PEYTON
Arriving at Roar early,I park beside Micah’s truck with a wide-stretched smile on my face. Neither of us gets here early to do anything untoward. But the free time with no eyes on us is nice.
Before heading inside, I walk the short distance to the mailbox cluster for the plaza, unlock the club’s postal box, and retrieve the mail. Thick stack of envelopes in hand, I hike my purse higher on my shoulder and enter through the employee door. Low-volume rock music plays from the speakers in the main room and floats down the hall. I drop the stack of mail and my purse on the desk and stroll out to the main area of the club.
Micah sets up the Bar Olympics, unaware of my presence. As I have on several occasions, I hang back at the edge of the hallway and watch him. Stare at his broad shoulders, thick arms, and dexterous fingers. Fingers that have clenched my throat and pinched my nipples. I swallow and drop my gaze to his trim waist and sculpted ass, snug in his slacks. An ass I have dug my nails into more than once. I lick my lips as he moves around with ease and an air of masculinity.
Oblivious to company, Micah is his true self. More laid back and effortless. Relaxed. No front or phony disposition. No flashy smiles or smart remarks. He is just… him.
And I love seeing this side of him. Love seeing him more himself. Quiet and focused and determined. It is a side not many get to see. Not even his family. I consider myself lucky I get the privilege.
“Gonna keep fawning over me?” he says, barely over the music, with his back to me.
Pushing off the wall, I walk in his direction. “What can I say? I was enjoying myself.” When I reach him, he sets the red plastic cups down and grabs hold of my hip. “How long have you been here?”
I rest my forearms on his shoulders and toy with his hair. “Not long. You?”
“Maybe thirty minutes.” He presses one, two, three chaste kisses to my lips.
Doing my best to behave, I don’t push for more. I will save that for after hours. “Need help?”
He kisses the tip of my nose, then steps back. “Sure.”
After the Olympics are set up, we both head to the office. Olympics night has become such a hit in the last few weeks, it ends up being an all-hands-on-deck-while-open event. Micah and I help out on the floor and behind the bar to keep the night flowing as smoothly as possible.
Micah shakes the mouse to wake up the computer as I start opening the mail. A few invoices and payments later, I come across an envelope addressed to Micah. There is a return address, but no company name.
“Here.” I hold the envelope out in his direction. “This is addressed to you.”
His forehead scrunches as his brows pull together. He takes the envelope and stares at the return address as if waiting for it to tell him the sender’s name. After a moment, he flips it over and tears at the flap. Takes out a folded piece of paper and flattens it out. He scans the paper but doesn’t move otherwise.
From where I stand, the words are unreadable. The typed letter appears brief with a printed logo on the top left.
Unable to bear the silence any longer, I speak up. “What is it?”
When he lifts his head and his starry eyes meet mine, I stop breathing. He looks as if he has seen a ghost. Skin gray, eyes dull, lips slightly parted. Frozen in fear.
Nausea rolls in my belly. Has me taking slow breaths and swallowing to settle the sensation. But until he answers, I know the feeling won’t vanish.
“Micah?” I walk around the desk and touch his shoulder.
He holds up the letter for me to take. “It’s from a clinic.” I glance down at the paper. “To take a paternity test.” Glassy eyes stare up at me in shock. His jaw shifts left to right, again and again. “Tomorrow.”
Oh shit.
How long has it been since the woman in the red dress set foot in Roar and claimed Micah fathered the baby in her belly? More than a month. Hell, closer to two months have passed. Her silence hadn’t made me forget her. But I had hoped she would take her accusation train somewhere else.
Who knows… maybe Micah was the easiest guy to pin down because she knew his workplace. Her other rendezvous may have been with random guys in clubs. And if no names were exchanged, she would have no way to find the actual father. Unfortunately for Micah, his job made him an easy target in this situation.
I take the paper from his hands and read it line by line.
Mr. Micah Reed:
This letter serves to notify you of a scheduled paternity test requested by Ms. Janine Vallons and her attorney, Kristin Montgomery, Esq.
The test will be performed at Life and Wellness Health Facility, Friday, August 5th at 12:00 p.m.
Please bring one form of government-issued identification and arrive at least thirty minutes prior to the appointment time listed to fill out paperwork.
Regards,
Life and Wellness Health Facility
“How the hell is it acceptable to give a person less than twenty-four hours’ notice?” I bark out.
Micah keeps his eyes trained on the desk and doesn’t say a word. I swipe the envelope up and look at the date stamp from the post office. Postmarked on Tuesday. Even if it arrived yesterday, the short notice is unprofessional and mind-boggling—especially by mail. I would love to give this facility a piece of my mind. But without knowing if it was them or the attorney acting through them, it would be uncouth of me to do so.
Frozen in place, Micah has yet to look up, react, or speak in regard to the situation. He needs time to process it all, but seeing him like this forms an empty pit in my stomach. But now is not the time to focus on how I feel. Now, I need to pour all my energy into Micah. Help him—us—get past this momentary road block.