Caveman (Wild Men 1)

“Micah isn’t here today,” Rafe the lion-man says. “Want to leave a message for him?”

“Is he okay? Is he sick?” And now I sound like his mother. Crap.

Rafe cocks his head to the side, his eyes crinkling. “He didn’t say.”

Why am I still concerned? I only just saw him yesterday, and he looked fine. But there’s something about Micah—his color, his face, his face—that feels familiar and troubles me.

“Can you give me his phone number, then?” I ask. “He has something of mine.”

The blue-haired guy comes out of his booth and winks at me. The cerulean hue of his T-shirt matches his head. “I wonder what that might be.”

Someone I can’t see whistles from the back of the shop.

“None of your business,” I say, my teeth clenching, and turn to go. “Thank you for your time.”

“Wait,” the blond guy says. “Ocean says Micah knows you.”

I stop and give him a level look. “Yes.”

“Do you think he’s sick? Did he seem sick to you?” He blinks his amber eyes at me, a crease forming between his brows, and I realize he’s concerned, too.

Why would he be concerned that Micah is sick?

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I just want to see him. And he does have something of mine.”

He nods quickly. “I’ll give you his address. But you’d better not leave dead animals on his doorstep or harass him, are we clear?”

I open my mouth and close it. He’s kidding me, right? But not a muscle moves in his face, so I can’t tell. Who is this guy?

He writes a few words on a piece of paper and holds it out for me without another word.

“Thanks.” I take it and glance at the address.

“It’s really close,” Ocean says.

A quick look goes between the two of them, one I can’t decipher. It doesn’t matter what they think, if they think I sleep with Micah or whatever—though the thought of sleeping with Micah makes my skin prickle and my heart pound with excitement. A pulse starts between my legs and heat spreads inside me.

Clutching the paper with his address in my hand, I hurry out as fast as my feet can take me.

Ocean was right. Micah’s address isn’t far from the tattoo shop, just a few streets down, and then I’m standing in front of his building, wondering if I’ve gone nuts. Who says Micah wants to see me?

The walking stick, I remind myself. That’s what I’m here for. I’ll just ask for it, take it and be on my way.

Simple. Easy. My pulse shouldn’t be so loud in my ears.

It’s only concern, I tell myself. This Rafe guy was worried, too, so I’m not alone in this, which only serves to double my anxiety.

Which is ridiculous. And I should stop.

Taking a deep breath, I ring the bell. And wait for a while. No sound comes from behind the door. I shift from foot to foot and cast a glance over my shoulder at the dark landing. Two more doors loom in the dimness. One of them is missing a number.

Quiet.

I ring the bell again, and when nothing happens, I check the piece of paper. I’m at the right place. Maybe Rafe made a mistake? Or maybe Micah is not in.

Just when I’m about to turn and go, I think I hear footsteps and push the paper into the pocket of my jacket. I lick my lips, my nervousness returning.

The lock creaks and the door slides open. “Yeah?” a hoarse male voice says, and I catch a glimpse of a suspicious blue eye through the opening.