MICAH
HaveI stepped into another dimension? Either that or I am seeing shit. I rub my eyes and blink a few times.
No fucking clue.
Glass bottles clang against loud music as they get tossed in bins. Sweat mixed with perfume and alcohol floats through the air. Colored lights dance down from the ceiling and bounce over exposed skin and gyrating bodies.
Roar is in full swing, as busy as any other Saturday night, yet I don’t see or hear any of it.
Because Peyton fucking Alexander just smiled. At me. Smiled.
Has hell frozen over and I missed the memo?
“Can you hand me that jigger?” Her dainty finger points to the steel measuring device less than six inches from my hand. But I don’t move. She waves a hand in front of my spaced-out eyes, a bright as sunshine smile on her face. “Hello? Earth to Micah. The jigger.”
I shake my bewilderment away and hand it over. “Sorry.”
She doesn’t bitch or scowl. Nope. She simply laughs it off. “No worries. Thank you.”
For a moment, I scan down the bar and throughout the club. Looking for something else out of place. A camera, maybe. Or people watching us as this whole turn of events takes place. I wait for the shoe to drop. For everyone to burst out laughing at my expense.
But everything looks… normal.
Then a knife stabs me between the shoulder blades as realization hits. A thought I don’t want taking up residence in my mind, but would make sense, if true. Because, let’s face it, Peyton is an attractive woman. An attractive woman who left here with a guy last night. A guy I have never seen at Roar but swears he’s known her years.
Is Peyton happy because she hooked up with him?
My stomach churns and I turn my back on the bar. I grab the back counter and take shallow breaths with my eyes closed. Swallow down the bitterness on my tongue, the thick lump in my throat.
No woman, aside from family, has bent me out of shape. Has riled me up or tossed me to the wayside. But for some unknown reason, Peyton does. She spirals in like a tornado, tears my world up, then leaves me dazed in the aftermath.
Her combative side is one I enjoy, though. The unpredictability and sarcasm and tough as nails exterior. Where others may see her as a bitch, I see her as fierce. And damn if that doesn’t make me want her more.
But this…
A hand rests on my shoulder and I glance to see the owner. Of course. Peyton.
“You okay?” Her violet irises scan my eyes, my cheeks, my lips with an edge of concern. “You look kind of pale.” She hasn’t taken her hand off me yet and I don’t know if I should enjoy it or freak out.
“I’m fine,” I croak out, then clear my throat. “Just need some water. Probably something from dinner.” The lie rolls off my tongue with too much ease.
“Go sit in the back a minute. We’ll be fine.” Then her hand slides down between my shoulder blades and rubs small, gentle circles. I close my eyes and relish the touch until she removes her hand.
When I no longer feel the heat of her body near mine, I turn and exit the bar. I rush to the office, plop down in the chair, plant my elbows on the desk and my head in my hands. I take slow and steady breaths. In through my nose, out through my mouth.
What is going on? And why does this change in Peyton put me on edge?
Since the beginning, she has been nothing short of hostile toward me. Is it weird that her wrath is something I look forward to? After a year of working together, her malevolence is all I know.
Over the next hour, I occupy my mind with the staff schedule. Stare at the empty boxes on the spreadsheet and will them to fill in. Then I remember Ani asked for fresh ideas for the slower days. I switch my focus and zone out as I search the web.
A soft knock, followed by the office door opening, snaps me out of my incessant scrolling. Page after page and I still haven’t found worthwhile ideas to spruce up Mondays and Tuesdays.
I look up to see Peyton smiling near the door. As heart stopping as her smile is, seeing it so much in one night has me dizzy.
“Getting a little crazy out there. Might want to do your rounds and help Adam and Kaylynn after.”
Any other night, she would bark at me for slacking off. She would have stormed in here without knocking, stepped up to the desk, slammed her hands down, and bitched at me for not doing my job. But not tonight. Tonight, she offers suggestions and uses polite tones.
“Yeah, sure. Thanks for letting me know.”
“No problem.” And then she leaves and closes the door behind her. Quietly.
I make my way back out into the club and do my rounds. After I touch base with the last staff member on the floor, I weave through the crowded dance floor.
Working anywhere with high capacity, you have to be okay with random people touching, bumping, or engaging with you. It comes with the territory, no matter which role you hold.
But as people dance beside me, rub up against me, reach out for and grope me, my tolerance level vanishes.
The world shrinks and blurs. People appear out of nowhere and steal my air. The music booms louder and thumps harder. Sweat breaks out across my skin and my breath won’t come quick enough. My pulse whooshes behind my ears. The room spins and I wobble on my feet. I stumble out of the crowd and stagger sideways until I hit a wall. My stomach churns as I drop to the floor, shirt drenched.
And then she is there. Peyton. In my face. Holding my cheeks and yelling. But I don’t hear her. She shakes me gently and yells again. This time, the faint tones of her voice break through the white noise.
“Put your head between your legs, Micah.” My brow tugs together at her words. “It’ll help you from passing out.”
Oh. I nod and do as she says. Head between my knees, I close my eyes and breathe steadily. A chill hits my neck, but I don’t move. It feels good. Settles the pang in my chest and stops the constant flow of sweat. Fingers comb through my hair and a wave of comfort washes over me.