by Brandy Ayers
She sucks in a gasp, her hand flying to her chest.
“I don’t give a shit how much your fucking miracle face mask costs, or what new designer you’re wearing, or how many selfies you have Instagram. You treat people as commodities. You did it to me in college, and you’ve never stopped. I’m done. I’m not some insecure girl sitting around waiting for your approval anymore. Fuck your approval. I don’t need it. Someday, you are going to be given a dose of your own medicine, and when that happens, I hope it stings.” I don't bother waiting around to see her reaction. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter in my life anymore.
Even though I barely know him, some voice in the back of my head tells me Micah does matter. He matters a lot. I need to find him and apologize for Lacy’s atrocious behavior.
I barrel out the door, looking left and right down the sidewalk. My heart sinks down into my roiling stomach when I can’t find him, but then a shift in the shadows draws my attention. Just beyond the reach of the street light is the biggest, kindest, and most intense man I’ve ever met. The only reason I noticed him is the light bouncing off his white shirt as he sucks in deep breaths. Trying to calm himself I’m guessing.
I kick off my shoes, because running in them would be impossible, and race toward him, weaving around the people milling about on the busy sidewalk. The slapping of my feet on cement is covered by the raucous laughter of bar hoppers, so Micah doesn’t hear me as I approach.
Without thinking, I leap on him, wrapping my arms around his neck. It could be the shock, or the anger I know must be coursing through him after being looked down upon by someone like Lacy, but his arms stay by his side.
“That was my college roommate. Please don’t judge me by her. I’ve tried to keep the friendship going, but lately, a gentle, feminist, alpha giant has opened my eyes to how I might have been acting more like her.”
A little of the tension in his shoulders melts, and his hands come up to grip my hips.
“I didn’t like what I saw after I left your class last week. I looked at myself after you handed me my ass and realized hanging out with people like Lacy has rubbed off on me. I’m making changes. I don’t know if the person I’m trying to be will be someone you like either, but I hope you’ll give me a chance.” I let my body slide down his, my feet planting on the sidewalk. The knots in my stomach form even bigger knots as I chance a glance at his face.
Under normal circumstances, Micah has a slight smile that curls the corners of his mouth. Now those lips are a firm straight line, his chin and jaw hard, clenched. Despite all that, the slight warmth in his eyes as he looks down at me strikes a spark of hope in my belly.
“What I think doesn’t matter. I’m nothing to you, just a man you’re writing about.” Micah removes his hands from my body, shoving them into his pockets instead, but I can tell they are fisted even though I can’t see them. The muscles in his forearms twitch with the strain of the tight grip.
“I know you’re supposed to just be a man with a story that I’m writing, but you're special. I’ve admired most of the people I interview in one way or another. But with you, it’s more than just admiration.” The thoughts come tumbling out before I can roll them around in my brain, editing them into a cohesive statement. Words push against each other, instead, wanting to make themselves known to this man first.
“And yes, part of that is attraction, not just because you’re big and solid and handsome in a way I rarely see anymore. But also, because you are smart and funny and obviously care about your family and clients. And I assume your friends too. So, I do care what you think. Even if you only ever want to be a man I once interviewed, which I hope isn’t the case.
“I made such a horrible first impression, part of me wants to make up for that and show you that underneath the mask I might wear to work and in public, really, I am just a woman that wants to put good in the world and write about things I believe in, and that I care about my family and readers. I want you to see beyond the surface I’ve shown the world. But I also hope you can see me as a woman. Maybe even an attractive woman who, despite our less than stellar introduction, you could picture yourself with me in some way. Whether that is friends or lovers or more, I don’t know. I just know I’ll never forgive myself if you walk away from our interactions thinking I’m a spoiled brat who doesn’t see the real inside people. Inside you. Because I do, and I want to see more.”
Micah cuts off my rambling by gripping my hips again, pulling me a step closer so only an inch separates our bodies. I try to press in even closer, but that same tight grip he pulled me in with keeps be planted where I am.
“I don’t think it's possible for a man on this earth to not see you as an attractive woman. A knock out is what Pete called you, and he was right. Don’t doubt that.” Micah hunches down a little so we are looking eye-to-eye. “I don't know which version of you to believe. The stuck-up judgmental reporter who showed up that first day? The vixen who tempted me with every move earlier tonight? Or the playful, sassy girl I've been dying to get my hands on all night? I want to believe it is some combination of the last two. But I really don't think even you know. You say you've been hiding behind a mask, but there is no way for me to know for sure which is the mask, and which is you.”
"And you're not willing to stick around and find out?" Sadness like I've never known folds me in its cold arms. I wish I had met Micah under different circumstances. Maybe years from now after I've figured all this out for myself. But would I have ever even taken a better look at myself if it hadn't been for him? I don't know, and not having that answer rankles.
"Marci, I go into every single experience with a woman thinking there could be a future. I don't do casual. I go in head first with complete tunnel vision. That is why I've only been with three women. Putting my heart on the line to that degree only to be let down is hard. I'm man enough to admit that. But that is how I am, and I won't change." Micah cups my face, his huge thumbs caressing up and down my cheekbone as he stares into my eyes.
"If I stuck around and dated you while you figured out who you want to be, I'd be taking an even bigger risk with my heart. Even if right now the damn organ beating inside my chest is screaming at me for even considering walking away. But I have to."
Micah pulls me into the most devastatingly sweet hug. He's so big and warm, it feels like being embraced by a blanket straight out of the dryer. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I cling to him, not wanting to let go.
This is insane. I've spent a total of eight hours total in his presence. Never so much as kissed him. But every single brain cell is telling me that if I let go, I'll regret it for the rest of my life. That this man is it for me.
We were so close to going back to my place. To discovering how deep the chemistry that shimmers between us goes. But as he pulls away, stepping to the curb and hailing a cab, I know that I'll be getting in that car without him.
Unbidden, a hot tear streams down my face. I'm not usually a crier, and I don't want him to think this is a manipulation, so I swipe away the salty liquid before he can see. "This isn't how tonight was supposed to end."
My mumbled words are so low, I'm not sure he hears them, but as he tucks me into the waiting taxi he leans down hitting me with a sad gaze that I wish I could accurately read the meaning of. "I know, Marci. But it's the way it has to end.
Chapter Eight
Micah
The very second I shut the cab door, I know I’m making the world’s biggest fucking mistake. Obviously, Marci isn’t the girl I first thought she was. She’s intelligent, sweet, funny, and the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. As we talked in the café, there were several times it felt as if she had been placed on the planet solely for me.
Hell, despite the way the night ended, my cock is still hard as rock in my pants, ready to put his skills to the test with Marci. I hate disappointing the big guy.
But the minute Marci’s ex-roommate showed up and started spouting off about slumming it, I froze. That va
pid, shallow woman took me back to a place I’ve worked very hard to put into its place and move past. But as a therapist, I know that trauma can come back to bite you in the ass when you least expect it.
***
Micah, ten years old
I hate being big. Standing taller than everyone around me only makes me stick out more than I already do. That’s why I try hard to stay quiet and slouch as low as I can in the too small desks at this hoity toity school I’m forced to go to every day.
My old school was much better than this place, even though it was in the crappiest neighborhood. Sure, there weren’t enough books for all the kids, and the rooms sometimes leaked when it rained too hard, but the kids didn’t look at me like I was ten-day-old gum stuck to the bottoms of their fancy shoes.
The same shoes I’m wearing. Because this place thinks shoving us all into the same uniforms will take away distractions. All it really does is make our differences even more obvious. When you are lined up next to twenty other kids all dressed the exact same way, your physical faults become really obvious.
“What’s the matter ogre? Can’t understand the big words on the page?” My half-sister’s snooty voice hisses over my shoulder, her sharp nail digging into my back. What nine-year old gets weekly French manicures? She wouldn’t have lasted a day at my old school.
“I go back to reading the book laying open on my desk out loud. Why do teachers make you read out loud in front of the class? It is the most embarrassing thing on earth. Especially when everyone in the class knows the only reason you’re even there is because your dad knocked up his former maid, and when she died, he was forced into accepting custody of his bastard child because the kid’s real family couldn’t afford to keep him.
That’s right. I’m the love child of one of the world’s most revered lawyers and a Greek house maid. I look nothing like my father. He’s average looking in every way, average height, average weight, average brownish blonde hair. But he makes up for all that average by being an above average douchebag. Unlike him, I’m big. Already eight inches taller than everyone else in my class. Doesn't help that I was held back a year when I transferred over. I also got the darker complexion and hair of my mother, plus I’m what he likes to call a fat slob, even though I never make any messes.
When I came to live with his family, he stuck me in the former servant’s rooms in this big old historical mansion he owns. I didn’t eat my meals with the rest of the family, mostly because they always have important clients over for dinners, and they didn’t want the honorable lawyer’s biggest regret sitting at the table reminding everybody of how dishonorable he really is.
Finally, my turn reading from the book is done. I actually really liked this book we were assigned for English Literature class. Johnny Tremain is all about a kid that has something horrible happen to him, but instead of giving up he makes the best of it and turns out to be part of some of the most important historical moments.
I can relate.
Because I’m going to take this crappy thing that happened to me and make something out of it. I’m going to graduate from the fancy-ass schools my father has put me in, and I’m going to do something with all that education. And when I do, I’m going to help the few family members that have stuck by me. Like Uncle Pete, who still comes to pick me up every single Sunday to take me to church and get ice cream after. He would have adopted me, but he has a criminal record, so the courts wouldn’t let him. He keeps showing up for me, even though he’s only allowed to pick me up at the back entrance and has to park is car on the street since they won’t let him park it in the driveway for fear their precious brick in-laid driveway might get oil stains on it.
Like I said, my father is an above average douchebag.
The bell rings, and I wait in my seat until most of the kids have passed my desk before gathering my things and struggle my belly out from the cramped desk. Snickers behind me let me know my half-sister and her friends are still there, waiting to torture me some more.
The pack of she-devils follow a foot behind me the entire way out of class and through the halls. Talking about how I’m so dumb, I had to be held back a year. How I can’t even read without pausing to sound out the words.
When those insults don’t get the reaction they want, they move on to ripping apart how I look, calling me hunchback because I slouch. People turn to smirk at me and my squad of torturers as we pass. Teachers too. No one tries to stop them even though they are talking and laughing loud enough for everyone to hear.
This is what I have to look forward to for the next eight years of my life. Until I graduate and can get the hell away from my father and his family. I’ll survive everything they throw at me, if only just to piss them off even more.
***
The brake lights of the cab dim as the driver starts to pull away, before he can, I slap my hand down on the roof of the car. Because my brief trip down memory lane shakes something loose in me. A reminder. At ten, I promised myself I wouldn’t let the words and abuse other people felt they had to throw at me change who I am or get in the way of what I want.
But that is exactly what I’m doing by letting Marci drive away. I’m letting the words her roommate flung around get in the way of what I want. I want Marci. I want to talk with her more. I want to discover who she is, even if she is discovering that at the same time as I am. Because I can tell by looking in her eyes as she talks that she is someone worth knowing. I want to hold her to my body and discover all the ways I can make her moan. I want to pin her beneath me and show her all the things that make me moan too.
No stuck-up rich girl and her slumming it comments are going to get in my way.
The cab jerks to a stop under my hand, and I wrench the door open. “I’m an idiot who might have a little of his own baggage, and I’m sorry I almost sent you away. Can we pretend the last ten minutes didn’t happen, go back to your apartment as planned, and just see what happens?”
After my tirade, Marci’s face comes into focus, and I almost kick my own nuts in, because there are tears streaming down her perfectly round and pink cheeks. But she’s smiling, because I stopped her before she got away. She doesn’t answer with words, instead grabbing me by the collar of my shirt and hauling me into the backseat. We just sit and stare at each other, big goofy grins spread across our faces. Those tears are still drying on her skin, and I can’t stand the sight of them, so I reach up and wipe each one away with my thumb. Then I brush it against her lip, and she kisses the rough pad just a little.
That slight pucker of her mouth sends a surge of hot arousal south to the growing beast in my pants. “I’ll make up for making you cry. I swear.”
“Good. I’ll make up for having a shitty former friend who almost ruined our night.”
I shake my head, needing to get this straight before she goes any further. “Those words are on her, not you. I forgot that for a minute. Forgot you can’t control someone else’s behavior. You have nothing to make up for.”
“Really?” Marci scooches across the cracked leather seat until she’s almost sitting in my lap. “I don’t even need to make up for acting like a brat that first day? You don’t want to spank my ass for that anymore?”
The sparks flickering in her eyes drive the desire deep in my belly to a fever pitch. I need this girl draped across my lap with her ass in the air like I need oxygen. “Oh no, you’ll be paying for that dearly. Don’t you worry.”
Marci shifts in her seat, her thighs rubbing together so the skirt rides up those fishnet covered legs.
“You can’t wait to feel the sting of my palms on your ass, can you?” I brush her hair back over her shoulder, gripping it in my fist and pulling her closer. That smart mouth is calling to me, begging to be tasted, to be filled.
Our lips skate across each other in a slow, barely there brush. I tighten my grip on her hair a little more, ready to plunge in and take what I’ve wanted, and what I know she wants to give.
“We’re here. Keep it in yo
ur pants,” The cabby barks out at us as he pulls to a stop outside a nice stone building. The guy mumbles under his breath about young people not having the decency to wait until they’re behind closed doors. Ignoring him, I throw cash at him while we slide out the door.
Marcie giggles as she keys in the security code for her building, then takes my hand and pulls me up the stairs. “Sorry, the elevator in this place is constantly on the fritz. That’s what I get for wanting someplace with historical charm. But the bonus is my calves have never looked better.”
I couldn’t agree more with her from my view a couple steps behind her as we climb the stairs. Six floors later, we’re still climbing. “Jesus Christ, woman. It’s a good thing I have stamina to spare. A lesser man wouldn’t have the strength left to fuck you hard like you need after this climb.”
Marci stops in the middle of the stairs, turning to plaster her body against me. Even two stairs above me she’s still a couple inches shorter. “Oh God, don’t talk to me like that until we get into my place. I’m going to lose it. You have no idea the torture it has been sitting in that back room at the bar listening to you tell men how to please their women.”
“Then get me to your place now, so I can finally taste that mouth until I’m satisfied and can move on to your pussy.”
With a whimper, Marci turns and starts sprinting up the stairs, me close on her tail. Finally, at the eighth floor, she bursts through the stairwell door and fumbles with the lock on her apartment. I notice her door is painted a cheery shade of teal, as opposed to the other beige doors on her floor. For some reason, just knowing she went out of her way to make her door more welcoming and different sends my heart racing even faster. This woman is truly one of a kind, and I thank the stars we can’t see at night thanks to the city lights that I didn’t fuck it up earlier by letting her get away. Sending her away.
We stumble into her place, and I immediately swing her around, pinning her to the door. “I like your place.”