“I don’t either,” I say. Micah gives me a confused look, and I add, “Come out to bars on weeknights. So it was chance that we met.”
I snort to myself at how silly the line sounds. It’s the kind of thing I would use to draw a woman into conversation, so the other men would assume I was like them. I don’t want to treat Micah like I had those women.
What a ridiculous thought.
I don’t even know the boy.
If anything, I should convince him to have quick, casual sex and be done with him.
But I look at him, at his lush lips, the flush on his cheeks, at his large eyes, and I know that I would never be satisfied with one single night.
For the first time ever, I admit to myself that maybe I want what Silvano Cresci has. I want to have a man at my side and still command the respect of my men.
“I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” Micah blurts out, only to look mortified, like he can’t believe he said that out loud. “God, I’m sorry. I’m not… used to people talking to me. I usually know better than to run my mouth.”
Those words sound strange coming from him, like they’re something he’s repeated, and I wonder if he believes them.
“Nowhere to go?” I repeat. “You mean, you don’t have a home?”
He doesn’t look like he’s been living on the streets, but I’ve heard from some of the men in my organization who started very low that there are ways to get cheap showers and look presentable even without a house. And I know it can be very hard to find a home again after being on the streets for a while.
The cello looked expensive, though.
He flounders, still worrying at the napkin like shredding it is going to somehow offer him answers.
“My condo has a spare room,” I say.
As soon as I make the offer, I know it’s a mistake. I’m large, and scary, and a young man like him has every reason to fear me.
I have every reason to distrust him. I should not allow anyone into my personal space.
I don’t rescind the offer, though.
Micah’s head jerks up, and he stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Oh, wow. I…” He laughs nervously. “I wasn’t trying… Oh. This is why I don’t talk to people. Adam always says—” He swallows hard. “Well. I guess that doesn’t matter.”
Adam?
A familiar rush of anger slams into me, but I make sure to keep smiling.
I don’t want to feel something ugly.
I want something good, and pure, and innocent.
“What do you want to do, Micah?” I ask, leaning closer. In the background, a soft guitar song has started up. “I can take you to my place. No expectations at all. But…” I rub his shoulder. “I think you’re attractive.”
I don’t think I’ve ever been this bold before, not with a man. The few times I did sleep with other men, it was all hushed up, quiet and rushed.
“Oh,” Micah says again, like I’ve said something that surprised him. He looks up at me, those deep green eyes searching my expression. “Thank you?” he tries, only to shake his head and amend, “I think you’re attractive too, Ilya. And I like your accent. But…”
His eyes flick past me again toward the door.
“But?” I prompt, still gently rubbing his shoulder.
“I just… had a breakup,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be leading you on.”
“What does that mean?” I ask. “You’re single. I’m single. We’re having nice time in this bar, listening to…” I glance up, and nearly choke on my next words when I realize it’s Kyran Winters up on the stage, playing the guitar. I quickly turn my attention back to Micah. “Listening to amateur performers.”
“Do you know him?” he asks curiously, staring at the stage.
