Dean’s mouth twitches. “As if she wouldn’t.”
Sadie rolls her eyes. “He’s doing this thing now. The protective boyfriend thing.”
Dean shrugs. “Don’t hate the player.”
Mikey snorts. “We all hate the player.”
Sadie laughs, then hugs me. “Okay. Have a good week. We’ll see you soon.”
“Soon,” I echo.
Dean gives Mikey a look, a brother-to-brother, unspoken meaning. Then he’s gone, pulling Sadie with him, the door clicking shut behind them. And suddenly, it’s quiet. Not awkward quiet. Just, aware quiet. The kind that makes you feel every inch of space between you and the other person.
Mikey doesn’t move right away. He stands near the living room, hands on his hips, gaze drifting toward the windows likehe’s giving me time to acclimate. Or giving himself time to decide what version of him to be. Finally, he clears his throat. “You hungry?”
“I could eat,” I admit with a nod.
He nods like it’s a relief. “I ordered some Chinese. It’s on the counter.”
I follow him into the kitchen area. It’s modern but warm. Dark cabinets, clean lines, a few mismatched mugs on hooks, like he’s not trying too hard to appear like a person who lives here. The island is wide enough for two people to sit with space between them. We eat standing at first, then Mikey pulls two stools out.
“So,” he says, ripping open a packet of chopsticks. “First week at the new job. How bad was it?”
I take a bite and exhale. “It was a lot.”
“Like, ‘I might die’ a lot or ‘I’m fine but I’m not fine’ a lot?” He grins after the question.
I blink. His tone is teasing, but the question is too accurate to be purely joking. “Second one,” I admit.
Mikey huffs a laugh. “Yeah. That tracks.” He reaches for his drink, and my gaze drops automatically. Water. I notice. Again. Like I’ve been noticing everything about him lately.
“You’re not drinking,” I observe.
His eyes flick to mine. A beat of hesitation. Then he shrugs. “Trying something new.”
“Why?”
It’s a simple question. It doesn’t feel simple when it leaves my mouth. Mikey’s jaw tightens slightly, like he’s deciding whether to deflect. He doesn’t. “Because I don’t want to be the guy who only exists when he’s buzzed.”
The words hit something in me, something that’s been suspicious and searching since the moment I met him. I tryto keep my face neutral. Professional and calm. But my heart flutters under my rib cage.
We eat in silence for a few minutes, the quiet threaded with something that isn’t discomfort. It’s attention. It’s the sensation of being seen. I set my chopsticks down and glance around again, letting my gaze take in the living room from this angle; the enormous couch, the clean lines, the warmth of the brick. The dark color palette that still feels strangely inviting.
“This is comfier than I expected,” I reveal.
Mikey’s mouth curves. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I expected…” I trail off, searching for the right word.
“A dump?” he supplies.
I grin despite myself. “A man cave.”
He laughs, low and warm. “It is a man cave.”
“It definitely has some boy touches,” I add, nodding toward the gaming setup.
“Boy touches?” he repeats, his eyebrows hiking up.
