“That’s sick.”
“I know. But it’s not my world anymore, so I guess it’s someone else’s problem.”
“If you really thought that, you wouldn’t give a crap how many Insta followers you have.”
“I don’t give a crap... anymore. I just thought it was interesting that none of them had the balls to disassociate themselves straight away and own their bullshit.”
I could think of more colourful terms for it, but Micah didn’t need my opinion on the state of the beautiful game or my opinion on Instagram. I was still enjoying his beer-loose tongue, though. And his closeness as he hunched ever further over the table. My skin tingled as heat seemed to radiate between us. I wished with all my heart that things were different, that I could close the distance between us and brush my lips over his. But if this was all we had forever, I’d take it. Micah wasmybest friend, and I needed him as much as he needed me.
We finished our drinks and escaped the pub before the temptation to buy more overcame me. Getting drunk with Micah was appealing for many reasons, but he didn’t get wasted anymore, and I didn’t want to be responsible for him hating himself in the morning.
I also didn’t want either of us to forget our convoluted conversations. I needed him to remember for the rest of his life that I’d always be there for him. And I needed to remember for the rest of my own that there’d been a wonderful, surreal moment when he’d wanted to kiss me. No hangover in the world was worth losing that.
We took a walk before heading back to my parents’ house. Micah had fallen in love with the sea, despite bitching about the cold. He stood at the sea wall and watched the stormy waves, his dark gaze dancing before he closed his eyes and leaned forwards, catching the spray in his face.
In that moment, he was so beautiful I wanted to weep. I could accept him not wanting to explore his feelings for me, but I couldn’t live with him believinghewasn’t worth it.
My hand closed around his arm before I knew what I was doing. He turned easily in my grasp, as if he’d expected my touch, and faced me. His lips moved, but no words came out. I traced my thumb over his bottom lip. He caught my wrist in a death hold but didn’t stop me. I stepped closer, drawn to him with impossible force. Irresistible. “Micah.”
“What, Sam? What do you want from me?”
“This,” I whispered. “Just once.”
I kissed him with the barest brush of my mouth over his. It was light as air, but the impact was like a speeding bullet. Breath left my lungs. I shuddered, shook my head, and pulled away.
But Micah still held my wrist in his vice-like grip. He yanked me back. Our chests collided and his gaze was fierce and velvet. “That’s not fair.”
“What isn’t?”
“That you got to kiss me without knowing I ain’t never put my lips on a bloke before you.”
With my brain addled by his closeness, it took me a moment to compute his words. “You’ve never kissed a boy?”
“Nah. I wasn’t into it. And I only ever kissed girls I thought I had actual feelings for. But, dude, you should know, I’ve had all-night dreams about kissing you.”
My legs felt weak. Without Micah holding me up, I’d have crumpled to the ground. “In your dreams, how did it go?”
“Like this.”
Micah kissed me, and it was light years away from the feather-light brush of lips I’d bestowed on him. He crushed us together, wrapping his arms around me in an embrace so tight and warm I couldn’t see how it could ever end. He drove his tongue into my mouth, searching, probing, his hands rough as they moved to my face.
A moan escaped me. I tangled my fingers in his short hair, desperate for purchase, but as the kiss went on and on and on, I found nothing to tie me down to the world. I was flying, and the prospect of crash-landing belonged to someone else.
10
Micah
“You want almond milk or regular?”
I stared at Sam like I had every morning he’d asked me that question for the last week. Every long-arse day since we’d shuffled home from his parents’ place up north. Whitby had been a surreal experience, but nowhere near as much as this—the eight a.m. stand-off when Sam got up and acted as though our great escape hadn’t happened.
It was beyond my brain to accept that he was behaving exactly how he’d promised he would: he was my friend, and nothing had changed. Becausefuck me, everything had changed. Now, as I watched him make porridge with the almond milk I’d jerked my head at, I wasn’t pondering its protein content or ignoring the fact that I had to leave the flat three times today to be a functioning adult. Instead, I was entranced by the fragment of bottom lip caught between his teeth and his deft hands. Reason told me this wasn’t new, that I’d been obsessed with him since day one, but kissing him had driven all reason away. Was it too much to wish we’d never come home?
“Micah.”
My internal monologue—which, to be honest, was boring even me—trailed off. Sam was scowling at me like a dude who’d said my name more than once. “Hmm?”
He rolled his eyes and slid a bowl of porridge loaded with bananas, honey, and seeds across the counter. “Eat your breakfast. Come on, I’ve got to get to college. I haven’t got time to spoon-feed you.”
