“Nope. This one,Frankenstein, andA Streetcar Named Desire.”
Micah looked suitably unimpressed, but that was his general expression for everything. After I’d met him and agreed to rent him my spare room, I’d looked him up on YouTube. Watched football videos and read tabloid articles about him. The gossip sites were the worst—the wild-eyed photos and sleazy poses with faceless women. In Micah the football player, I saw a man living his dream, even if that dream was something he no longer believed in. The man in the tabloid photos was an empty soul I didn’t recognise.
“What’s it about?” Micah asked.
“Two boys living in Afghanistan. At least that’s how it starts. They’re childhood friends who fly kites together. One is the son of a wealthy man, the other the son of the wealthy man’s servant.”
“What are the... fuck, I’ve forgotten what they’re called. The things you write on that whiteboard?”
“Themes?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Themes.”
“Guilt and redemption, mostly.
“Redemption?”
“Uh-huh. You wanna read it?”
“Nope. I’ll watch the film with you if you can promise me you’ll stay awake till the end.”
The prospect of spending an extended amount of time huddled on my shitty couch with him was enough to keep me awake for a week. “If I promise you that, will you go and pick an actual book off the shelf and take it home?”
“Are you going to sit me at the kitchen table and make me read it?”
“If we had a kitchen table, yes.”
“Why are you so obsessed with me reading books?”
“I’m not obsessed with anything.”Except you.And the truth was, I wanted Micah to read so he had the privilege I’d been gifted the moment I’d picked up my first Judy Blume book, the gift of leaving my life behind to live that of a thousand others. Not that my life had been particularly bad, but Micah’s had, and he deserved respite from his own head. From whatever made his eyes dark and his pillowy lips pull down. “I’ll watch the film with you.”
Micah nodded. “Deal, and as payment for me picking out a different book, you can come to the gym with me in the morning.”
Fuck. My. Life.
* * *
Micah
I honestly had zero intention of dragging Sam from his warm bed on a cold February morning and hustling him down the gym. It was just that banter with him was so fucking healing, I let it get out of hand.
Which was how I found myself lurking in his bedroom doorway at dawn the next day, watching him sleep.You’re such a creeper.
Facts. But I couldn’t make myself move, and, for once, my stiff leg wasn’t to blame. My obsession with Sam was all in my heart, and no matter how hard I tried to get over it, the rush of feels I got every time he looked my way only seemed to grow.
Not that I understood it. I mean, Sam was amazing, so I got that, but what I didn’t get was why he affected me so much. Until him, the bloke side of my sexuality had been all about sex, an itch that had to be scratched or I’d lose my fucking mind. Any real feelings—and they’d been pretty damn rare—had been for women, for the girlfriends I couldn’t seem to keep for more than a hot minute. And even then, I’d never been drawn toanyonethe way I was to Sam. He’d put a spell on me or some shit.
“Sexuality is complicated, you know that. Stop trying to put yourself in a box. Or at least build your own box, man.”
Sam shifted in his sleep as the only sensible conversation I’d had with Dom since the accident echoed in my head. I wished I’d talked to him more, but at the time, it hadn’t seemed fair to drop my troubles on him when he’d done so well at escaping his own.
“Micah?”
I blinked. Sam was awake and staring at me, though it was hard to tell if he was conscious enough to know which way was up. Sometimes it took him a while. “Sorry. Was gonna hustle you to the gym, but you looked too cute.”
He rubbed his face. “I’m awake. I can come.”
“Nah. Sleep. I’ll bring you something from the bakery.”
