I don’t know how to respond to his sentiment. The compliment throws me off balance and makes me question what I have thought of him over the years. I may have started out the night with a charade, but it has opened my eyes slightly. It has shown me a side of Micah Reed I didn’t know existed. A softer side with gentle words.
“Well, my family would murder me in my sleep if I weren’t. So…” I shrug, drop my gaze to the table and toy with the corner of the napkin.
He laughs. “Mine, too.”
This grabs my attention. Makes me want to shake his shoulders and yell, “Well, they obviously don’t know everything about you.” But making a scene will open up a fat can of drama I don’t want, so I keep my thoughts to myself.
Before the air around us shifts to awkward, uncomfortable silence, the server steps up to the table with our food. Soon as my plate hits the table, I reach for my sandwich and chow down. The server drops one large and three small plates in front of Micah. He dives fork first into the biscuits and gravy before the server asks if we want drink refills. We both give a thumbs-up.
Odd to think, but it feels like tonight has been pivotal between me and Micah. Like we have reached the center of our book and the story is shifting. Flowing more smoothly. The tension has eased slightly and made room for something else. What that something is, I have no clue.
Not sure if I want to know.
The server returns with a fresh glass of juice and refills Micah’s coffee. After he steps away, Micah spears a sausage link on his plate, then points it at me.
“Don’t think just because food arrived we’re done talking.” Why not? I want to ask, but bite my tongue. “What do you do for fun?”
I would be an idiot to ignore his obvious attraction for me, now that I’m paying closer attention. Can’t exactly say Micah is hard on the eyes, either. Before he opened his mouth my freshman year, my black heart swooned over him. Hard. Then he crushed it with his words. Over and over again.
Now, though, he seems different. A bit more mature, if I discount our never-ending banter and his predilection for a new female every night of the week.
Are women what he does for fun? Fucks ’em and leaves ’em? I don’t picture him playing basketball with the guys or having a movie night with piles of junk food.
“What I do for fun would probably seem lame or old ladyish to you.”
He eats the last of the sausage off his fork. “Humor me.”
Micah Reed wants to know what I do for fun. Alright.
“Fun for me is curling up on the couch with a good book or movie. Maybe bingeing on my favorite ice cream and greasy takeout with a friend.” I sip my juice. “Working where we do, I don’t care about going out to party. What about you?” He tilts his head. “What is it you do for fun?”
Micah cuts into his French toast, dips the chunk in syrup, then brings it to his lips. For some idiotic reason, I follow the entire process with my eyes and salivate when he opens his mouth to eat it. I pray I don’t look like all the other women who fawn over him.
Last thing I need is him getting the wrong idea.
But he watches me with obvious interest. Watches as I bring my own food to my lips and distract myself from whatever it is that is happening. Is this some weird version of food porn? People who get off watching other people eat. A sexual fetish. Like “Hey girl, eat the toast next. Does it have butter? You like it all buttered up, don’t you?”
And now I have that stuck in my head. Fuck my life. Guess my dreams will be bizarre as hell tonight.
“A little bit of this. A little bit of that,” he says after a sip of coffee that makes his face scrunch. He grabs two packets of sugar and adds them to the cup.
“Vague much?” I point to the coffee he now stirs. “I like sweet stuff, but I think you have sugar issues.”
He waves me off. “Nah.” Another sip and his eyes blissfully close. “And maybe I like to be mysterious.” His brows waggle.
“Or… you don’t want people to see the real you.”
Across the table, he pushes scrambled eggs around his plate with a fork as a child would. Finding ways to avoid eye contact. Doing menial things to distract from the conversation at hand. Doing everything and anything to not own the truth.
“I let someone see the real me, as you call it.”
What? That’s it? Finally going to open up, then shut it down just as fast. Why am I not surprised?
“And?”
His brows pinch at the center as he forces out a breath. “And… she fucked a guy ten years my junior while she thought I was working. Except, I left work early that day. Thought it’d be nice to surprise her. When I walked in on them fucking, it was definitely a surprise.”
The teenage girl inside me wants to jump up, poke my finger in his chest and yell, “Ha! That’s what you get.” Maturity clears her throat and wags her finger. Damn maturity.
“Sorry that happened to you,” I tell him instead. “Can’t say I know what that feels like.”
“I don’t picture guys stepping out on you,” he mumbles, but I hear it clear as day.
True. No guy I dated has cheated on me. Two of my three serious relationships ended somewhat tragically. I believe all things happen for a reason, but I wish they could have happened differently. Death should never ever be the reason you lose love.
“So mysterious, Micah. Tell me what you do for fun.” I work to pass the somber mood.
“Relentless, aren’t you?”
I shrug. “A trait I’ve gotten good at over the years.”
He plucks a grape from his plate and pops it in his mouth. “Hang with buddies, I guess. Friends of mine get together on Sundays and we just bullshit and catch up. When the weather’s great, we hang at the beach. And the occasional gathering with the fam.”