My pulse skipped in a way I never experienced before, and a tiny crack formed in the wall I kept around myself. I forced myself to look away before he saw it.
“Fine.” I swung my tote over my shoulder. “Just to the station even though it isn’t that far.”
He dipped his head once in agreement. “Let’s go, baby.”
Hearing him call me “baby” made something warm unfurl in my chest, even as I reminded myself I couldn’t afford to fall for him. Or anyone right now.
But I still followed him outside, cursing the humidity, which probably made my hair look even worse than it already did after working all day.
Micah matched his pace to mine, which meant he had to slow down. A lot.
A comfortable kind of quiet settled between us, and even though I told myself not to, I was hyperaware of him. How big and solid he felt beside me.
A group of people spilled out of a bar as we passed, laughing too loudly, not watching where they were going. One of them bumped my shoulder hard enough to knock me off-balance.
Before I could react, Micah’s hand was on my lower back, and he pulled me against his side.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.
“Yeah,” I breathed, even though my pulse was racing. “I’m fine.”
That was only partially true. Physically, sure. Emotionally? Not even close.
He’d rescued me from being knocked over, but his touch had heat shooting all the way up my spine.
His hand didn’t move for a full heartbeat. Maybe two. Then he eased it away.
The ghost of his touch stayed behind, though, burning through my shirt.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to grab you.” He fisted his hands at his side.
I peeked up at him, unsure of why he was apologizing. “I’m not sure I would’ve been able to stay on my feet if you hadn’t.”
His jaw flexed. “Still. You deserve gentleness.”
My breath caught at his words, and I forgot the rules I’d carved into myself for a moment. The city noise faded, the humid air disappeared, and Micah was the only thing I was aware of.
It took all my self-control to keep walking, putting inches between us, even when I wanted to throw myself into his arms.
The space between us crackled with chemistry all the way to the subway entrance.
I slowed, expecting him to stop walking any second. But he didn’t.
Instead, he followed me down the stairs and to the turnstiles, pulling out his phone and tapping the button to open his digital wallet.
I blinked up at him. “Wait, hold on. You take the subway?”
“Any real New Yorker does.” His mouth tipped into a lazy half smile. “And I was signed by the Nighthawks seven years ago.”
I sputtered. “Yeah, but you’re a professional athlete. You can hire as many black cabs as you want. Or even a full-time driver.”
“The subway is more convenient sometimes.” He stepped forward and tapped his phone on the scanner like it was no big deal.
I swiped my Metro card—since I didn’t have a credit card, I only had cash to pay for my transportation—heat crawling up my neck as I mumbled, “You were only supposed to walk me to the station.”
He didn’t pause, just fell into step beside me while we started down the steps. Once we reached the platform, the tunnel wind fluttered my hair as a train roared past without stopping. The breeze was a momentary relief from the hot, humid air trapped underground.
It felt like we were heading home together. As though he belonged next to me.
