“Hey now.”
“You taste like soft, sweet-fleshed grapes, pounded and fermented into a vintage wine. There’s just enough tartness and bite to your kisses to make me lightheaded.”
“Being fermented isn’t really my kink, but I am enjoying the metaphors.”
A faint ringing came from somewhere nearby. Cosmo pulled out his phone. Dozens of Flashbulb messages and likes filled the notification bar.
Let me eat your
Take some pics without the sweatshirt. Take some without the clothes.
Cosmo scoffed and swiped the comments away.
“Something wrong?” Micah asked.
“Just people being gross on my Flashbulb photos.”
“That seems to happen a lot. Uh, not that I’ve scrolled through all your pictures.”
“They’re just jealous I’m seeing someone new.”
“As they should be,” Micah said. “We just can’t let anyone know you’re dead, or I’ll get charged with necrophilia.”
Cosmo slid backward until his ass was on the carpet, the cold metal of the threshold leaching into his thighs. “I suppose we can keep that detail to ourselves.”
Micah eyed Cosmo’s backside inside the apartment, then scooted back himself, just a little. “You’re still wearing my sweatshirt, I see.”
“You can’t have it back.”
He grinned. “Wasn’t going to ask.”
Cosmo scooted back a little further, and Micah matched him. He glanced back at the living room they were slowly making their way into. Panic flashed in Micah’s eyes. He swallowed, his breath shallow, and said, “I can’t do any more right now.”
They were technically both inside the apartment, only their lower legs on the step beyond. Cosmo lay back on the carpet and tugged Micah down with him. “Can we stay like this for a moment?”
Micah trembled, his chest heaving. He stared at the ceiling like his gaze was the only thing holding it in place. “Okay.”
“You squeeze my hand if you need me to leave but can’t get any words out.”
Fingers twisted loosely through Cosmo’s, and Micah clamped his eyes shut. “Thank you for helping me.”
“Of course.”
“I think I’m going to need more help. It’s about the gallery event. You stuck your neck out for me and I don’t want to let you down, but I – I’m worried I won’t do my best.”
He couldn’t tell if Micah was afraid his artwork wouldn’t come out well, or if he meant he was out of practice with the networking aspect. Before Cosmo could ask, a phone rang again. Micah’s finger tickled his palm, and he said, “Sounds like my phone. Be right back.” He stood, then crossed through the living room and walked down the hall.
Cosmo stepped outside and leaned against the doorframe. He could handle schmoozing potential clients at the gallery on Micah’s behalf. It might make Micah seem more intriguing, this incredibly talented artist too intent on his figure drawing of Night Gallery’s gallerist to pause and talk to onlookers.
The ringing grew louder. A pillow slid off the couch and crashed into a stack of dishes that Cosmo was certain hadn’t been there a moment ago. He blinked and did a double take. Micah lay on the couch, adjusting the blankets drawn up around him. His hair was a greasy tangle, and he had several weeks of beard growth.
What in the world? “Uh, Micah?”
Cosmo meant to call this timeline’s Micah, but the doppelganger on the couch stirred and rubbed his eyes. “Hello?”
A voice drifted, and someone else materialized out of nothing and entered the room.Another Micah? There were three of them inside the apartment now? Wait, no. This man was so similar he could almost be a twin, but he was taller, there was a faint shot of gray at his temples, and his features and glasses were slightly different. It had to be Micah’s brother.
Everett squeezed Other Micah’s shoulder. “I’m gonna order takeout. But I’ll tell the delivery person not to knock. Have them leave it on the step and text me that it’s here.” He bentdown and picked up the dishes on the floor. “Bet your landlady wants these back.”
