Micah
Eli and Arlo are bent over the laptop doing their wizardry with numbers when I walk in after lunch. The two of them look as if they’ve been at this for hours. Better Arlo than me. Mathing isn’t my thing. The office smells of stale coffee and exhaustion. Evidence of their caffeine-fueled afternoon litters the desktop.
“Oh no, what’s wrong?” Arlo asks, glancing my way as I flop into one of the office chairs with a dramatic sigh.
“What? Nothing.” That is a total lie, but I’m annoyed and I don’t know Eli that well.
“You look irritated. What happened?” I think about staying silent, but honestly, it’s not that big of a deal.
“Does Suerte have any other expression besides broody grump? It’s impossible to get a read on that guy.”
“Wouldn’t smile for your social media stuff, would he?” Arlo asks.
“Of course not. Why would he give us lowly mortals a smile?” Sarcasm is my love language.
“He’s not hard to read,” Eli says a little too fast. “He’s just guarded. I’ve seen him smile before.”
Arlo and I exchange a glance as Eli turns pink all the way to his ears before he abruptly closes his laptop and packs it away in his worn leather briefcase.
“Anyway. Gotta go. I’ll give you a call later, Arlo.” Briefcase in hand, he gives us a quick wave, and then he’s out the door before we can pepper him with questions. I raise my eyebrows at Arlo.
“There’s a story there.”
“Most definitely,” Arlo says. “I’m completely done for the day. How about you?”
“Nothing left today. I didn’t get any good pictures this afternoon.” I make a face, and Arlo laughs.
Arlo shuts down his laptop, grabs his latest spy novel, and heads to the couch. I take out my sketchpad and meet him there. This is the best time of day, when we’re sprawled out on Tiernan’s old leather office couch, finally done with all our daily work. It’s surprisingly cozy. The muted thump of the bass from the gym’s sound system is the only disruption to our late afternoon calm.
“So, how’s the sex situation?” Arlo asks because he’s random like that. We’ve only been sitting for a few minutes.
“Seriously? That’s how you ask?” I raise my eyebrows at him.
He grins at me, mischievous and unrepentant. I’m halfway through another sketch of Nox. No, my “Troy fixation” hasn’t run its course. In fact, it’s worse, except now I save my obsessive drawing of his sexy body parts for after work. That way, no one sees them.
“If you must know, I’m horny and sexually unsatisfied. It’s annoying,” I huff out a breath.
I don’t talk about how it felt to have Troy’s arms around me, or about how it was the first time I’d felt truly safe. I don’t say that what I actually want is for him to look at me the way he did after sex, like I was something worth keeping. Sex is just easier to talk about.
“That’s on you. You can change that at any point,” he says with a wink.
I could. But putting myself out there like that? Nope. I doubt he’d be interested. Sure, it wouldn’t be the first time I’d heard “no,” but Troy’s always been more than just a hookup. What if he says no, and then I have nothing? Just the thought makes my chest ache.
We’re both silent for a bit until I finally get up enough courage to speak.
“Yeah, I know.”
“But …”
“You’re gonna make me say it aren’t you?”
“I’m not, but I think you might feel better if you do,” he says quietly.
“Fine—I like him. I like him, like him and it feels weird.” I bring my legs up and hug them to my chest, feeling exposed. Even though I’m way past ‘like’, that’s all I’m willing to admit to right now.
“Micah, you know that’s normal, right? For people like us.” The couch creaks as he leans toward me. We aren’t the picture of mental health, either of us. And that’s exactly the issue. Why the fuck would Troy want someone as damaged as I am.
“It doesn’t feel normal.” My lips twist into a grimace. Asking for what I want? Out loud? Even though the sex was phenomenal, it’s a tough call.
