Can’t say it didn’t cross my mind.Rather than telling him I let the bartender serve five people before getting to me, I shrugged and slid onto the bench.
“So where you from, Mike?” Brandon asked around the rim of his glass.
“It’s Micah,” he clarified, and I caught a glimpse of the first time he told me how much he hated when people called him Mike. It was a stupid mistake on their part, he acknowledged, but he still hated it because it wasn’t who he was.
Oh, the fucking irony.
He let go of a small laugh. I would even call it relaxed. A glimpse of the boy-turning-into-a-man I used to know materialized right before my eyes. “Here actually. Then California.”
“No shit,” Brandon answered, raising his glass.
“Yeah.” Another sip. “Went to high school together.” Micah motioned his hand between the two of us.
Brandon shot me a look of disbelief, his eyes wide, exaggeratedly so. “No fucking way. And this prick never thought to mention you.”
“What the hell?” I answered Brandon’s raised eyebrows. “Like we’re supposed to talk BFFs and whatnot.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Brandon laughed, finishing the last of his beer, driving his elbow into Vince’s ribs. He taught social studies at our school. Despite his status as the new guy on campus, he was just as much of a douchebag as Brandon, at least when it came to ladies’ night.
“You three can catch up all y’all want,” he drawled, tipping a nonexistent hat. “But she’s calling my name.” After slamming his empty glass down on the beat-up table top, he leaned in, adding, “Or at least she will be later.”
“Pig,” Brandon sneered and then let out a loud burst of laughter. “And a damn good one, too. Look at ’em move!”
Craning my head over to the dance floor, Vince was in fact moving—grinding actually. The woman he was gyrating behind reached for his arms, pulling them around her waist. She spun in his grip, rolled her hips, and nuzzled her face into his neck like she’d been dancing with him all night. Brandon took my disbelief for jealousy rather than disgust. I’d bet money she didn’t even know his name, and he didn’t know hers. “He’s a sly fucking dog, isn’t he?” Brandon asked, puffing his chest out as if he was solely responsible for Vince’s sexual prowess.
“Sure,” I muttered around my beer. Micah sat silently next to me, and I wanted nothing more than to ask him what he thought about what happened between us earlier. I couldn’t care less about what, or who, Vince was doing out there.
“Oh, and lookie lookie,” Brandon drawled, tipping his head to the pair of girls who strutted out next to Vince and his Barbie. “Let’s get movin,’” he announced as he stood from his seat. After finishing the last of his beer, he added, “Well, what the fuck are you waiting for?” when neither of us stood to join him.
“I don’t feel much—”
Laughing, he cut me off. “I don’t give a shit about you.” He pointed at me first, then moved his finger over a few inches to Micah. “You. Get up. Since asshole over here isn’t going to show you a good time”—I bit back my laughter, remembering how he tasted when he came in my mouth. I’d like to think I’d showed him a good time so far—“I’m taking you out there so you can get some ass,” Brandon finished.
To my complete surprise, Micah drained the last of his beer and went with Brandon, offering me little more than a thin smile as he walked away.
Fury raged in my veins, but there was nothing I could do about it. For whatever reason, Micah chose to rub Brandon’s behavior in my face. The only consolation I had was the fact that Micah kept his hands off the woman dancing in front of him.
But oh, fucking hell could he move.
And it was damn near impossible not to imagine him moving his hips like that against mine, his thigh dipping between my legs, grinding against the erection raging in my jeans.
After the music changed to some awkward-to-move-to rave-like song, the crowd thinned, bringing Brandon and Micah back to the table. “Looks like Vince got lucky early,” Brandon huffed, out of breath from dancing. Nodding over to the bar, we all caught a glimpse of Vince buying another round of drinks for him and his new best friend.
The cynic in me couldn’t help but wonder if the girl was just in it for the free drinks once happy hour was over. The realist in me knew she was and knew Vince didn’t care one bit. As long as it ended with his dick . . . on second thought, I didn’t need to think about his dick going anywhere.
Shaking my head, and those images out of it, I looked over at Micah. He was in the middle of signaling the waitress over to our table. Nothing out of the ordinary. But what struck me as odd was how he angled himself so that his prosthetic arm was hidden by the rest of his body as he ordered. I was so caught up in what I could only perceive as his shame, I didn’t notice what he ordered until the waitress returned a few minutes later.
“Thirsty?” I asked, sarcasm hanging heavily in the air as I scanned the six drinks in the middle of the table.
Shrugging, he shot me a nasty look, making it very clear he didn’t need my approval to shoot back the double bourbon sitting in front of him. “This one’s for you,” he spat, sliding the other bourbon to me as he chased his with his beer. “And you,” he said, far more kindly than I liked to Brandon, moving the remaining one to him.
“Yeah, sure,” Brandon answered, swallowing the amber liquid in a hasty move. He coughed, and I relished in the burn I knew he was feeling. Served him right for acting like an ass tonight, well, every day, but mostly tonight. “But only one.” His voice cracked as he flipped the empty tumbler over onto the table. “I’m a fairly shitty person sober,” he acknowledged, shooting me a kind look, his eyes softening. “But I’m an even shittier drunk. I’ll stick to these for the rest of the night,” he noted, raising one of the Buds the waitress dropped on the table a few seconds ago.
Micah nodded, his lips sealed over his beer as if his life depended on it. It was a fleeting glimpse, but a dangerous one nonetheless. His eyes changed, darkened and focused as he polished off his beer in less time than it took me to wrap my fingers around my own. “I’m good with this for now,” I answered, turning away the bourbon.
“Suit yourself.” Micah grabbed my refused glass before I could think better of declining it. The booze was gone before I could say he shouldn’t have another so soon. When he slammed the glass on the table and raised his arm to swipe it against his lips, I caught a glimpse of his prosthetic arm.
Fucking hell, even that was sexy as fuck. Dark black titanium, it was sleek and provocative, even. He caught me staring and lowered his arm immediately. Just as I was about to say something, ask him to slow down, he signaled the waitress. Thankfully, this time he only ordered a bourbon and a beer for himself. With the warning that he shouldn’t drink so much on the tip of my tongue, I paused, thinking about the pain he might be trying to numb.
