"No," he said bluntly, not even looking up at the woman. His eyes stayed on Mila's glass, the water rocking violently in the cup. It was an accurate representation of his mind at the moment. "And it's Baylee, not 'hun' or 'handsome' or any other pet names that you think would flatter me."
As the waitress walked off slightly perturbed, Baylee slumped in his seat and let out a loud sigh. "I…..what I said came out wrong. This night going a different way than I expected has nothing to do with you. I'm just…..uncomfortable. It's been….a long time since I've gone out on a date. Probably too long. All this stuff that should be natural for me ain't, and it's pissing me off. You've done nothing wrong."
Mila studied Baylee as he spoke, kicking herself for entirely misunderstanding his discomfort. He was such an introvert that maybe she should have suggested that she cook for them instead of coming out to eat. Next time. Mila was going to make it up to him, for sure. Because even though he said that it wasn't anything that she had done, he had come out to be with her simply because he knew it was what she wanted.
"I'm sorry Baylee," Mila said, leaning forward in her sincerity, one of her curls slipping from her bare shoulder to fall into the little puddle of water, not that she was paying much attention to that. Her gaze was locked on him, trying to covey that she felt. "We can leave if you want…" She trailed off as he looked up at her sharply almost as if that would have been the exact opposite of what he wanted. Jeezz….confusing much? Mila's brows came down over her eyes fiercely, but her next words were laced with mirth. "I mean–I wouldn't want you to get any more accosted by Mary the waitress." Did she laugh? She had tried to play it off, but Baylee's expression was unreadable…even to her.
"We'll get to go box, since they've probably already made the food," he reasoned, straightening his posture and scooting back into his seat. "That way you can get your food and I can get the fuck up outta here."
Just as he said that, Mary walked up with their food on the large black tray. The tie that was supposed to be around every Olive Garden waitress was mysteriously missing and the top 3 or 4 buttons of the collared shirt were unbuttoned, exposing an unimpressive amount of cleavage. Any meathead bozo that came in here would've been drooling, but Baylee just found it sad. "Um, could we get a couple of to-go boxes and the check, please?"
"Leaving so soon, hun? Seems like a waste don't you think?" Mary the waitress leaned forward as she set down the plates in an attempt to show off her goods. Mila's lips pressed into a hard line but it wasn't clear if she was doing it to keep from laughing or because she was pissed as all hell. But that quickly became clear as she noticed the small white piece of paper that fluttered down onto the table as the waitress let go of Baylee's plate. A row of black numbers and a heart on full display. "Oop–" Mary said, feinging embaressment and reaching for the paper.
Mila snapped, standing abruptly and hand flying out to snatch the wrist of the other woman. "Is this a fucking joke?" Gone was the confident bar vixen, replaced by a woman that knew all too much about rage. The waitress's face white absolutely white. "This is my boyfriend, you backwater hussy. You best step the fuck off before I find a new place to shove that paper, and believe me when I say that you will not like it. Understand?"
"Mila." The calm, soothing sound cut through the cloud of anger shrouding Mila's decision making: Baylee's voice. He had stood up as soon as she had and was now behind her, grabbing her by the shoulder and pulling her away from the waitress. He fished a $50 dollar bill from somewhere in his pocket and placed it on the table, not even looking at the waitress as he said, "Keep the change."
She said boyfriend. Well, they were on a date. You know damn well that y'all aren't. You don't even know her last name. … What are you gonna do about it? Right now? Get her the fuck out of here.
"C'mon, búp bê," Baylee mumbled, transitioning his grip to her wrist and guiding her out of the restaurant. "Bạn sẽ khiến tôi bị cầm tù lần nữa nếu bạn ở đây lâu hơn."
"Fuck." Mila forced out between clenched teeth. Rage still blistered in her chest, ready to rumble out at any second. When was the last time she'd gotten that mad? Tucson? Shit. She had to blow town the next night after that. But she'd actually gotten into a fight that night–and busted someone's face open. Shit.
Baylee was dragging her out of the resturant, somehow keeping her stable despite their breakneck speed. She was clearheaded enough to look up at his face now, but the regret was instant. He was completely stone faced, mouth a hard line, eyebrows firm over his eyes darkened by anger. What had she done? Mila had messed up big time that's what.
"Baylee…" Mila's voice cracked with the effort to get it past the hard lump in her throat. He didn't turn to look at her. Didn't even awknowledge that she had spoken like he usually did. He just kept dragging her out to the parking lot. "Hey." She tried again, but was still ignored. Again, that rage spiked.
"I can walk on my own, goddammit!" She cried, ripping her arm out of his vice grip on her. It hurt like a bitch but did it really matter? They were frozen in front of his truck now, Baylee facing the car and Mila looking at his back. She had no words–everything getting caught behind that savage lump of rage.
Baylee's head turned to the right slightly, enough that Mila could see the corner of his eye. But he still wasn't looking at her. Instead, it was the same dead stare she had seen in the restaurant. It took him a couple of seconds to formulate the correct words and a few more to get them on his tongue.
"I ain't gonna hit you, if that's on your mind," he finally said, forcing his voice into an even tone. "Seems to be a popular thing for your 'boyfriends' to do, but I've never put my hands on a woman. Ain't gonna start now." A pause. "Why the hell did you get so mad back there?"
I didn't think you would hit me. The words were right there, right fucking there, but they wouldn't come out. No matter how much Mila tried to force them. Even angry, she just couldn't lie. Especially not to Baylee. More than anything she was angry at herself. She had way overreacted hadn't she? It wasn't fair. Mila had been the one to tell off the waitress for her inappropriate behavior–she could have been nicer, but still she had–but Baylee was pissed at her.
"She was flirting with you. I didn't– You didn't apprecaite it. She went over the line." Mila shrugged, looking away from Baylee's non-expression. I like you, idiot. I thought it was obvious. She knew that he wouldn't be okay with her nonchalance, but she had to say something.
"But that was somethin' I could've handled myself, Mila," he said, reverting his gaze to the truck once again. "It's not like she sat in my lap and started making out with me. We could've went to the manager and asked for a new waiter, or just ignored the fact that she dropped her number and left. Instead, you caused a fucking scene and attacked her. I got jail time in my past. If the cops get called and find out I was even remotely involved with this, I could be back on parole." Finally, he turned around and looked at her. His expression has softened. Slightly. I would've done the same damn thing. "Look. I'm flattered, but….we aren't even dating yet. You callin' me your boyfriend in there crossed a line I wasn't ready to cross yet." Yet. That was an important word he hoped she caught. "Let's just….take it slow. Let things happen naturally instead of going out on the second day of talkin'."
Shocked was an understatment. as her head whipped back to look at Baylee, Mila felt that the earth had be swept right from under her feet and she was free falling into nothing. Firstly, she hadn't expected him to lay the law in a speech. This coming from a guy that barely strung two sentences together. Secondly, jail time? Mila certainly had a type didn't she. She sighed forcefully, pinching the bridge of her nose with enough strength to pause her breathing for moment.
Thirdly, she was more than willing to ttake the blame for how she had acted in the resturant. Mila had lost her head, that was that. Her bad. Mein Kampf and all that but–but– she wasn't about to be lectured… "You asked me out, Baylee." The words were harsh, bitten…hurt. "Don't act like this was all me going too fast. You can't expect me not to defend–Ugh fuck!" To protect that chance at something more with you. He had said yet so it wasn't like it hadn't been on his radar. Did it even matter to him though? Would he have even done the same for her if the situation had been reversed?
Too fast. Damn those words struck her. Mila pressed the heels of her hands into her temples. She ruined it.
"I never said that it was your idea to go out," he snapped back, fishing the keys out of his pocket and pressing the unlock button. "That's why I said 'let's', which means 'let us.' I took it too fast too, man. I wasn't ready for it." He was being unfair. He knew it. But…the god damn words couldn't come out of his mouth. Like something was blocking the part of his brain that would let him say anything positive. I need to say something.
"I'm sorry." He turned around, but didn't look her in the eye. He was too embarrassed. "Jail time isn't a typical icebreaker for someone to use but I shoulda told you. It was a barfight an' I ended up breakin' someone's jaw. They pressed charges on me and won the case, since i couldn't afford a decent lawyer." He paused, biting the inside of his cheek so hard that he could taste blood. "I can get you a hotel or somethin' if you don't feel safe around me. I'll drive you to your car and call Berry to get a new tire on it. Give you my key or somethin' so you can grab your shit an' I won't talk to you again." You fucked up. Again. Just can't do anything right, huh?
"What?" Mila said. Or thought she had said, it was more like the air in her lungs whooshed out of her mouth in something that vaguely sounded like the word. She was staring at him open mouthed, a million things going through her mind of things she wanted to say, but all that came out was a simple series of statements that managed to break Mila's heart all the more. "That's not what I want. I feel safe with you…" The shocked look on his face was enough to tell her that Baylee really hadnt expected those words at all.
But only a moment later, his expression cleared back into the stone anger of before. Fine. Mila supposed it didn't matter what it said, even if it was the truth, the situation was fucked entirely. Their first date a complete failure. Baylee had gotten angry enough to reject her, putting Mila firmly back into a place that was a part from him. Mila's chest squeezed as her heart seemed to finally catch up to the fact that they didn't seem to work. God, why was she about to cry? Maybe Mila was a stupid girl getting herself into a lot of stupid trouble, but she couldn't stop herself now. Fuck. "You can't get rid of me that easily. Your past doesn't matter to me. We've all done bad shit." She huffed, stomping over to the passenger side door. Anger was a good way to cover up her hurt feelings, although she wasn't exactly sure what she was angry about anymore. Mary? Hell yes. Baylee? Maybe…? Ugh, she rubbed her eyes a bit with a hand, surprised enough to find that they were still dry. When she looked up at Baylee again, she was practically glaring at him. "We don't have to go out ever again, but I would like to go home."
Baylee climbed into the cab of the truck as well, letting out a long sigh as he jammed in the key into the ignition. Not even bothering to buckle up, he put the car into reverse, and looked over his shoulder, putting his hand on the passenger seat as his other masterfully steered the truck out of the parking spot. His hand was quickly removed as he switched the vehicle into drive and slipped out of the parking lot, the sped-o-meter right on the speed limit as he drove towards his home. It appears his kitchen knife wouldn't reach his skin tonight.
The drive home was….depressing. Not a word was spoken between the two, the only sound being the occasional curse thrown at a shitty driver that cut him off or turned without their blinker. Although it didn't show on his face, Baylee was beyond relieved that she decided to stick with him. He was a lonely guy, though he wouldn't admit it even if a gun was pressed against his head, and her company was a break from the shittyness of his life, even when they were pissed at each other.
"I think," he said when they finally walked into his home, "that we need a drink." It was an olive branch. Even an apology, in his own weird way.
It's time to bolt. The thought rebounded through her mind with every turn on the way home. It was an itch under her skin that she couldn't scratch. Maybe Mila would go home this time. It had been so long since she'd seen the tall buildings and glitening lakes of her home state.
Mila looked up from taking off her heels as Baylee spoke. His voice was soft in the strained unbearable silence between them, yet she was still struck as if he had yelled. They stared at each other for a moment, words they couldn't voice passing in the air between them. Finally Mila looked away, "Sure. But I think I need something a little stronger than wine." The barely there teasing note in her tone, was her own awkward olive branch. She dove into one of her duffles that were placed neatly in the living room, reemerging later with a handle of clear liquid. "Vodka?" A shake of the bottle showed that it was more than halfway through.
Mila figured Baylee would refuse–he sure loved his wine–but followed him into the kitchen anyway. It was almost as awkward as the first night she was here. The two of them tip toeing around each other, not sure how to act, not sure what to say, the attraction between them confusing and unvoiced. Mila folded herself into one of the bar chairs, watching Baylee, his green eyes stormy as he prowled through his kitchen. Anger still hung around him in a shroud, and she wish there was something she could say to help him.
But the singer had proved earlier that she was no good at showing him how she felt, or comforting him for that matter. She was useless to him…
"Honestly," he said, reaching up to the top of his fridge, where he kept his alcohol, "vodka sounds great."
He brought the bottle of label-less alcohol over to the bar and set it down, returning to his cabinets to pull out two glasses much too tall for vodka. Or where they?
"I'm….sorry for how I acted," he mumbled as he filled up a glass half-way and slid it over to Mila. "I was just….am…confused. All this romance shit…it ain't for me. Likin' someone ain't something I'm used to." Baylee paused to pour himself a full glass and take a large gulp from it. "I took it out on you unfairly, an' I'm sorry."
Mila took a gulp, and then a few more to make sure that she had heard Baylee right. How was the alcohol supposed to help her hearing? It wasn't but it was a mighty fine excuse to down the glass of liqour and slide it back over to Baylee for a refill.
"You don't have to apologize." She just just as quietly, staring straight down at the counter. Her fingers folded and unfolded themselves against the cool counter material, the only sign that she was a little insecure with what she was about to say. Mila didn't much apologize for how she acted. She was an all or nothing kind of girl, but she couldn't stand that she had hurt Baylee in result of that. "I"m the one that should be sorry…I pushed you into something you weren't confortable with–I lost my damn mind at another woman…" Her brows flew up as she remembered her behavior, a deep blush of shame covering her face and flowing down her neck.
"God–who does that? I shouldn't have pushed you–I know I can be a lot." She was mumbling now words barely making it past her lips. "I understand if you don't–if this isn't–" What, Mila? Spit it out. I understand if you don't care for me now. Say it. "If this situation isn't ideal. This is your home and I'm a guest that toally transhed on your good heart. I can leave tomorrow…" Coward.
Baylee tilted the open bottle over, filling the glass up completely and sliding it over to her again. The stone cold look was fading away the longer and longer they actually talked. He didn't handle screaming well.
"Everybody makes mistakes, búp bê," he responded, talking another large gulp of his cup before continuing. "An' when people get mad, they do dumb things. What happened in the restaurant was one of those moments. As long as the police don't come knockin', you can stay here as long as you need to."
It won't be long. That nasty voice in the back of her head hissed. If she was smart she would pack up and bolt now. Cops couldn't do anything if she wasn't here. Not to mention she really didn't need for anyone around here to find out who she was. Or for those back home to know where she was. Yep, she should really be packing up.
Mila took another long gulp and didn't move a damn inch. The vodka seared as it went down into her semi empty stomach. "I'm still sorry. I honestly don't– I'm not like that." She muttered around her glass, barely believing herself. Jealousy was not an emotion she wore well apparently, nor was rage.
"Some date, hm? I swear that had to be record setting for how quickly something can get turned on it's ass." She gave a little laugh despite the harsh twist her heart gave. Was it stupid for her to have wanted it to go really well? Another gulp, and another piece of hurt heart got shoved in the corner of her mind to be forgotten.
"Uh…..nah," he said, hiding a sheepish smile behind his glass. The story he was about to tell was connected to a bad memory. A really bad one. But…the drink in his system was already beginning to take hold of his mind, making everything sad fade away into a blissful fog. "I got that one. At my Dad's funeral, I was supposed to go up and be the first one to touch the casket. But I just sat there staring at it before the pastor came over and called me 'son.' I grabbed the poor guy by the robe and was gettin' ready to wring his neck before my sister calmed me down." A loooooong sip finished off the drink, drowning out whatever was left of his sadness. Now wasn't the time for that shit.
Mila's armor cracked, her expression softening as Baylee spoke. Evidently, she couldn't stay mad at him for very long. Folding her arms around her waist was the only thing Mila could do to keep from reaching out to comfort him. It was strange not knowing what kind of boundaries they had now. Was she allowed to hug him? Touch him at all? Even if they weren't going to 'date', she could still do things as a friend right? Mila frowned, unwilling to admit that she was terrified of being rejected again.
But since they were trading horrible stories… "I didn't even go to my aunt's funeral—ah she took care of me when I was a kid–" Mila finished off her glass, sliding it over to Baylee again. Her fingers were shaking so she pressed them flat against the counter. "I was in the hospital getting my stomach pumped." The first and last time Mila had let her pent up rage and sorrow guide her down the same path as her parents. "Pills, heroin, they had seemed like the only escape from all that pain. Naturally they weren't…" Was it really the first time that she had admitted that out loud? Huh. Mila's stomach twisted with the admission and she had to turn her face away from Baylee. It had been a nightmare, waking up to her Aunt's lawyer–and best friend–staring down at her. She had bolted a week later.
Baylee watched her face as she told her story, his eyebrows slowly lifting up in surprise. Someone with a sadder story than me. Ever since his dad died, he doubted it was even possible. Especially from someone that….well….looked like her. If all else fails, she could always fall back on the fact that she was god damn gorgeous. Him? Well….that depended on who you asked.
"What a fuckin' duo we make," he finally said, reaching over the bar and putting a gentle hand on her's. "A fuckin' depressed asshole and a recovering addict." he moved his hand to grab the bottle again, this time just giving it to Mila instead of refilling her bottle every time she needed a refill.
"We were doomed from the start." The bitter words flying out of Mila's mouth before she could stop them. Jesus. She smiled around the lip of the bottle tilting it up to take a drag. Classy, wasn't she? Even though she still wasn't looking at Baylee, it was obvious that she was trying to cover up her hurt words. The hand he had been holding gently? It was now clenched on the counter between them.
The room had started to get fuzzy around the edges, the alcohol finally making an appearance in her bloodstream. When she lowered the bottle back to the counter, Mila was smiling for real. Realived that she was going to be able to knock herself out soon and forget the night, but still somewhat enjoying herself. Which was a wild concept.
After a few more swigs, and Baylee was feeling the same. This was his mixing vodka, much stronger than a normal vodka and not meant to be chugged the way there were. But, eh, too late for that now, right? Especially with the warm, fuzzy feeling beginning to creep through his veins like it was a disease. But one that he welcomed with open arms. Take all of his pain away for the night and worry about the morning when he got there.
"Y'know," he said, his voice surprisingly stable despite the amount of alcohol in his system, "I never woulda went for that girl anyways. She was…average, man. nothin' compared to you." Drunk Baylee is an open book. "THe fact that she was trying to show off her flat chest was the dumbest thing about it though. I mean, I got bigger titties than that girl."
Vodka nearly came out of her nose mid swig at Baylee's comment. The bottle thumping against the counter as Mila, put it down harshly to cover her mouth in time. Her face was pink and her entire form was shaking from the effort to keep her laughs–and the vodka–trapped in her mouth. Unconciously, Mila's free hand reached out to grasp Baylee's forearm to keep herself steady.
"I know, right?!" She finally gasped out after she was able to breathe soundly again. Running a hand through her hair, she chuckled a bit more. "Oh lord. I know my chest isn't much to look at either, but you would have thought she had god's gift to the world under her shirt with the way she was showing off!" Another swing, another stream of giggles. She was so warm, the world was tilting ever so slightly, and Baylee was looking at her again.
He was lifting the bottle to his own lips, but Mila gently snatched it away to steal his swig, sticking her tongue out like a child as his affronted barely-there grin.
"So fucking desperate, too," he continued, leaning against the bar with his forearms on the top of it. "God, I've never seen anythin' like that before. It was fuckin' obvious that I was out on a date an' she still pulls that shit. I don't blame you for wantin' to kick her ass." He reached over for the bottle, giving her a sly look when she leaned back to keep it out of his grip. "I woulda done the same thing."
Baylee's smile was beginning to grow, even showing the hint of his front teeth. God, beer goggles even worked on pretty women. Now, Mila looked almost irresistible. He didn't even realize he was scooting over to her side of the bar until he was standing only a foot away from her. Oh, well. Whatever happens happens. "Are y'gonna give me the bottle, or am I gonna have to fight you for it?"
"Fight me?" Mila's playfully childlike smile, went positively wicked. Her smirking lips met the rim of the bottle once more as she sole another deep gulp. A little 'ahhhh' escaped her mouth as she swollowed the clear liquid, not once taking her eyes from Baylee's. The green was glowing the in the light of the kitchen, warming along with his smile. Despite the fact that he was swaying slightly on his feet his gaze was oh so steady on her. Why did her alcohol addled brain think that he was really looking at her right now? Why was his gaze so fierce?
Baylee's hand came into her fogged line of vision, and Mila moved the bottle out of his reach once more, putting it behind her back. The action put them closer together, forcing Mila to tilt her head farther to look at him. The effect didn't look awkward though, she just looked like she was teasing him mercilessly. "Fight me??" She asked again, her voice a soft rasp in the space between them. "You couldn't handle me in a fight, Baylee." Good god, what was she doing? Daring him to make a move? Mistake. Mistake. Mistake
"I box with Berry, búp bê," he said, giving her a drunken smile. All of his teeth were out, now. They were surprisingly white, like a dentist's. "I doubt you could do much."
He reached around her back with both of his arms, inadvertently hugging her as he snatched the bottle from her hands. There wasn't even a blush on his face as he pulled away and tossed back a few gulps of the bottle. He was that drunk. Typically when he was typsy, he would just lay down on his face and pass out, but with Mila, it was like a spike of energy through his system. His heart raced and his mind was swimming of a shitload of bad ideas, all of them including Mila.
"What do you have to say about this?" he asked, holding the bottle over his head and out of her reach.
"You could box with god, and still not be able to handle me." Mila said, sticking her tongue out again as she stretched on her tip toes to reach the bottle. Dammit, Baylee was just so tall. Her arm barely passed his face even all the way extended. Honestly, it wasn't fair. Baylee wiggled the bottle, teasing her, and let out a laugh that was just as warm as Mila was feeling. She felt it caress her skin like trailing fingers and suddenly wanting nothing more than to feel him actually touching her. Even drunk Mila knew those were dangerous thoughts. Dangerous thoughts needed drowning out. She'd have to climb on the chair to reach it–
So that's exactly what Mila did. It sounded like a smart idea, despite her balance being off. But they were both laughing, and drunk Mila had zero fear of falling. How many times had her Aunt called her a daredevil? Always pushing her luck to the extremes just to feel on top of the world even if just for a moment. Bracing her bare foot on the pad of the chair, Mila hoisted herself up, swaying dangerously as her head swam at the sudden movement. Somehow she managed to right herself, quickly using Baylee's distraction–What was he staring at? Was their something on her face?–to snatch the bottle away. "Ah HA!" She crowed, downing much more than she probably should have in victory.
"I would rather us not drink all of my vodka in a single night, búp bê," Baylee said hands on his hips as he looked up at her with that happy smile on his face. "So please, gimme the bottle so I can put it up."
Mila shook her head with a mischievous smile, tossing her head back as she put the bottle to her lips again. The only issue was the fact that she was standing up on a chair while shit-faced drunk. One of her knees gave out just as her head snapped back and the momentum caused her to fall backwards like a trust fall, her arms flailing wildly. The only thing that saved the back of her skull from crashing into the concrete was the quick reflexes of Baylee, who, in a moment of sobriety, quickly hustled underneath the woman and caught her bridal style.
"Fuckin' Christ, Mila," he said, although he was holding back a drunken giggle, "the fuck was that?"
"Falling." Mila stated rather calmly, despite the death grip she had around Baylee's neck and adrenaline rushing through her bloodstream. She had managed to keep a hold of the liquor–priorities–but now she plopped the bottle on the counter, the clear liquid sloshing in the near empty bottle. They had drank a lot. Whoops.
She turned her gaze back to Baylee, not making any move to return to the ground. It was much too comfy within the confines of Baylee's arms. Mila wanted to say something witty. Something that would make him laugh, but all her brain could process at the moment was: "Ya got me." As if they were children playing tag. Brilliant. But he smiled again, that big glorious smile that melted her entirely. Mila's free hand came up to touch it gently, fingers tracing the outline of a dimple on his cheek.
Baylee opened his mouth to respond, but Mila was already there, pulling him down to her lips in a rush that was almost as terrifying as her fall.
His reaction was immediate, turning entirely to plop her ass on the counter and step further into Mila's embrace. Not once breaking the kiss, one of Baylee's hands sliding around her waist, while the other got lost in the tresses of her hair, pulling her flush against him. Mila made a little sound in the back of her throat, parting her lips just in time to catch his again.