Page 16 of Bred By the Minotaur (DreamTogether Breeding Program #3)

Fourteen

Phoebe

Milo gets tired again quickly and falls asleep with his game on his face, so I make sure to save it before setting it on his bedside table.

Then I get to work in complete silence and peace.

I accomplish as much as I can before Milo wakes up, and the time flies by.

Something about Hank’s kitchen is so comforting, with its yellow walls and big front window, the cupboards all painted white.

It’s easy to see myself working at this table all day.

I’m lost in doodling when I hear a little voice ask, “What are ya doing?”

Milo comes into the kitchen, dressed in his pajamas. He crawls up onto the chair next to mine and peers at my tablet screen. “Whoa. You’re drawing on a computer?”

I laugh. “Yep. Cool, huh?” I save my project and open a new, blank document. Then I start doodling something, and his eyes grow into saucers.

“That’s amazing.” He reaches for the pen, so I slide the tablet closer to him and hand him the stylus.

“Be gentle with it,” I tell him, mimicking how I use the stylus. With great care, Milo draws a circle on the screen and lets out a pleased giggle. He experiments with it some more, drawing doodles that, shockingly, resemble the objects they’re supposed to be.

“You can even change the colors, too,” I tell him, using the stylus to select a different brush and palette. “Here, now it’s blue.”

He draws a squiggle, and his mouth forms a perfect O.

“Wow,” he says with great reverence as he gives the stylus back. “I want one.”

“Maybe someday.”

We pull out his coloring books and notepads and sit side by side at the table, Milo drawing while I work.

We’re both silent for nearly an entire hour, focused as we are, and it’s not until I glance at him from the side of my eye that I see for the first time what I must look like from the outside: hunched over my art, shoulders at an angle that’s probably not good for me, focused entirely and completely on the page.

He’s drawn the same character over and over again, improving the shape and colors a little each time he repeats the drawing.

“Who is that?” I ask, and my question startles him out of his focus. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt your flow.”

He shakes his head and looks down at the drawing. “This is Darla as Spiderman’s cat.” Once he says it, I can kind of see it: a cat wearing a red and black spider outfit.

His eyes dart over to the screen of my tablet, where I’ve been drawing a tree that will become the corner of the advertisement. He points at it. “You drew that?”

“Yep.”

“That’s really good.” He gazes down at his own drawing. “Mine’s ugly, though.”

“Do you want feedback?” I ask.

His brow just furrows in confusion. “I don’t think it’s time for Darla’s dinner yet.”

I laugh, and this makes him frown even deeper. “No, no. I’m asking if you want advice. Suggestions for how to make it look the way you want.”

“Oh.” He puzzles for a moment. “Okay.”

I open a new canvas on my tablet and start doodling a cat. I point out the shape of the head, the location of the legs relative to the body, how perspective distorts them. I’m not sure how much of it he understands, but afterward, Milo returns to drawing his cat with renewed vigor.

After cooking him dinner and feeding Darla, all of the little boy’s limited energy has drained out of him, and I get him to bed just before he passes out cold. I don’t think I could get him there alone.

I’m tired but not exhausted, and there’s a pleasant, bubbly feeling in my body that I don’t recognize as I head down the single block between the houses to bring Sandra the leftovers.

“You’re late,” she grumps, and I feel bad for not bringing dinner sooner.

“Sorry. It took a while for Milo to go down.” I set the baby monitor on the table so we can both hear the little minotaur’s breaths back at the house.

“Hank doesn’t mind?” she asks.

“No. And I’ll know as soon as he wakes up.”

“I’m surprised you agreed to watch him.”

I purse my lips. What I’m doing—associating so openly with Hank—feels risky. I don’t know how DreamTogether might find out, and still, I worry. But the risk feels worth it when I get to spend time with Milo and make Hank’s life easier.

“He has a nice house,” is all I can think to say. “And Milo... he’s a really good kid.” I sit down on the couch and lean back into the soft cushion. “Pretty amazing at art already. He loves it.”

“A chip off the old block.” Sandra finishes her bite of food and glances at me from the corner of her eye. “I’m surprised you got so involved.”

“I didn’t have a choice. That lady Janelle had no idea what she was doing, taking care of Milo.”

My sister arches a brow. “And you do?”

I feel embarrassed heat rush into my face. She’s right, really. I have no experience with kids at all. But being with that little minotaur boy feels natural, like I don’t even have to try.

“I don’t know,” I say, throwing up my hands. “It just seemed like the right thing to do.”

“It has nothing to do with the crush you have on his dad, right?” Sandra giggles at my pained expression.

Instead of rising to her bait, I get up and do what I can around the house, taking out the trash and recycling, then pushing the bins down to the curb.

“Thanks,” Sandra says, pushing her plate aside. I take it to the sink for her and put it in the dishwasher. “You should probably go back in case Milo wakes up.” She sighs when I head for the front door. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing.”

“I just don’t want to send Hank the wrong message, either.”

I glance over my shoulder and find my sister giving me a deadpan look.

“I think you’ve shut that guy down enough times that he gets the picture.”

Feeling guilty, I head back to Hank’s house. Down the hall is the guest room, and it’s neatly made up, with the fresh scent of detergent in the air.

I flop down on the bed and groan. Wow. This is by far the most comfortable mattress I’ve ever felt in my life. How long has it been since I slept in a real bed?

It’s like my whole body finally relaxes for the first time in a month as I sink deeper, my face vanishing into the pillow. I’m asleep before I’ve even finished closing my eyes.

Hank

I’m surprised when I get home to find coloring books all over the table, along with what must be Phoebe’s work tablet.

Dinner was clearly cooked, because the dishes are in the dishwasher but the pans are still dirty.

It brings a smile to my lips to remember the conversation Phoebe and I had about her sister, and how sometimes she just wished she could leave the dishes until later.

I’m still full of pep after the energy drink I had earlier in the night, so I clean up the kitchen, imagining how much fun they had while doing art together at the table.

When I’m finished, I tiptoe up the stairs and down the hallway, where I’m surprised to find the guest room door ajar.

When I push it open with my nose and peer in, a head of blonde hair peeks out of the blankets.

Phoebe’s here, and she’s sleeping like the dead.

I smile to myself as I draw away from the door, then head to Milo’s room to check on him. It means the world to me that she feels comfortable in my home. It’s probably too much to hope, but perhaps tomorrow, she’ll reconsider my offer to move in.

I think she needs it as much as I do.

I wake sometime in the afternoon to the faint hum of voices downstairs. I’d left my schedule written on the fridge so Phoebe would know when to expect me up, and I’m thrilled to see her again.

When I pop into the kitchen, Phoebe and Milo are standing in front of the stove, Milo up on a footstool so he can reach.

“You tap the shell on the edge of the pan—not too hard, just to crack the shell,” Phoebe says.

Milo smashes the egg against the pan, which blows the egg open. Phoebe laughs so loud I’m shocked by it.

“Okay, not like that,” she says with infinite patience, and grabs another egg, even though she’s now covered in raw yolk. “Try again, but not so hard.”

She glances up, finally noticing me in the doorway, and gives me a shy smile. Then she turns back to the egg Milo’s just cracked into the pan and fishes some eggshell out of it.

“Sorry,” she says, helping Milo off the footstool. “We wanted to surprise you with dinner, but Milo insisted it would be breakfast for you, so we decided to make eggs and toast.”

My stomach rumbles in response, and Phoebe and Milo laugh in unison.

Soon, “dinner” is ready, and I have to pick some shells out of my eggs.

Sorry, Phoebe mouths to me.

While she cuts up some of Milo’s food, all I can do is watch and admire them. Something about the way she moves, how she looks at him, how I imagine her already growing another one of my calves inside her... I feel warm all over, from my throat straight to my balls.

Fuck, she’s beautiful. She’s beautiful, and perfect, and everything I’ve ever wanted in my entire life. All my years have simply been building up to this moment, when I truly saw my future wife for the first time.

That’s what she is. She will be—I’m certain of it now. And you know what they say about bulls.

We’re stubborn fuckers.

Phoebe

While I’m watching Milo, I’m rarely back at my sister’s house except to make meals and do a few chores. I’ve taken to sleeping over at Hank’s so Milo’s not alone, and the break is much needed—for both of us. Already, she seems happier, more cheerful, more fun.

That’s when I’m certain of it: we can’t live together anymore if we want to preserve our relationship.

Since I can’t leave Milo at home alone, I bring him with me when I carry food over to Sandra, and he’s adorably shy at first. She doesn’t like his bare hooves tromping all over her carpet, but she manages to restrain herself from saying anything despite the dark look she shoots his little feet.

“I’m Sandra,” she introduces herself from the couch. “Phoebe’s little sister.”