“Do what?”
Micah stared at Cosmo’s lips and swallowed hard. “He treats you professionally, doesn’t he? He’s a good boss?”
“He’s always been good to me. I consider him a friend, honestly.”
It was hard to decide whether that answer was relieving or not. “How friendly of a friend?”
“Why are you asking this? Are you jealous? Because I get more than my fill of that from my ex.”
Micah put up his hands. “No, I’m sorry. I’ve just heard things about him, and I’m hoping that they aren’t true.”
“Are you certain you’re an artist?” Cosmo squinted at him, but an amused smile played on his lips. “The first thing I learned upon breaking into the art scene is that there are rumors about everyone. And that more often than not, the truth is far more outrageous than whatever gossip is slung at parties.”
“Does that apply to you?”
“No, in fact. Iamoutrageous, but what you see is what you get, darling. I don’t hide it.”
Micah gazed at Cosmo for a long moment. “I like what I see.”
Grinning, Cosmo linked his arm with Micah’s and leaned into him. They passed rose bushes, their footsteps echoing off the sidewalk. Micah lost himself in Cosmo’s touch, and when Identical Dog appeared on the corner, it seemed too soon.
They stopped at the lone car in the parking lot, and Cosmo turned to him. “Well, my attractive asexual colleague, this has been a hell of a bizarre evening, and I mean that sincerely.”
Now was the point where a date would squeeze Micah’s ass or stuff their tongue down his throat. But if Cosmo tried to shake his hand, that would be even worse.
Micah leaned in for a hug. Cosmo pressed his lips against his cheek, and it sent a spark through his nerves. Micah clutched his jacket and breathed him in.
“Take care of that hand. No more punching innocent balcony railings.” Cosmo stepped back.
“Looking forward to being weird with you again.”
A light flush tinged Cosmo’s cheeks, and his eyes sparkled. Footsteps clacked on the sidewalk behind them. Someone in a hoodie passed by. Cosmo’s smile faded, his expression wary, then he climbed into his car.
Micah waved as Cosmo pulled away. If a stranger on the sidewalk elicited that much suspicion from Cosmo, Micah was going to need to know what this ex-boyfriend looked like – just in case.
11
GAME ABOVE MY HEAD
Micah - Present Day
Something clattered within the studio.
Micah stood outside the open door at the dented balcony railing, a chilly morning wind licking at his ears. Goosebumps erupted on his skin; he hadn’t grabbed a sweatshirt, but it was too late to go back in. Having ghostly maintenance men pull up ghostly wood planking wasn’t panic-inducing, but it was damn annoying.
The disturbances weren’t going away – if anything, they’d gotten more prominent. Cosmo’s time travel idea seemed to be the right one, or at least close enough, which meant Micah couldn’t stay here any longer. Unearthing dusty memories of his conversations with Ximena when he’d been apartment hunting gave him a rough estimate of where the timeline was at. By his calculations, his past self would be moving into the studio in two weeks. He didn’t plan to cause himself more trauma than he’d already been through.
His phone vibrated. He scrubbed at his arms, then expanded the email notification.
Thank you for submitting your portfolio to Identical Dog. While your work is intriguing, it isn’t right for our gallery, so we’ll be stepping aside at this time.
He’d expected that, but he’d had to try. There were still four other galleries he was waiting on responses from. Wait. Another unread email sat in his box.
Thank you for letting Half-Empty Gallery review your portfolio! We’re going to pass! Good luck!!!
“Christ.” With a name like that, you’d think they’d be falling over themselves for his art.
No matter how beautiful Cosmo found Micah’s portraits, they weren’t going to help him come up with enough for a deposit on a new place unless he could get into a gallery and start selling his work... or get an hourly job. The odds for either weren’t looking good. Leaving the house had been an incredible struggle, and freelancing didn’t work well when he couldn’t bear to have a live model pose for him. For some reason, people who wanted him to draw a portrait from a photograph expected to pay him an insultingly small amount of money. He’d be stuck with more tedious landscapes that he couldn’t concentrate on with construction noises in the background.
