Micah slid me a look I couldn’t decipher. “I don’t want a thousand blokes.”
“Well, not all at once. That’s beyond an orgy, eh?”
“If you say so. I’ve never had one.”
So the papers had lied about that too. I made a note in myMicah filesand, not for the first time, wished that I’d known absolutely nothing about him until he’d rocked up on my doorstep. It was so unfair. I had the privilege of privacy that he hadn’t had since he’d signed his life away as a football-mad teenager. He knew of me what I wanted him to.Iknew he was lucky to be walking at all. That he’d been sectioned for two weeks, and his entire family had disowned him. And he’d never told me a fucking thing.
I poured more coffee and changed the subject, wittering away about bullshit gossip from the bar until Micah ditched his phone and started to eat. As usual, a good feed cheered him up and brought him alive in ways that made dragging my tired self out of bed three hours before I wanted to totally worthwhile. The changes in him were subtle, but I saw them like beacons in the dark, lighting the way to his kind, funny, and clever soul. If only he knew how he made my heart skip. Actually, scratch that. I was glad he didn’t. Our friendship meant the world to me. Spoiling it because I couldn’t contain myself would be the worst thing that could ever happen.
To both of us.
After breakfast, he stretched and limped off to the bathroom. The shower turned on, and steam billowed out through the warped door he’d, as usual, neglected to close properly.
It took every ounce of restraint I possessed not to peek. I busied myself rinsing plates and stacking the dishwasher. Then I retreated to my room and crawled back into bed. I flicked the TV on and lost myself in an episode ofColumbountil a light tap roused me.
Micah stood in the doorway, dressed in sweats and a hoodie, hair still damp but effortlessly cool next to my grungy bedhead. “Got a client. Be back around four. What shift are you working?”
“Four to twelve.”
“Oh.” His cautiously open expression closed off. “I thought it was five.”
“It was, but someone needs to go home early from the lunch shift.”
“Why’s that your problem?”
“It’s not. But an extra few quid isn’t going to do me any harm. We haven’t all got millions in the bank, you know.”
“I haven’t got millions in the bank either. I spent it all on horses, coke, and escorts when I was living my best straight life, but thanks for the reminder.”
Gallows humour softened the punch of his words, but I felt the impact in my chest all the same. “Your best life is still out there. You just have to go somewhere other than the gym and the shithole I work at.”
“I like the gym, and I like where you work.”
I’d never quite understood why, on either count. The gym was the home of the devil, and Micah hated crowds and drinkers, so why he hung out at the Fox every weekend was a mystery to me. “You’re a freak.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. Text me if you need anything, yeah?”
“I will.”
He left and I followed his lead of taking a shower and getting ready for work. During the week, when Micah was home alone while I worked, I’d curse the fact that my job demanded such unsociable hours, but weekends were different, Saturdays and Sundays. I knew he’d come and see me.
Because he always did.
* * *
I glanced across the bar and stifled a laugh. Micah caught me and treated me to a rueful grin, but it was brief, his attention too in demand to be wasted on the likes of me.
Or, at least, that’s what the tipsy lady in the high heels and floaty skirt probably thought. I wasn’t her type. Too cute, according to her. And that was fine by me. As cougars went, she was sweet and nowhere near the worst the bar had to offer, but a woman’s beautiful body did nothing for me. I was gay, gay, and throw in a little more gay.
I wasn’t sure about Micah. Before his secret life of Grindr had been exposed to the world, he’d hit the gossip pages with a different girl every week—supermodels, pop stars, socialites. I knew he was bisexual, but I’d never got round to asking him how much of the rest of it was real, perhaps because I was scared of his answer.
A customer rapped his knuckles on the bar. I blinked, gaze flitting between him and Micah, who was now frowning at me as if I’d lost my mind.Whoops. Staring again.I snapped back into work mode and served the man his jug of ale and a pork pie. By the time I was done, Micah had escaped the clutches of the gin-soaked woman. He came to the bar. Two of my colleagues had clocked off for the night and were putting away a few sherbets before they went home. They eyed Micah as he settled in beside them but knew better than to try and engage him. Micah had no time for anyone who wasn’t me or Freddie. Not anymore.
The girls at the bar were talking about boys. Before Micah, I might’ve joined in, but now I just listened, smirking in the appropriate places as I polished glasses and studied Micah’s profile.
He was still in his gym clothes. His dark hair was dry now, and despite the chill in the air, he’d pushed his sleeves up, revealing the pocket-watch tattoo sleeves on his strong forearms. Micah had the best skin, smooth and light brown; I spent far too much time imagining how it would feel beneath my fingertips.
His glass was half-empty. I reached for it and jerked my head at the soda pumps. “Top-up?”
