He leaned back, considering that. “And what about your mom?”
“Mom? She supports whatever I want to do. She worries a whole lot, but she knows and loves Zion, so she believes I’m in good hands.”
He caught the attention of the waiter and had him refill our drinks. Before I could grab the reins of the conversation and make him answer some questions, he asked, “So Anika Jo, what’s your ambition? Do you have any long-term goals?”
I squinted at him. “I will answer your question if you tell me your full name. It’s only fair.”
He laid his elbows on the table. “Oh, you’re a negotiator.”
I licked my lips and crossed my arms. “Waiting.”
“I’m Micah Jordan Sinclair. Pleased to meet you.” He reached one hand out.
We shook, but then he didn’t let go. We rested our arms on the table, now joined together between the baskets of food and drinks. Half my brain zeroed in on the feel of his skin against mine while the other half lurched around for words to say to keep up the pretense of acting normal.
I processed his name for a second. “Jordan? So I’ll just be calling you Jor Jor from Jersey from here on out.”
“Oof. Anika and Jor Jor? Sounds like the world’s worst Star Wars porn.”
“It does!” I had to laugh. “Jordan’s nice, but Micah suits you better.”
“That’s just because it’s what you know me by.”
His finger stroked along my wrist, and it triggered a reaction down every corridor of my nerves. I could only manage a single-word response. “Maybe.”
“Now you owe me an answer. What are your plans?”
I’d hoped he’d forget. Nobody my age should be without a long-term plan. Instead, I cheated and told him something different. “I used to want to follow in my dad’s footsteps, but when he’s working, he spends way too much time away from people, way out in isolated locales. As much as I hate the invasive nature of my job, I love that I get to be out on the streets, meeting all kinds of people.” I squeezed his hand. “Like you.”
“I love meeting people, too. It’s half the fun of what I do.” His face suddenly lit up like a lightbulb should have popped out of the top of his head. “Have you ever considered becoming a concert photographer?”
The sudden change in conversation gave me a sense of vertigo. “What? No. What I did for Eden was the first time.”
“You should come out on the road with us and shoot our shows.”
My hand pulled away from him of its own accord. “You want me to be a groupie?” Even as I said it, I realized how passive-aggressive it sounded.
He sat up stiff. “I’m sorry. I get an idea and say things without thinking.”
I unclenched my fists. “I shouldn’t have said that. That was—”
He relaxed some, but he’d lost his friendly tone. “It just occurred to me that it wouldn’t be that different from what you’ve been doing, but maybe your dad would approve more. There are some very successful concert photographers. I looked up your dad’s photos after I saw his name in the paper last week.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. And then I saw what you did with Eden. You’re talented. I bet you could sell your photos to the Rock Paper.”
“Oh, so you want me to help you get your picture in the Rock Paper?” It would have been better if I could tell him what was really troubling me rather than tear him apart by lobbing these sarcastic barbs at him.
“Ouch. Is that what you think?”
I took a shuddering breath to get my disappointment and irritation under control. I should have remembered he was just a big old flirt.
But even so, even if he was trying to find a way to use me to further his own career, I didn’t want to start a fight with him, especially not here among his friends. He hadn’t needed to bring me along. And he’d been nothing but gracious. “I’m sorry. Can we start over?”
He reached his hand back across the table toward me, but not like a greeting. His hand was palm up, vulnerable. I reached mine out to him in return, and he clasped my fingers in his. “I don’t want to start over. I want to go on.”
A wave of dizziness swept over me at his words. My eyelids fluttered and closed, and my head rolled around to the side. When I opened my eyes, Zion reached over and felt my forehead. “We should be going.” He pushed his chair back and offered me his hand.
I wanted to communicate with Zion in giant semaphore flags to let him know I was fine. But I couldn’t easily explain the situation either to Zion or to Micah. “Oh, hey Zion. It’s fine. I’m just swooning over something Micah said, though I’m sure insulin shock must appear the same to you.”
Micah jumped up when I stood. “One second. Let me at least call my car.”
As Micah texted, Zion handed me my pocketbook. I glared at him although he meant well. “I’m fine, Zion. Really.”
Micah led us down the stairs, through the crowd and out into the night. “My driver should be here in a second.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
As soon as he lit one, I moved several feet away from him out of long habit. He blew out a cloud of smoke, then threw the cigarette on the ground and twisted it out with his shoe. “Oh, right. Don’t drink, don’t smoke.”
I glared at him. “I’m not a Goody Two-shoes, if that’s what you think.” My voice faltered, and I felt like an idiot. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I didn’t want Micah to think I was going to start crying on his account. So I walked toward the street and turned my back on him, choking in huge breaths of air to calm down. Just because I didn’t want to stand in a cloud of smoke, did that make me too lame for the rock star party?
Micah laid a hand on my shoulder. “No, I didn’t mean—”
“Are you Micah Sinclair?” A couple of girls in short skirts, low necklines, and high heels flanked Micah.
Micah’s head jerked toward the interruption. “What? Yeah.”
The redhead said to her blond friend, “Told ya so.” She flung her hair and inched closer. “God, you’re even cuter in person.”
The car entered the street, and I took a step toward the curb. Micah’s hand fell from my shoulder.
“Mind if we take a selfie with you?”
I couldn’t even look. I willed the car to hurry up so I could dive in and get away, but the road was clogged with taxis. I contemplated hailing one, but I couldn’t find one that wasn’t occupied.
“I’m sorry. This isn’t a great time.” Micah stepped closer to me, away from the girls.
“Oh, please. It’s just a quick picture.” The blond one pushed her way beside Micah with her back to me and her arm around Micah’s waist, without bothering to ask him if she could touch him. Like he was a cardboard cutout instead of a person.
“Do you mind? I’m in the middle of a conversation.” Micah eluded her grasp right as the car pulled up.
Zion opened the door for me, and I bent to climb in, but Micah caught my arm and said, “Hey, is everything okay?”
I turned my face away so he wouldn’t see the tears already falling. Zion ushered me into the backseat and threw over his shoulder, “Everything’s not okay, Micah. She’s diabetic.”
Of their own volition, my eyes cut sideways to check on Micah’s reaction. His mouth hung slack for an instant, and his eyebrows drew together as he ran through everything he’d ever known about me. I didn’t want to stand there watching him reprocess our every interaction through the filter of disease, so I looked away and climbed into the car.
Zion followed and closed the door. “Hey, if he’s not cool about that, he’s not good enough for you anyway.”
I dropped my head into my hands, and Zion rubbed my shoulder.
When the car didn’t start moving right away, I looked up to see why just as the door on my side opened up. Micah stuck his head in. “Is there room for an asshole?”
I wiped my eyes on my shirtsleeve. “You’re not an asshole, Micah. You didn’t know.”
“I
do now. Can I ride with you? Can we start over?”
I scooted over to let him in. He closed the door and told the driver where to go. He laid his hands in his lap and stared at them. “I’m sorry, Jo.”
“Why?”
“Why am I sorry?” He adjusted himself so he could look me in the eye. “I don’t know why, but everything I say or do seems all wrong. I’m all feet in mouth with you. And then all that—” He waved back in the direction of the bar that was receding quickly behind us. “So I’m sorry.”
“You couldn’t help that.”
He put his arm around me and held me close. “I know I’m impossible to be around.”
That made me laugh out loud. It was the complete opposite of the truth, and suddenly all I wanted to do was relax into him, but my guard had gone up. And it remained fortified. “Why are you being so nice?”
“Oh. I thought that part was pretty obvious. I really like you.”
“But you barely know me.”
He leaned forward far enough to see past me to Zion. “Can you give me a reference?”
Zion was laughing. “Yup.”
“Is Josie Wilder from Georgia?”
“She is.”
“Is she a tabloid photographer?”
“Indeed.”
“Is she pretty terrible at her job?”
Zion guffawed. “She’s a great photographer. She’s a terrible tabloid photographer.”
“And why is that?”
“Because she focuses too much on the humanity and not enough on the sensational.”
I sat up. “I’m not terrible at my job. I just haven’t been at it long enough.”
“I have one last question.”
Zion said, “Shoot.”
“Does she like me back?”
Zion, bless his heart, actually looked like he was torn. I gritted my teeth and waited for him to show my full hand. But instead he said, “Isn’t half the fun finding that out for yourself?”
When the driver parked in front of our building, Zion opened the door and then turned and said to Micah, “She shouldn’t stay out too late. She has to be up early in the morning. But I’m going to bed.” He jumped out and slammed the door behind him, leaving me alone with Micah. And his driver.
He still had his arm around my shoulder, and I couldn’t decide if I should push back and talk to him, or shut my brain off long enough to give into whatever was happening.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. He rubbed my shoulder, and I looked up into his face.
“I feel fine. Zion overreacts sometimes where I’m concerned. I’m like his only family.”
“He obviously cares a lot about you.”
I leaned back to see him better. “Micah?”
“Yes?”
His eyes met mine, and I wished I could read his mind. I wished I could make him tell me point by point why he thought he liked me. I wanted him to make guarantees he couldn’t make. I wanted him to promise not to hurt me.
Instead, I gave him back the one point he’d already earned. “I like you.”
He smiled the big smile, the one that brought out the dimple in his cheek. He ran a finger across my forehead to move loose strands out of my face. Then he kissed me. The first kiss was sweet. Our lips tested each other, tasted each other. Then he put his hands around the back of my neck. I pulled away and listened for the dangerous sounds of my heart pounding in my ears. He opened his eyes. “Everything okay?”
I reached for him and wove my fingers in his hair. I pressed my lips on his. The second kiss felt like an invitation to open myself up to him. When his tongue brushed against mine, a delicious queasiness spread through my belly.
“Can you come back to my place?” he asked.
The clock on the dash showed two a.m. My quick math told me that I’d be up all night if I went home with him. As it was, I’d be lucky to be up by eight. “I have to be at work by nine tomorrow. I should be going to bed.”
“Okay.” He pulled me in for a tight hug. “I’m sorry again.” He shook his head and leaned back. “You must think I’m a jerk.”
My mind was racing.
Zion had brought his boyfriends home occasionally. Not often, but it wasn’t unprecedented....
Micah took my hand. “But thank you for coming out tonight.”
And I could be a little late in the morning if I made it up at the end of the day.
His thumb stroked mine. “When can I see you again?”
And that kiss. My legs were still shaking from that kiss. And . . . “Can you come up?”
He inhaled sharply. “Jo. You don’t have to.”
I laid my hand on his cheek. “Would you please come up?”
“Are you sure?”
In response, I pulled him in to me and kissed him until his lips parted, and his hands roamed into uncharted territory. I broke away. “Yes. I’m sure.”
Chapter 15
All the lights had been turned off except for the one in the range hood, and the apartment was dark and quiet. Zion had obviously gone to bed or had pretended to in the event I might bring Micah up. That was adorably sweet of him, but it left me awash in nerves. It left no doubt about why I’d brought Micah up.
To cover my awkwardness, I opened the fridge. “Do you want a drink?” I unscrewed the top of a bottle of water and drank half of it in one pull.
Then he was behind me, his hands on my shoulders, fingers running down my neck. A chill shot down my spine, and I set the bottle down and closed the door. He spun me toward him and pushed me against the fridge. He kissed me so deep, my legs almost gave out. I took his hand and led him to my bedroom.
He’d carried a kind of canvas messenger bag with him like an old army medical supply bag. I wondered if he kept a pair of spare clothes with him at all times. I wondered how many times he’d hooked up with a girl exactly like this after a show.
Had I been seduced?
If so, I was still under the spell, and I lured him with my own dark temptation toward my lair. I hadn’t been in New York long enough to have brought anyone into my bedroom. It seemed utterly preposterous that this guy I’d met on the street last week, whose pictures I’d seen in my own newspaper, was in my tiny bedroom, about to lay himself in my fortuitously large bed. About to lay me . . .
I sat on the edge of the bed, watching him. Without hesitating, he kissed me, pushed me over, and climbed in next to me.
And my brain caught up with my body, protesting with all the reasons I couldn’t go through with this. Maybe it was my Georgia upbringing, but the logical side of my brain threw up alarms that said, “You’ll never see him again if you let him sleep with you tonight.”
Another part of my brain countered that I’d be the worst kind of tease if I told him no now. He’d sent his driver away. I’d told him I was sure. I’d all but advertised my availability to him tonight.
But how many women had thought the same exact thing?
His thumb pressed against my cheek, and his hand slid around to the back of my head, and then down my neck and across my chest. He only lingered on my breasts for a moment before reaching for the hem of my shirt—the hem that hid my insulin pump attached to a white tube. I grabbed his hand before he could discover it. Even though he knew, mentally, that I was different, it was a whole other thing for him to see me. It wouldn’t be the first time someone turned away, repulsed by the “hospital patient.”
He stopped kissing me and looked down into my eyes. He drew his hands back. “It’s okay if you just want to go to sleep.”
“What?” Had I turned him off entirely already?
“Look. This is a really weird situation. I get that. And I really don’t want to screw it up with you. If you don’t want to do this, I’d be happy just to sleep next to you. I’m obviously attracted to you, but I’m not going to do anything that might make you doubt that I like you.” He traced my cheek. “You’re probably thinking that I picked you up like any one of the girls who show up looking for a night with a m
usician.”
That was an understatement. I leveled my gaze at him. “It had crossed my mind.”
“If I wanted sex, I could get it. And I know how bad this sounds, but sex has never been something I had to work hard for. You know my track record. I can’t pretend things aren’t what they are. But what I can’t find is someone I just want to spend time with, someone I want to get to know. That’s priceless to me.”
“But why me?”
He scooted over and sat cross-legged next to me, stroking my hand. “I could ask you the same thing. Why me, Jo?”
I’d been so fixated on trying to understand how he could possibly have any idea who I was in only a week that I hadn’t stopped to wonder how I’d developed such a strong positive feeling toward him beyond physical attraction in the same amount of time. This despite fairly damning information I’d assessed objectively. This despite the swarm of queasy doubts that plagued me when I imagined how many casual relationships he’d flown through. Why him indeed? “I don’t know. Gut instinct.”
“Exactly.” He gazed at me with his bedroom eyes and his soft lips turned in a perfect smolder.
I’d never felt so conflicted. I wanted him to kiss me again, but I hesitated. “You know what I want to do?”
“What?” He interlaced our fingers together.
“I want to lie here and listen to you talk. But I am nearly desperate to lay my hands on your skin. I want to get to know you better—but slowly. Can we work something out?”
“Yeah.” He slid in next to me, and we each laid our heads on a pillow. Then he turned to face me, letting me run my hand along his arm and wrap my fingers in his. I found the hem of his shirt and touched the soft hair along his tight abs. I followed the trail up to his chest. If he was dying, he didn’t say.
“Can I ask you something first?” His voice at that volume made me willing to answer anything.
“Yeah.” I’d reached his collarbone and tiptoed across it until it ran out, then I spread my hand out and caressed his shoulder.
A Crazy Kind of Love Page 14