment was empty of pretty much everything except for an air mattress and an amazing assortment of duffle bags of varying colors. "Ah– please–make yourself at home." Mila barely had a moment to take in a breath before her tears began to fall.
Baylee reached out and gently wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug. She had been hit hard. There was so much force behind that man's hand that it would've knocked Baylee on his ass. Yet, here she was, only breaking down when she was in the comfort of her own home. Every time she had said she was a 'tough cookie,' she really wasn't playing.
"It's alright, dai bánh quy," he mumbled, setting his chin on the top of her head and gently rubbing her shoulders. "I'll kill him if he touches you again. Better yet, I'll let you kill 'em. Buy you your own gun an' everything."
Surprisingly through her tears, Mila chuckled. It sounded a little funny, especially when she hiccuped, but she was indeed chuckling. After taking a few deep breaths, she dropped her hands from her face and wrapped them around Baylee's waist, pulling herself deeper into his embrace. "Will you teach me to shoot?" Mila asked into the cloth of his shirt, voice cracking every other word. "It's one thing I never got around to learning." She admitted miserably. God he was so warm, she could fall asleep right then and there had Baylee not moved to look into her face once more.
"Yeah, definitely. But….Listen," he mumbled, his hands reaching up and gently resting on the side of her shoulders. Baylee made sure to keep away from where the bruises were from the night before. "I don't trust that fucker any farther than I can throw him. And since his stomach sticks out farther than his nose, I doubt it would be very far. Him knowing where you live just puts you in danger, especially when he's pissed off like that. I…" he paused, "think you should stay at my place for a bit. You can have my bed and all the privacy you need. And it'll keep you away from that dirtbag." This was way out of his comfort zone, but he hid it well.
Mila blinked up at him slowly, as if it was talking her a long time to process what he had said, but in reality she was focused on two things: Getting up on her tip toes and kissing the living fuck out of him, and trying to come up with a way to convince him that she really didn't think it fair that she would be taking his bed for–well a while it seemed…until she blew this popsicle stand.
The thought derailed her for a second, maybe it was time for her to leave. She looked down and away from Baylee's green eyes, which were soft with an emotion she couldn't name, contemplating what she should do next. It was hard and a sharp pain speared her through the heart like never before. Leaving should have been as easy as one-two-three, but here she was hesitating. Mila couldn't leave now–besides she had agreed to a date. Not to mention it felt good, so good, to have someone take care of her.
She tightened her arms around his waist again, looking up with a teeny tiny smile. "I'll come stay with you." For a bit… "But I insist on the couch. It's definitely big enough for me and you know it. Final offer." She could almost laugh at her negotiation, and her eyes did shine with mirth, but she stayed as serious as she could.
"Sold," he agreed, stepping away after letting the hug last a few moments longer. Did he enjoy the contact? Well, he wouldn't have let it happen in the first place if he didn't. He just wasn't comfortable with it. For Baylee, it was like driving a newly bought car. The basic ideas and the same mechanics transitioned from vehicle to vehicle, but the feeling of driving a truck was much different than a Smartcar. And right now, with the guy's extended absence from any sort of romantic relationship, it was like swapping out a Camry for a JetBlue Airbus.
Baylee brushed his sweaty palms on his leather jacket as he looked at the various duffel bags. "Well…it helps that your shit is already packed up and ready to move. How the hell did you fit all of it in that tiny ass car?"
"Oh–I'm hella skilled at tetris." Mila said, a shadow of her usual confidence shining through. She carefully wiped the tears off her face, choosing to firmly disregard how she may look right now. With deft fingers, she wove her long locks into their usual thick braid, mentally calculating how many bags she could hoist up at a time. She was going to be living with Baylee, aka the guy she was about to go on a date with–and the one she couldn't seem to get out of her head long enough to not blush any time he looked at her.
Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. What if the date went wrong? And it turned out he hated her? Or she said something–did something–stupid? Or got wildly, emotionally drunk? What if they had too many differences? What if…? What if–? What if? Mila hesitated as she picked up the first of the duffles in her 'bedroom', turning to look at Baylee and opening her mouth to voice her change of mind. He was already looking at her though, and just as she met his gaze he gave her that smile of his that she seemed to be falling head over heels for. Oh.
Mila scooped up a duffle. "Last one to the truck is a rotten Hurricane." She teased, zooming out the door.
Baylee didn't even make an attempt at racing her. Could he have won if he truly tried? More than likely, especially since she was weighed down by the bag that was as big as her thrown over her shoulder. But, alas, he wanted to leave the place as soon as possible in case Jacob decided to come back around. So, in an impressive feat of strength and balance, he picked up the remaining bags and shuffled out of the apartment, managing to shut the door with his foot. He didn't bother locking it for 2 reasons: 1, he physically couldn't, and 2, he didn't know if she wanted to come back for the air mattress.
He stumbled out of the doors of the building 5 minutes later, tripping over the slightly raised doorframe since he couldn't actually see his feet.
"Mind givin' me a hand, búp bê?" he huffed, slowly approaching his truck.
Mila looked over her shoulder at the sound of Baylee's voice as she lifted her duffle up and over her shoulder into the bed of his truck. Dropping her bag unceremoniously, she quickly stepped over to him. "Show off." She laughed, tapping the very tip of Baylee's nose before taking a few of the colorful bags. "We could have made more than one trip, you know?" Still teasing, but her gaze wandered arount the lot. A tightness at the corners of her eyes suggested that she knew exactly why Baylee had grabbed all of her bags.
After lofting the bags into the back, Mila ran back upstairs to grab her purse, phone and keys. She didn't bother with the other items in the apartment and locked the door. It clicked shut with a note of finality that was almost onimous in the chilled afternoon sun. But still, Mila turned away, marching back to Baylee's side, where she gently grabbed his hand to get his attention. "You sure about this?" She wondered if he caught that her question covered more than just letting her stay with him.
"If I wasn't sure about it, I wouldn't have offered in the first place," he said, his eyes snapping down to the hand she grabbed. She was still holding, even after she had gotten his attention. The thought of it made his heart flutter, although he pushed it aside to speak. "Like I said, I'm worried about how safe you are here." The double meaning behind her words went right over his head.
Mila shook her head as she smiled, giving Baylee's hand a squeeze before letting go. "Alrighty then–roomie." She teased, stepping back to the passenger side of his truck. The mark from Jacob's slap was still angry pink and the edges would certainly leave a bruise, but Mila seemed to be blatantly ignoring it. Most of her hair hid it anyway–if no one looked directly at her face. "Let's blow this popsicle stand."
"Yeah, let's."
About 5 hours later, Baylee walked out of his room, buttoning the white dress shirt he'd put on. It was the nicest thing that he owned (other than his truck), and was only worn for nice events. Did this count? He was calling it dinner, but in reality, it was a date. So, even if they lived in the same home, he wanted to make sure he was as good looking as he could make himself.
"Can you help me with these damn things?" he asked into thin air, hoping that Mila was somewhere within earshot.
Mila stuck her head out of the spare bathroom, toothbrush vigorously working. She had curled her hair for the occasion and the long locks swayed as she tilted her head to find the source of Baylee's voice. As soon as her eyes landed on him, a lovely tint spread across her face, showing through the even layer of makeup she had put on to cover the remnants of Jacob's abuse. Mila nodded, eyes sparkling, and held up a single finger, turning back into the bathroom.
When she emerged again, she was grinning from ear to ear. "Well–don't you clean up nice?" Mila teased, stepping closer. The dress she was wearing was black and simple, off the shoulder, clinging to each of her gentle curves before flaring at her waist and stopping just at her knees.
Her fingers made quick work of the tiny buttons of Baylee's shirt, but she still took a moment to gently press them down. WIth her hand still on his chest, she looked up at him through her lashes. "All better." Mila could feel the beating thrum of his heart under her hand–safe to say it was beating just as fast as her own. What kind of night was this going to turn into?
"Yeah, it happens from time to time," he said with a shrug, bushing at the had on his chest for a moment before taking a few steps back and flattening his shirt again. The faint wiff of cologne could be smelled off of his body, Polo Black to be exact. He'd found a tiny ass bottle off it in the bargain bin of Target and literally hadn't ever used it until now. His hair was freshly washed, his teeth looked as white as snow and his eyes sparkled with the type of energy you'd see from a young child on Christmas morning. "Although we never did decide on where we were going, búp bê."
Mila's mouth dropped into a little 'o' as she realized he was right. Crap. Her stomach rumbled as if to spur them on. Their breakfast feast seemed like a million years ago. Crossing her arms in concentration, Mila went through the streets of the town in her mind, trying to recall what resturants were where. Drawing a blank, she frowned and gave Baylee an embaressed shrug. "I'm still a little clueless about the area it seems. Please tell me there is a place where I can get a huge bowl of pasta and endless breadsticks stright out of the oven? If not we may have to burn this town to the ground." A craving was a craving, and damn was her's fierce.
Baylee's eyes rolled and a small snort came from his nose. "So you wanna go to Olive Garden?" Her embarrassed expression made his snort turn into a low chuckle. "Yeah, there's one about 20 minutes from here. On the way back we can get your car from the bar, too. I'm pretty sure Berry'll have a tire that fits it." If the car's still there. The skinheads that rolled in that area were notorious for jacking and/or trashing cars they found unattended.
Baylee glanced up at Mila, studying her face for a moment. God. Damn. She had been outstandingly gorgeous in the bar with barely any make-up and dressed sloppily. But now that she was dolled up and wearing a dress that highlighted her curves……shit. "So…ready to go?" he asked, hoping his blush wasn't too strong.
Baylee just didn't understand her love of breadsticks. Or how long it had been since she'd even thought about going to Olive Garden, but Mila didn't mind the teasing. Baylee had laughed, and the low baritone sound had sent a zing down her spine that was almost addicting. So much so that she had to turn away abruptly to keep herself in check or else she would have nose dived into his arms just to hear it again.
"Now I am!" She proclaimed, as she reemerged from the bedroom closet coat in hand and wearing heels. Heels. From her daily appearance, most would have thought that she was a stranger to the though of wearing the danger spikes. Teetering and tottering left and right, but Mila stepped gracefully and for a brief flash of a moment she looked like an entirely different class of woman. But in turning to Baylee once more, her devious grinned turned her right back into the wayward bar vixen. "Breadsticks here we come!" Looping arms with her date.
The 20 minute car ride consisted mainly of Mila's voice and Baylee couldn't think of a better time. She told him stories, sung along loudly to the radio and danced around in her seat. Every time he could, he sneaked a look over at his date, eyes shining with admiration and complete joy. The rest of his face didn't show much else, other than the faintest hint of a smile. Facial expressions didn't come naturally to the guy, so anyone who got close to him had to pick up on the smallest movements to know how he was feeling.
Baylee pulled into the closest parking spot to the entrance there was, about 7 spots down from the entrance. The brakes squeaked slightly as they struggled to bring the truck to a stop, making him wince slightly. Gonna have to change the brake pads. He pulled the emergency brake and put the truck into park, taking one last glance over at Mila before unbuckling and exiting the cab. It was chilly, but not as chilly as the night before, meaning he was dressed perfectly for the weather. The full moon was as bright as Baylee had ever seen it, drawing his attention like a moth to a lightbulb.
"It's like you've never seen the moon before." Mila said softly as she came up to Baylee's side. She looped her arm through his again, relying on him to help her remain steady in the uneven parking lot. Or at least that is what she was telling herself. Not that he was just so goddamn warm and tall and handsome–
"Come on," She smiled, eys seemingly reflecting the light of the moon he was still staring at. "Foods awaiting."
Barely ten mintues later, Mila and Baylee were seated at a small table towards the back of the resturant. The dim lighting adding a soft ambiance to the space and making Mila's pink cheeks glow. She was currently flipping through the menu, quietly weighing the pros and cons of certain dishes. It was like she didn't realize she was talking to herself. She swayed tot he music playing, the picture of a young woman as happy as could be.
Baylee chewed mindlessly on a breadstick as he read through the menu as well, searching for the one Italian dish he actually liked. In his haste to actually get her out on this date, he completely forgot about the fact that he really didn't like Olive Garden. Or Italian. But the happy look on Mila's face made it all worth it, even if he'd be low on cash after tonight.
"Have you decided what you want?" he asked, setting the menu down when he found the Chicken Alfredo. $16.79 for something I could've made at home. A small ball of frustration built up inside of his chest, but nothing on his face showed it.
Mila closed her menu, but didn't look exactly confident in her decision. She reached for another breadstick–was this her third already?–giving Baylee another lopsided grin. "I can never decide between lasagna and baked ziti, buuuuut I think the ziti has my heart tonight. What about you?"
Before Baylee could even open his mouth to respond, the waitress zoomed up to their table, notebook already in hand. Something like annoyance passed through his gaze, but when Mila looked again it was gone. Maybe she had imagined it? "Well! look at this handsome couple!" Her gaze lingering too long on Baylee for Mila's liking. "Can I get y'all a drink to get started?"
"Yeah," Baylee said, glancing up at the waitress. He let out a small mental groan when he realized the way she looked at him. So many drunk girls had looked at him the same way; blatant physical attraction with not much else in her eyes. It was gonna be a long night. "Jus' a sweet tea for me." His face reverted to his work expression: dull, uninterested, and slightly pissed off. Maybe it would turn the woman off. Maybe.
"Mmhhmm. Anythin' for you, sugar." The waitress–Mary–said with a smile that probably was suggestive to a less intelligent crowd but in reality looked mildly desperate. Mila frowned ever so slightly, blue eyes dimming in annoyance. Great. "You?" Mary asked in the general direction of Mila, voice losing all of it's sweetness in a milisecond.
"Just a sparkling water for me. With lemon, please?" The singer didn't let her opinion of Mary show, going as far as to smile at the waitress. Maybe she would just leave them alone if Mila was nice. Mary snorted a little, popping her gum harshly with a obvious look of judgement. "Actually," Mila continued, still with that soft smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I think we are ready to order." Her gaze flashed over to Baylee and when he nodded stiffly, Mila looked back at Mary.
"Oh suuuuuure, princess. Whatever you want." She turned her back on Mila. "What can I get you, handsome?"
"Chicken Alfredo," he mumbled, scratching the side of his face. An awkward tick of his, since he knew exactly what the waitress' thoughts were. She really couldn't have picked a worse time. "And my name's Baylee, not handsome."
The waitress blinked a couple of times, frowning slightly at his almost dead gaze. She wasn't used to having to work more than light flirting to get a guy, even if he'd came to the restaurant with a girl. But he……he looked mad. She turned back to Mila with annoyance in her eyes. "And for you?"
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