"I was, actually," I say, pouring water into my mug. "Thatsofa under the window used to be my favorite spot."
"Still could be," he says, tapping the cushion next to him. "Plenty of room."
I make a sour face. "No, thanks. It's been permanently contaminated."
Sophia doesn't look up from her sketch but snorts a laugh. "He's been like this for an hour. I told him to put on pants before you walk in."
"And I told her," Micah says, gesturing vaguely with his glass, "art requires vulnerability."
"Uh-huh." I give him an unimpressed look. "And apparently zero shame."
He winks. "Comes with the muse, sweetheart. Lu never paints me with clothes on."
I roll my eyes, but my lips twitch despite myself. "Tell your girlfriend I said thanks for the free peep show."
"She knows." He shrugs. "She told me to hold the pose till you walked in. Something to make you feel better."
I tip my head, raising a brow. "I bet she didn't. And you're disgusting, you know that?"
Micah shrugs, lounging deeper, adjusting the only thing that exists in his world—yeah,his balls.
I roll my eyes with a loud sigh.
Not a bad guy, really. A world-class slut, absolutely—his body count is in the hundreds. But then again, most of Lu's friends are a bit "Aquarian," as she puts it.
The other night, we all got drunk and I finally understood why Lu keeps him orbiting her life after all these years, when he'sbeen breaking her heart.
They met in art school—two prodigies with too much talent—and when her ex, Michael, who turned out to be a bona fide psycho, cornered her outside the studio, Micah broke his nose, right there on the pavement, didn't even blink.
After that, he kept saving her in ways no one asked him to. Showing up when she didn't call. Fixing things no one else noticed were broken. The kind of loyalty you can't explain because it doesn't make sense—especially between people who pretend not to believe in it.
She never told me all of it and I think it's because she doesn't want to admit she loves him and secretly cries for him a lot, but after hearing it, I got it. I glanced at him across the table, shirt half-open, those smug eyes, and I thought,Okay, maybe he isn't so bad.
Sophia looks at me beneath her glasses and her expression softens. She's a great opposite to Micah—sweet, down to earth. Literally the nicest person I've ever met.
"How are you feeling today, Emma?" she asks.
I do a side-to-side headshake. "Getting there."
"You don't have to say you're getting there if you're not." She gives me an understanding smile. "But I think you should get out of the room more often, sit with us more. Even if he's being excessively nude."
Micah opens his mouth to say something, but she silences him with a flick of her hand, then turns back at me. "Do you want me to make tea? Or braid your hair? I plucked new daisies from our garden. You'd look beautiful."
I give her the most broken smile in the history of mankind. "No, Sophia, but thank you."
Micah glances between us, the teasing gone for a flicker. "For what it's worth, whoever made you feel this shit should be publicly flogged. Or smacked with my dick."
I clutch my head and shake it. "Oh god, no, Micah. That would definitely not end well for you."
His brows flick up, intrigued. "Oh, is he feisty?"
I roll my eyes, but for some stupid reason answer. "Yeah. Very. The kind of feisty that argues in complete sentences while pinning you against a wall."
Micah whistles and puts away his wine. "Shit, no wonder you're ruined."
I shoot him a glare. "Mm. Thanks for reminding me."
He shrugs. "I'm just saying—had that type. Tough to forget. Wait..." His brows lift. "It's the guy from the exhibition?"
