Chapter Text
Love was a disaster.
Joe knew he needed to keep his distance, knew he needed to take her in small doses - but Love was cloying, desperate to prove to him that it was her. That she was the one. It was inevitable that it would come apart and leave Joe alone in this shithole city.
He blames himself, partly. He promised at the very start that LA would be different and he would keep a low profile. But already he's got the blood of two men on his hands, one of them being a major celebrity, an ex-girlfriend who works at the same mindfulness-centred, cruelty-free, Angeleno wet dream store as him, and he's on social media. What has this place done to him?
He glances up for what must be the hundredth time today at Love and this new boy-thing, who's been stuck to her like glue the entire day, tasting wedding cakes. A woman can do whatever she wants, of course - Joe is a staunch feminist - but god, did she have to move on that quick? And he's not even her type. Joe can sense his utter vapidity from here, no doubt from years of having a trust fund in lieu of a personality. Love is smart, and kind, and funny, and talented. How can she bear to be around this soulless asshole?
Love's feeding him cake with her hands now.
Joe wishes that it was him with her fingers in his mouth. Him, eating her delicious cooking. Him, tasting the food in her mouth when she couldn't wait till after she'd swallowed to kiss him. He just wishes it was still him.
Who is this monster?
"That," says a voice from beside him, "is Milo."
Oh god. Forty. Joe is not in the mood to speak to any of the Quinns right now, but especially not Forty. He huffs, taking his work elsewhere. "It's not really my business."
Milo... Milo what? Joe can't find his socials without-
"Milo fucking Warrington," Forty says, disgust dripping from his words. Thank you, Forty. Sometimes it pays for your boss-slash-ex-girlfriend's failed socialite brother to not be able to keep his mouth shut. "You know, he used to be James' best friend."
"Love's late husband James?"
"Exactly."
Tut-tut, Milo. Major faux pas to fuck your best friend's widow.
"He just spent two years traversing Asia so he could sprinkle James' ashes all over the Himalayas. And now he's back, traversing Love's vagina. Again."
Again?
Forty grimaces. "He does that periodically."
And all of Joe's assumptions are validated. No surprise. So he's a- "Scumbag," Forty spits. "I would Poltergeist the shit out of him if I was James."
Joe needs answers. Love wouldn't do this. Not the Love he knows. "Well, maybe it's a comfort thing," he suggests. "I mean, they've both been through something terrible." He looks up and Milo fucking Warrington is feeding her strawberries. What a douche. Forty turns to look at her too, almost pitifully.
"Yeah. Maybe for her, it is. But he's been sweet on her since college. He could not stand it when she chose James. And then guess who was Mister Attentive at the funeral?"
Joe can't believe this guy. Milo is an incubus. A demon straight from hell.
Forty scoffs. "Yeah. He stayed for weeks after. Cooked, cleaned, bathed her, went down on her every night. Nobody does that shit out of the kindness of their own heart, Joe." Joe would, if Love asked. But whatever. "He was preying on her when she was vulnerable. And now, he's doing it again. Picking up the pieces when your body's barely cold."
Forty, for once, is right. Milo is a predator, and Love is falling for it.
"Don't worry, sport," says Forty, as he places a warm and reassuring hand on Joe's shoulder. "She's not falling for it. Love will give herself permission to do what she needs to do to heal, but she is still very broken up over you."
Love is play-fighting with Milo in the kitchen. "She doesn't look very broken up."
Forty squeezes his shoulder. "Challenge accepted. Watch this," He calls to Joe as he walks to the backrooms, wagging a finger at him.
As soon as Forty turns his back, Joe has his phone out and starts looking up this wolf in prick's clothing. So he's Australian, a zen Buddhist, a travel blogger (ugh)... And his dad owns Patagonia. Of course. His feed is chock full of philanthropy and baby animals... And Joe smells a fraud.
Forty is still in the back, in what looks like a heated conversation with Love. After a few short moments he walks briskly back to Joe, seeming... happy?
"As I suspected, she is not over you."
"Did she say that?"
"She did not need to. This is what Love does when she's hurting. She, like, gets a little basic, and pretends to like stuff she definitely does not like in order to seem normal. And also, it's the only time she'll snap at me. It's a tell." It makes sense to Joe. When he was broken up about Beck, he glommed onto Karen Minty. She was... good, but wrong for him.
Is that what Milo is? Is he Love's Karen Minty?
Nevermind. It doesn't matter. He should never have been with Love in the first place. He should just stop obsessing and, although it hurts, let a good thing go.
He picks up a box of pop-psychology drivel to stock in the "bookstore"... And Forty is still following him. Does this guy ever give up?
"Okay, so... You know what you have to do now, right?" He waves vaguely in Joe's direction, and Joe turns to give him a blank stare. What exactly does Forty think he has to do? Get high? Go on a bender? Hire an escort?
Forty continues, exasperated. "Get back on the horse. Start dating around. Show love how free and happy you're living." He smirks. "She will hate that."
"I'm not really the vindictive type," Joe says. "And she's... not really the jealous type." Of course she isn't. Because she's perfect.
"Oh, I'm sorry - did the two of you share a womb?" Forty snarks. "Trust me, okay? She gets jealous. Now, let's set you up." He reaches towards Joe's back pocket and... What the fuck? Why did he take Joe's phone? Joe needs that back, right now. Placing down the box of books on a nearby counter, he tries a distraction so he can grab his property back.
"Forty. Why are you helping me? I lied to your sister. I lied to you. I tangled you up in this Amy-Candace mess." Before he can reach out for his phone, Forty drops the hand holding it to his side and places another compassionate hand on Joe's shoulder.
"Hey. As Shakespeare once said, 'bitcheth was crazy'. You lied out of necessity, okay? That guy," he says, pointing to Milo and Love making pastries, "is a pie hunting snake in Tarzan's body, and I do not trust him. My gut says - You're good, he's bad, case dismissed."
Joe starts to see what Love sees in Forty. He's smart. And he loves his sister, hard. He gets that. But he's currently using Joe's phone, which he took without asking, and is... walking out of the store with it. Shit. Joe turns to see Love one more time, still happy as ever. If Milo is Tarzan - wild, brutish and mannerless - then Love must be Jane - compassionate, warm and patient. And who knows? Maybe her plan is to tame this beast. Joe would be more than happy to save her the trouble and step in as his respectful self, but right now there are more pressing issues. Namely, Forty setting him up with some floozy without consulting him first.