Restless Night (Insomniac Duet 1)

PEYTON

Best night at work.Ever.

Reese and I walk out of Roar in a fit of laughter and clenching our stomachs. Every minute behind the bar with Micah tonight was nothing short of perfection. I bit my tongue so often it went numb. He fired round after round at me, but I restrained more than normal to get a rise out of him.

Each time I seemed unaffected by his words, his jaw flexed and face reddened. His response was quite intriguing.

Micah spends more time barking versus biting. Spends more time whoring himself around the club than caring about me or the staff. Tonight was different. Micah flashed a new side of himself. An anomalistic side.

The possessive, semi-protective side of Micah Reed made an appearance. And it has me seeing him in a new light. A light similar to the early days, before he jumped on the Triple M train and ruined my teen life.

Reese and I reach my car and I unlock it. “Food?” he asks as he unhooks my arm from his.

“Definitely.”

We agree to meet at our favorite twenty-four-hour diner near home. Once I crank the engine, Reese jogs over to his car and gets in. Within minutes, we drive over the bridge, crossing the Bay and wind through Clearwater.

The diner is busy as always. Bright lights shine down on worn booths and paper placemats with crossword puzzles, word searches, and hangman. A coffee mug full of crayons sits next to a napkin dispenser, salt and pepper shakers, sweetener packets, and a half-used bottle of ketchup on the table. Fresh brewed coffee scents the air with a hint of bacon grease and toasted bread. Mumbled chatter, the clinking of cutlery, and the cook calling finished orders echo throughout the dining area. The hostess, an older woman with a messy updo and a pencil behind her ear, hands us laminated menus.

“Andy will be over in a minute.” Then she resumes her position near the front door, rolling cutlery in paper napkins.

Don’t know why either of us reads over the menu, we always order the same thing. But we read the long list of greasy goodness anyway. When Andy arrives, Reese orders the western omelet with home fries and I get the two pancake breakfast with an egg, crispy bacon and hash browns. Decaf coffee for both of us. Andy takes our menus and waltzes off with exaggerated enthusiasm.

“He has it bad for you,” Reese says after the coffee carafe and mugs are left at the table.

I fill my mug and ignore the fact Reese refers to Micah. Grab a packet of raw sugar from the caddy, shake it, tear it open and add it to the coffee. Peel back the lid on two creamer pods and dump them in the mug. Stir with more noise than necessary, all while staring at the decaffeinated beverage and not Reese.

I lift the mug to my lips and blow on the surface. “What makes you think that?” The coffee sears my tongue but tastes like heaven.

Reese fixes his coffee how he likes, then stares at me as if to say, “You’re joking, right?” He doesn’t, though. “Let’s count them off, shall we?”

I roll my eyes so hard it causes ocular muscle pain. With a wave of my hand, I say, “If it makes you happy, enlighten me.”

For a moment, he leaves me hanging. Sips his coffee and holds my gaze with a hint of mischief. I white knuckle my mug and this makes him laugh.

“Fine,” he huffs out. “One, the man can’t keep his eyes off you. Literally. Every time I looked his way, his eyes were on you or us.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Micah stares at anything with boobs.

“Maybe not to you, but guys don’t look—not like he was—unless there is definite interest.” I shake my head and gesture for him to continue. “Two, the way he tries to steer you from men. It’s quite telling. Possessive.”

“You mean when he barks orders? That’s just because he’s an asshole.”

Reese sets his mug down and shakes with laughter. “No, my dear, sweet best friend. He barks at you, and only you, when you give other men attention. It’s his way of making you stop and telling the guy to back off.”

Why can’t men just be straightforward? Although I would still despise Micah, maybe the intensity of said hatred would be less if he were honest. Honesty says a lot about character. And when it comes to Micah, honesty may tip the scales in his favor. Slightly.

“Whatever you say. Still think it’s because he’s an asshole.”

Reese reaches across the table and lays his hand over mine. “Not denying that. But you should accept the fact he has a thing for you. Even if it makes your skin crawl, it doesn’t make it less true.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the server interrupts as he sets plates between us. My mouth waters and stomach grumbles. All thoughts of work and Micah and his possible infatuation with me go out the window as I dig in.

I stab the last bit of pancake, swipe it through the last of the yolk and bacon grease, then shove it in my mouth. So freaking good. Tonight, I will sleep solid. I swallow down the last of my coffee and we settle the bill.

“See you back home,” I tell Reese as we each get in our cars.

The drive home takes less than ten minutes. And some of the conversation with Reese at the diner rolls back in. I don’t know how to feel about any of it, so I shove it away for another time.

Reese parks in his space as I hop out of my car. Thankfully, neither of us has to be up early. Late nights/early mornings aren’t new to either of us, but Reese aims to be in bed—not sleeping—before midnight. I regularly tease him about his old man status.

Inside, we hug and go opposite directions at the end of the hall.

“Night, sunshine.”