Céleste’s gaze burned with more questions, but she gestured for me to keep talking.
I took a deep breath. “I just don’t think he’s ready for what comes after the fooling around and wild declarations. He’s been through so much, I don’t think he trusts himself to love me or believes in himself enough to even try.”
“How can that be true if he’s already told you he loves you?”
“Because I’m paraphrasing all the shit he comes out with when he’s having a bad day.”
“And how often is that?”
“Recently? Not so much. At the start, it was all the time, but in the last week or so, things have been pretty perfect.”
“The glow.” Céleste nodded sagely. “I knew it. You’re happy, aren’t you?”
Was I? With the disquiet buzzing in my gut, I couldn’t be sure, but god, I wanted to be. “I’m trying,” I said. “It’s just... I don’t know. I guess I’m scared. I spent so long accepting he’d never want me the way I’ve always wanted him, maybe I’m having a hard time believing any of this is real. That it’s too good to be true.”
“Well, I think you’re being a whiny drama queen and totally disrespecting Micah by being so down on something that he clearly wants as much as you do.”
And there it was: the reason Céleste and I were friends. She had no time for introspective bullshit, and I knew I was about to get a brutal dose of her sharp tongue. “Go on.” I closed my eyes. “Do your worst.”
“You’re taking his insecurities and using them to cover your own.”
“Wow.”
“It’s true. You might be right about everything you’ve said about Micah, but have you ever considered that it all applies to you too?”
“I haven’t been through what Micah has. I have no good reason to be insecure and crippled with self-doubt.”
“So?” Céleste barked out loud enough to be heard in the next borough. “Who does? There isn’t an entry test for crappy self-esteem. Like, you don’t have to pass the personal tragedy exam.”
Oh my days, she was really going there. “I don’t have self-esteem issues.”
“No? Then why don’tyoubelieve in yourself enough to accept that Micah loves you? Sounds to me like you’re vibing off each other’s negativity, and if he’s as traumatised by what’s gone before as you say he is, maybeyou’rethe one who needs to fix it. I—”
The stockroom door opened, shoving me forwards. Andy, our much ignored and maligned boss, stuck his head in. “What on earth are you two doing in here? We’re getting slammed.”
Céleste moved seamlessly to a crate of tonic water. “We were on our way. Sam was digging out the Pepsi syrup before you pushed him over.”
Andy knew better than to argue. Céleste had torn him to shreds too many times to count. He ducked back to the bar, leaving me to load up with soda syrups we probably didn’t need, and got back to work.
It was another three hours before I left. I’d barely had a moment to consider the bollocking Céleste had given me, and the walk home didn’t gift me anymore headspace. But perhaps it was just as well. Overthinking had always been my downfall, anticipating problems that didn’t come, catastrophes that never happened.
I let myself into the flat. Micah was in the hallway wearing nothing but sweats and a smirk. I dropped my coat on the floor and beckoned him forwards.
He hesitated only a moment before he lunged at me, and as my back hit the door, I had to consider the possibility that perhaps Céleste had been right.
Maybe that sky fall wasn’t going to happen after all.
* * *
Micah
I pushed Sam against the front door, eager to kiss away the deep lines of thought he’d brought home. I was tired of being the reason his lovely face creased up. The only grimace I wanted to see from him was when I slid my cock inside him—
Whoa. I fought the image that flashed into my mind. Fucking Sam was the motherload. We weren’t there yet... were we?
Logic told me no way in hell. That every vow I’d made to myself in the last year—the sensible ones about not thinking with my dick—still held firm, but with Sam squirming in my arms, fighting to strip his clothes and mine, my body said something else.
I want him.
