Restless Night (Insomniac Duet 1)

PEYTON

“Hang out with me tonight.”

“At Teddy’s?” I ask, unsure what his definition of hanging out entails.

Micah shakes his head. “We can get food, but that’s not what I mean.”

I seriously hope after one kiss—a really fucking great kiss—Micah doesn’t think I will sleep with him. No doubt the man holds me captive with his looks alone. But I am not like one of the floozies he has taken home time and time again.

Never once have I given up the goods easily. I make men work for more. Make them woo me and prove their loyalty. One and done is not my style. Never has been, never will be. And Micah Reed will not change this.

“What do you mean?”

A small step brings him close enough to touch. His eyes drop to my shoulder as he reaches up and toys with the end of my ponytail. “Come back to my place.” I wince. “Or yours. The place doesn’t matter. I’ll order pizza and we can watch a movie.”

From point A to B in no time. For a short time, he had me fooled. Had me believing he could be more than a douchebag. The occasional brush of his skin on my arm. Confessions in softer tones. The way his eyes searched mine—deeper, harder. Guess I read the signs wrong. Read him wrong.

“Um.” I stall a moment to find the right words to let him down. “Not sure what you thought would happen tonight after that.” I point toward the office. “But I don’t hook up.”

Bright, wide eyes fly up and take me captive. “Peyton, that’s not what I meant. Wasn’t my intention to suggest—”

“Then tell me your exact intention.”

He takes another step closer. A knee comes between mine and knocks them apart. Heat licks my skin—could be his, but I know it comes from within. With each erratic breath I take, he inches closer. Close enough to taste, but I fight the urge. Remind myself we are at work. And kissing Micah behind the bar is not a good idea.

“Pizza, a movie and you sitting on the couch. Believe it or not, I can behave. May take a bit of effort, but it’s possible.”

No sex. Possibly no making out. Sounds like a solid plan. Although kissing Micah again, away from prying eyes, is definitely on the to-do list. Not that I plan to share this news. For now.

Dinner and a movie and couch time with the man I just kissed. The first man I kissed in more than a year. And damn, what a kiss it was. One for the record books.

If I agree, will either of us keep our hands—and lips—to ourselves? Better yet, which of us will cave first?

“Okay, I’ll hang out. But the moment you start sneaking bases, I’m out.”

Micah tips his head back and laughs. The rumble loud and deep and unrestrained. Has he ever laughed like this around me? Not to my recollection. But I love the way it shakes his frame. The way his throat reddens and his Adam’s apple bobs.

“Noted.” He fetches the broom and starts sweeping behind the bar. “Let me know where you want pizza from? I’ll order when we leave and pick it up on the way.”

“You got it, starlight.”

Over the next half hour, we do all the end-of-night tasks. Jake leaves once he wipes down the tables and stools, then cashes out. After Micah takes the tills to the office, we do one last sweep of the club and shut everything down.

On the way to our cars, I tell him where to order my ham, pineapple, garlic and onion pizza from. He makes a face but doesn’t insert his opinion. Smart man.

“Mine or yours?” he asks.

My mouth goes dry. I work to hide my sudden need to excessively swallow. “Yours,” I choke out.

The hint of a smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll text you my address, in case we get separated. See you in a bit.” Then, as if second nature, he presses a chaste kiss to my lips before going to his truck.

His truck starts up, but he doesn’t leave the lot until I drive off. For most of the drive from Tampa to Clearwater, we ride in line with each other or side by side. I feel like a fool with this painful smile stretching my face most of the ride. But no one sees or judges it. So, I leave it in place as the wind whips my hair and the radio plays loud rock tunes.

When I hit the first red light after crossing the Bay, I plug Micah’s address into the map app and connect it to the car audio. After I turn off the main road, I scope out the area. This stretch of town is slightly unfamiliar. The map tells me to take the next right.

My brows pinch in the middle. I cross this exact street almost daily. A couple miles down the road.

A left turn, then another right. “Your destination is on the right,” the navigation announces.

I park on the street and stare out the window at a quaint house. The streetlight one house down illuminates the yard more than the dual lamps on either side of the garage. From the front, the khaki and rich green house appears small. But the extended roofline past the tall wood fence indicates otherwise.

A tall oak, with a trunk too round to hug, occupies a hefty section of the yard to the left of his driveway. Thick branches with lush foliage extend over the house, driveway, and street. On the right of the driveway, white flowers highlight two mature crepe myrtles.

A short distance from the left of the garage, three small steps lead up to a screened-in porch. Soft white light brightens the lanai enough to see a wood bench swing at the end, pair of Adirondack chairs and small table.

As I lean forward and squint to see the flowering shrubs along the porch front, headlights flash in my rearview mirror. I lift a hand to shield the light and drop it as Micah’s truck turns into the driveway.

I open the car door and Micah jogs over before I step out. “The street isn’t busy, but it’s probably best to park behind me.”

“’Kay.”

In the thirty seconds it takes me to start the car and park in his driveway, my body sprints into panic mode. Sweaty pits, clammy hands, stomach in knots. The whole shebang.

Before I exit the car, I remind myself Micah and I have already hung out. Eaten after work a couple times. I joined him and his friends at a get-together. Hell, I kissed the man like no other only hours ago.

So why the sudden freak-out?