As he stood, adrenaline engulfed him. His mind screeched warnings of danger. He stopped, feet rooted to the carpet. His heart hammered against his ribs, eyes wide as he tried to understand where this feeling was coming from. He hadn’t even opened the door yet.
She was going to step inside. He’d turn his back to grab the painting, and she’d walk inside without being invited.
Though that fear always lurked in the back of his mind, this wasn’t paranoia. It was that sense of what Cosmo called “presque vu.” It had already happened to Other Micah inhisuniverse.
The knock came at the door again, and Micah broke from his trance. He grabbed a nearby easel, propped it near the door, and set the painting on top. Sensing when something about the future wasn’t quite lining up the way it should didn’t seem like much more than an interesting party trick, but if it saved him a panic attack, he was going to relish in the power.
Shaking out his hands, blew out a slow breath and opened the door. The client stood on the balcony, smiling sweetly with her purse clutched in her hands.
“Hi. How are you?” Hopefully his grin didn’t look as unsteady as it felt.
“I’m fine, thank you. Is that it behind you? I can’t wait to see it in person.” She put a hand on the doorframe and stepped on the threshold.
Micah’s nerves vibrated, his mind shrieking out a chorus ofNo! Bad! Go away!“I’ll bring it outside. It looks so much better in natural lighting.” He picked up the landscape, then tried to angle it to fit out the door, but the corner bumped into the wall. “Shit. Hang on, I–”
The woman stepped onto the carpet, reaching. “Let me help.”
“No!” The edge of the canvas rammed against the doorframe as he widened his stance, trying to block the doorway with his body.
The woman recoiled, pressing herself into the balcony railing.
He turned the painting and slid outside with it, then he strained to reach his doorknob. The canvas slipped from his grip, and he fought to catch it before it hit the ground. The client yanked it from his hands.
God, this whole ordeal was terrible from start to finish. Micah snatched the knob and slammed the door shut, then turned to the client. “Sorry about that. It’s a little unwieldy. I didn’t damage it, did I? If I did, I can fix it.”
She held up the painting, angling it from side to side. “It looks okay. But that’s why I was going to help you.”
“I appreciate that, but I’m only halfway done chopping up my neighbor and fitting him into a duffel bag.” The laugh that came out of his throat sounded deranged. “It’s a real mess in there right now.”
Color drained from the client’s face, and she tightened her grip on the painting.
“That was a joke.” Cosmo would have been amused. But Cosmo wasn’t a soccer mom who commissioned paintings of barns in grassy fields. Micah cleared his throat. “Sorry. My humor is getting a little too in the spirit of the season.”
The tension in the woman’s face relaxed. “Right. Halloween is coming up.” She forced a chuckle, then pulled a wallet out of her purse. “I bet you’re great at scaring the trick-or-treaters.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been disfigured that long.”
“Oh, no.” Her eyes widened. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
He really needed to get better at self-deprecating jokes. “That was a–”
“I just mean because you’re an artist, and creative people always have great costumes and decorations, right?” She pulled a stack of hundreds from her wallet and furiously counted through. “And if you like Halloween, then you probably get really into it. But if you’re embracing how you look for a costume, then that’s great. I think that’s commendable. Uh, not that you look scary. You look… You’re very talented, and the painting is beautiful.” She pressed the hundreds into his hand. “There’s one extra there. It’s a tip because… You’re very talented.”
She hefted the painting, waving off his offers of assistance, then hurried down the stairs.
That went well.
After heading back inside and locking the door, he stopped at the bathroom mirror and forced himself to look at his reflection. He’d never been great at selfies, and the only pictures of him after the assault were taken by the police.
This look had worked for Bowie, though. Micah pulled off his sweatshirt, tamed his hair, then held up his phone. He snapped a few photos, then cringed as he scrolled through the gallery. Delete, delete, delete.
Opening Flashbulb, he navigated to Cosmo’s profile. His stomach fluttered at the sight of the most recent photos. They were taken when he and Cosmo had watchedHellraiser. Micah’s face wasn’t in the Flashbulb pictures, but there were his fingers, intertwined with Cosmo’s. There was Cosmo, his head resting on Micah’s shoulder.
He scrolled down and sucked in a breath. Cosmo had posed in Micah’s sweatshirt, pouting for the camera with a hickey clearly visible on his neck. Three hundred likes and so many comments.
As many lewd replies populated the post as Cosmo’s others, and he left just as many kiss emojis in reply, but his comments had taken on a viciously snarky edge.
Someone wrote:You’re taking up too much room in my spank bank.Cosmo replied,Consider this a cease-and-desist, darling. Give your poor meat a rest.
