Page 40 of Learn Your Limits

Chapter thirty-eight

Reid

There aren't many things I know how to cook, but bacon and waffles I can do. With Milo being an early riser, I made sure to set my alarm so that I would wake up before him, not giving much thought to the sound also disturbing his sleep.

Thankfully, instinct woke me up a few minutes before the alarm was set to go off.

Milo is a much lighter sleeper than I am and the last thing I wanted to do was unintentionally wake him up and ruin the morning.

He has done so much for me since we've been together, I feel like the least I can do is bring him breakfast and coffee in bed.

Here With You by SICK PUPPIES plays on Spotify as I pour batter on to the waffle iron, careful not to overfill it and make batter spill from the sides.

Visions of the day before filter through my mind while I flip the strips of bacon in the skillet.

My eyes flutter shut as heat swells in my stomach.

My body feels sore in the best possible way.

Every subtle movement serves as a delicious reminder of the evening spent in Milo’s arms.

A sudden sharp sting hits my torso and I jump back, bits of grease spitting from the hot skillet and landing on my bare skin.

I should have gotten dressed before coming to make breakfast instead of cooking while wearing only a pair of boxer briefs, but I have every intention of climbing back into bed after this.

It seems pointless to get dressed if I’m only going to strip down again.

I’m not a fan of coffee, but I enjoy preparing Milo’s for him when I can, and it’s become a habit the few times our schedules have allowed me to spend the night with him.

Normally I would just set the overnight timer and make sure it’s set to brew in the mornings, knowing he would be awake before me.

This morning however, I take my time with pouring the dark liquid into a coffee mug and adding his favorite creamer until the color matches what I typically see him drinking.

With a plate of waffles and bacon in one hand and his mug of coffee in the other, I walk carefully into the bedroom. I'll have to make another trip to grab the bowl of fresh fruit I cut up knowing he'd pester me about needing a more balanced meal.

Milo is flat on his back, one arm resting across his lower stomach as the other rests at his side.

He looks so peaceful like this without a hint of stress or worry etched across his face.

The hints of silver at his temple and scattered through his facial hair stir a warmth inside of me, and it spreads through my body the way embers spark and dance from a campfire.

If I wasn’t wanting to surprise him with breakfast, I would happily stand here watching him sleep.

But not like, in a creepy way. More in a… Fuck, I love him kind of way. The words have been resting on the tip of my tongue all weekend. I almost uttered them when he was buried inside of me on the couch last night, but that didn’t seem right.

It’s not something I want to tell him in the heat of the moment.

I don’t want there to be room for even a single shred of doubt that what I’m saying is the truth.

When I tell him that I’m in love with him, I need him to know that I’m speaking purely from the heart and not from a place of frenzied arousal.

But my skin has been crawling with the need to tell him since our weekend spent together tucked away in a cabin.

Moving quietly into the bedroom, I set the plate prepared for him down on his nightstand along with his coffee.

His bare chest rises and falls with deep, sleep heavy breaths as I sit on the edge of the bed beside him.

Reaching a hand out, my fingers thread gently through his dark hair, sweeping it back off his forehead.

“Good morning, handsome,” I murmur, lips curling at the edges as his body stirs beneath my touch.

Milo’s eyes slowly open, still heavy with sleep as he squints and adjusts to the morning light. “Good morning,” he rasps when his eyes finally catch mine. The sheets tug underneath me as he straightens up to sit against the headboard.

“I made you breakfast and brought you your coffee.” I reach for the steaming mug on his nightstand and hand it to him. Milo’s fingers brush against mine as he takes it, a soft smile spreading across his lips.

“You spoil me, Muneco.”

He glances at the plate of food before meeting my gaze.

I lean forward and capture his lips gently with mine before he can say anything and then stand from the bed.

It only takes me a minute to rush back to the kitchen to grab the bowl of freshly cut strawberries and sliced banana.

The meal is nothing fancy, but it’s better than the breakfast of Hot Pockets, cereal, or toast that I usually scarf down before classes.

“I know I have to get going soon, but I wanted to at least have the morning with you.”

His eyes warm as he reaches a hand out, grasping my jaw and pulling me toward him. “I’ll take as much time with you as I can get, baby,” he says before sealing his lips over mine.

The weight of this week has been hanging over my head like a storm cloud refusing to break. And I say that as someone who prefers thunderstorms over sunny weather.

I’ve been waiting months for this, and now that the time is finally here, I’m scared. Because after today, Milo will no longer be my professor. Once the final grades are officially posted, we’ll be free.

The only real hurdle remaining is my father. With the semester coming to an end and only one remaining before graduation, he’s going to be breathing down my neck more than ever. I know that I’ll have to sit down and have a conversation with him at some point.

The idea sends an immediate wave of nausea rolling through my stomach. Avalon has offered several times to be there with me for moral support, but as soon as Milo is no longer my professor, my “relationship” with her will come to an end.

Milo is the only person I want by my side when I set fire to the dream my father has had for me my entire life.

I took my time getting dressed this morning and decided on a pair of dark jeans and a forest green henley, thinking of the way Milo’s eyes have lingered just a hint longer any time he’s seen me in the color.

My auburn hair was easily tamed by running my gel-slicked hands through the longer length on top, finger-combing it into place before applying a few spritzes of cologne.

If I’m lucky, I’ll get to wrap my arms around him today, and I want to smell good while doing it. I want him to breathe in my scent the way I always breathe in his, instantly relaxing every time.

Nervous energy ebbs and flows through my veins while I sit at a table in the library, the assortment of artist pencils Milo bought for me spread out across the surface.

I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out the perfect way to confess my love for him.

The one idea that has stood out among the rest is so simple, I’m not sure it’s enough.

The thought of surprising him and forcing him to stand by quietly, unable to respond, causes a rush of excitement to chase away the nerves attempting to settle in my stomach.

I’ve been working on this drawing of Milo since the cabin.

While studying for finals has taken up much of my time, I’ve spent every free moment possible trying to capture the way I see him.

From the sharp angles of his well-trimmed beard and the fullness of his lips to his beautiful storm-filled gaze, I need it to be perfect.

Because that’s how I see him.

I’m afraid to somehow ruin the piece by adding color, opting instead to leave it as a sketch.

I don’t have time to spend coloring it now anyway.

I need to get across campus to class and I don’t have a ton of time to do it.

Rushing wasn’t something I wanted to do today, but I must have spent more time than I realized trying to make sure each line was impeccable.

I wanted more time to write out a detailed letter encompassing all that I feel for him, but the simplicity of the three words written across the bottom of the thick white paper will have to do.

The lecture hall has already begun to fill with students by the time I make it to class. Professor Cervantes is standing at the front of the room behind the podium, his hands braced on the surface as his gray-green eyes scan the gathering crowd.

Is he looking for me?

I’ve made it a point to be at least fifteen minutes early to class almost every day this semester, desperate to steal any amount of time with him as possible, but today is different.

Today feels heavier.

More important.

Shifting just out of the doorway of the lecture hall, I pull the sketchpad from my bag and carefully remove the artwork for Milo. My head drops back against the wall with a soft thud as I pull in a deep lungful of air, trying to calm my racing heart.

What if he doesn’t feel the same way?

When we talked about our relationship at the cabin, he said he could picture the rest of his life with me in it... But he has yet to utter those three little words. What if I’m making a huge mistake by saying them first? What if I ruin everything we’ve been building by admitting how I feel?

Shoving the thoughts from my head, I push my shoulders back and stand tall as I make my way into the lecture hall.

Keeping my stride confident is a challenge, especially when Milo’s eyes shift in my direction and lock on mine.

My gaze falls to the sketch in my hand as I fight back the heat threatening to climb up my neck.

Deep breath, Reid. The man calls you Muneco for crying out loud. He feels the same way. You just have to be the first to say it.

“Sorry I’m late,” I murmur, meeting his gaze as I hand him the sketch and my heart.