The Revenge Games Duet

“What music do you like?”

“Uh… I don’t know. Whatever.”

“Surely, you must have something you like.”

“Barry Manilow.”

I can hear him choke on his saliva. “Barry Manilow?”

“Yep.” I enjoy teasing him, watching his brows turn in with confusion.

He knows I’m playing, lifting his confused frown and replacing it with that insatiable grin. “Barry Manilow it is.”

The remote in his hand controls the music, and after a few taps, the sound of Barry Manilow fills the room.

“This reminds me of my mom.” I blink my eyes, holding back the tears, not wanting to break down in front of him. Until I left home, I hadn’t truly understood the power of music. A song can evoke so much emotion from a person purely because of memories.

I’m taken back to a simple time with Mama outside potting her new flowers on the rusty old deck with her straw hat and garden gloves on. She sung to herself often, and at the time, I prayed she would stop because it distracted me when I was reading on the porch chair. Plus, I wasn’t a Barry Manilow fan and preferred the upbeat tunes of Hanson.

And now, I would kill to be back in that moment.

I’m quick to distract myself by staring at a photograph on the wall. It’s a bunch of men posed in front of a plane, Wesley included.

“I’m sorry. How did she pass?”

“She didn’t.” I swallow, keeping my sentence short. “She’s back home.”

He nods his head, leaning on the wall beside me. His eyes examine my face, causing that rippling effect to grace my skin. I ignore him, desperate to distance myself away from this feeling. He does

something to me. I don’t know what it is. I’m scared of him, yet fearless at the same time. That makes no sense to me whatsoever.

Nothing about tonight makes sense.

“So many secrets… I hate secrets.” His tone is bitter, a sudden change from a moment ago.

“I don’t have secrets. I told you I’m boring. Just a small-town girl making a living.”

We play this game of cat and mouse. I pull away, he finds me once again. This is unlike anything I know. This is something Phoebe would do. Not me. I’m the rational one. Rational Milana would never go to a stranger’s house, let alone drink three glasses of wine while there.

Yes, a third may have made its way into my hand.

“A small-town girl inside my living room… how very dangerous.”

He’s found me again, cornering me across the other side of the room. This time, he leaves nothing to chance, our bodies almost touching, making me very uncomfortable. I don’t want him to see me so vulnerable.

But I cave.

To this lust overcoming me.

“For me…” I watch him, controlling my breathing. “Or you?”

The tip of his finger graciously slides against my hand, rising slowly up my arm until he settles in the middle of my collarbone. I struggle to tame the thump of my heart and hide the way my body is reacting. His response hangs in suspense, and waiting patiently, only builds this wall of fire between us.

“Stay with me,” he whispers against my ear.

“I can’t do that.”

“You will.” He doesn’t say anything else, breathing softly into my hair. “You won’t leave. I know that much.”