by Jo Raven
“And you love Micah.”
Her final words ring in the small changing room like bells.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I finally manage. “I don’t love him. I don’t even really know him and…”
She arches a brow, and the rest of what I was about to say dies on my lips.
I don’t love Micah.
Do I?
I open the door and head out to the shop, hoping a customer shows up soon. I really don’t want to face what’s in my head right now.
***
My cell phone beeps as I finish work. A message from Micah.
‘Wanna come over to my place tonight? I finish at ten.’
God, I’d love to. But Mom will have a fit if I don’t show up home tonight, and Joel… My jaw clenches. I’m nineteen. I don’t have to be a good girl and stay home every night. I don’t have to do it to please my mom. Come on!
My fingers hover over the keys. Then I type as fast as I can, before I lose my nerve: ‘Sure. See you there.’
Two seconds later, my phone pings with another message from him.
‘Great! R u near Damage? I have my break now.’
Damage? As in Damage Control?
I worry my lip between my teeth, then I grin. My heart starts to pound at the thought of seeing him again—and it’s only been a few hours since I left him. Jesus, this is ridiculous.
‘On my way.’ I stare at the words I’ve just typed and shake my head at myself.
Hopeless, Ev. Hopelessly addicted.
I barely limp as I leave the store and hurry down the street, my bag swinging. I feel alive, more alive than ever, my every sense alert, every nerve singing. Everywhere I look, the colors are bright, every detail crystal clear. I still see the misery and pain, that isn’t going away—the people sleeping on cardboard boxes, wrapped in filthy sleeping bags, hands with blackened nails cradling their unshaven faces—and although that pain tugs at me, and I slow down to look at them, memorize where they are, try and think what they may need most, I feel light and happy.
I feel so good, so drunk with joy it’s scary. After the high, usually there comes a low. The higher the rollercoaster, the steeper the dive.
Before I manage to frighten myself more, I reach the donut shop and turn toward Damage Control, across the street.
He’s there, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, his jacket gray and his hair golden. He’s looking right at me, his grin so wide I can clearly see it from where I’m standing.
My heart flips over. I cross quickly, and he meets me as I step on the sidewalk. Grabbing me around the waist, he spins me around in the air and laughs when I yelp. He’s still laughing, that quiet, vibrating sound I like so much, when he lets me down and lifts his hands to cup my face. His hands are warm and rough, and his eyes shine as he bends to kiss me.
He tastes like buttered popcorn and sparkly wine, and I cling to his neck and kiss him back, with tongue and teeth and all. Shit, I keep surprising even myself when I’m with him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He actually seems to like it, judging from the moan rumbling in his chest and the tightening of his arms around me.
He pulls back for air. “Fuck, how am I gonna wait until tonight to touch you?” he whispers. “Fuck.”
“Come on.” I tug on his hand, and he tugs back, shifting uncomfortably. My gaze falls to the big bulge at the front of his jeans, and heat fills me. “Oh crap.” I want to laugh, but he really seems uncomfortable, and at the same time I want to strip him naked, take him in my hand, my mouth…
Jesus. I’m turning into a sex maniac for this guy.
He finally starts walking, following me, and we cross the street, going for donuts and coffee. We sit outside, on the benches, under the gray sky. Micah sips his coffee and stuffs half a donut in his mouth. He makes faces at me, showing the donut between his teeth until I almost fall off the bench laughing.
He chews and swallows and makes even that look sexy.
You’re crazy, Ev. Calm down.
“So you’re coming over to my place later?” He’s drinking coffee, his face mostly blank, but he’s watching me from under his lashes. There’s tension around his eyes.
He’s nervous, I realize, and it makes me feel better. I’m not the only one out of my depth here, it would seem.
“Depends,” I say and again I can barely recognize myself. I’m never this bold—unless I’m with Micah.
“On what?”
“What are you offering? Dinner? Wine?”
“I can do that.” He smirks. “Anything else?”
“Entertainment?” I stick my tongue out at him and give a breathless laugh. Oh God, Ev, that was lame.
“Oh, I’ll keep you entertained all right,” he says, his eyes darkening to midnight blue, and I know I’m in deep, deep trouble.
***
We finish our coffee and throw our Styrofoam cups into the trash, our shoulders touching. He reaches up and brushes his hand over my cheek, down my jaw, until he cups my chin.
“Going home?” His voice sends shivers through me.
“Nah, Cassie will finish work earlier today, and we’re going shopping.”
At least she said she could when I asked on my way out, although she was pretty busy with customers at the time. And I need some stuff—nice panties and bras at the very least—if I’m doing this… Whatever it is. Sleeping with Micah. Being around him. Undressing and lying naked with him.
Which is stupid. He’s seen me as I am already, in my practical and not-so-sexy sports underwear, and didn’t seem to be paying any attention to it except to rip it off me.
Excitement rushes through me at the thought, the memories, the images. I look up to find a grin on his face.
“Shall I walk you somewhere?” He strokes his thumb over my lips, and the roughness of his finger pads makes my mouth tingle. “I still have some time before my break is over.”
“I’m meeting Cassie outside the store.”
“Store?”
“Where we work together.”
He nods and takes my hand, tangling his fingers with mine. “Come on.”
He lets me lead the way, his hand warm around mine. I keep glancing at the side streets and alleys, half-expecting Blake to step out, but he hasn’t approached me again. Micah tightens his hold on my hand and stops.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I dredge up a smile for him. “Fine.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod. No reason why I shouldn’t be. Blake has probably gotten bored with this little game already, thank God.
Micah holds my gaze for a long moment, then we set off again, passing outside familiar shops and crossing small alleys. This is the path I walk every morning and every afternoon, to and from work. My mind is sort of blank, a pleasant blank, the feel of Micah’s strong hand around mine and his presence at my side the only clear details in a muted world. The pressure of his fingers, clasped around mine, the big shadow he casts against a hazed sun, and…
He slows to a stop, twisting away from me. “Gimme a sec,” he says and releases my hand.
I reach after him, the world suddenly returning, sharp and ugly without him at my side. The stench of urine and trash from the alley, the exhaust fumes and noise from the street, the dirty sidewalk and store fronts.
Micah is striding into the alley. I follow him, curious.
He crouches down in front of bags of trash—no, not trash. A person, bundled up in dirty rags and newspapers. Micah is talking to him, asking him how he is.
I stand there, frozen.
Micah glances up at me, gives me a flash of a smile, then tucks a bill into the old man’s hand and rises. “Let’s go,” he says and grabs my hand again, pulling me back out onto the street.
Oh God. I look back over my shoulder at the alley, then around, still expecting Blake or his sentry man to appear. But he doesn’t.
“Sorry,” Micah says, though he doesn’t sound remorseful. “I usually make my rounds but hav
en’t been this way for a while.”
I say nothing, pressing my lips together as we approach the sports store. We stop outside, and he tugs on my hand, so I turn into his arms. His hands settle on my waist.
“It’s not dangerous, Ev,” he whispers. “It was just an old man.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know what scared you and made you stop talking to the people on the street like you used to. I…” He grimaces. “I like that about you. That you care. You’re an amazing person. Don’t let fear change you.”
He has no idea what he’s talking about.
Or maybe he does? Maybe it’s time to let go of my stupid fear of Blake. Time to finally do everything I want to do. “I’ve been thinking…” I draw strength from the cloudless blue of his eyes. “I want to do this properly, you know? Work with an organization. Make a real difference.”
His smile is dazzling. “Seriously? I could put you in touch with someone to talk to, if you like.”
“Who do you have in mind?”
“A friend of Zane and Rafe, the guys who run the tattoo shop. His name is Asher. His mom works for the National Runaway Switchboard.”
I draw a deep breath, let it out. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
My parents will have a fit. This isn’t what they envisioned for me. Then again, this is my life, not theirs, and this is what I want.
He bows his head forward, and I expect him to kiss me, but instead, he presses his forehead to mine. “Love you, Ev,” he whispers and then releases me and strides away before I’ve even had the time to process his words.
I enter the store in a daze. Does he mean it?
Chapter Nine
Micah
What the fuck is wrong with me, blurting out stuff like that to Ev? This is fucking nonsense, and I have no clue where the words came from. Or that warm feeling in my chest that lingers, making me feel like I could laugh out loud. Like I want to turn around and go back to her, grab her in my arms and never let go.
Have I mentioned I got it bad for this girl? Well, it seems it’s a whole lotta worse. I’m fucked in the head. Truly fucked.
And when that happens, there’s only one way for me to get my head on back straight: my art. I head back to Damage Control as quickly as my legs can carry me, even break into a run at some point, which earns me a coughing fit, and thank God Ev is not there to witness it. I catch my breath and hurry into the shop, wash my hands, pull on my gloves and grab my tattoo gun.
Ready for my next customer. Ready to blank out my mind.
Zane nods in greeting from the back of the shop, and I nod back. His eyes narrow at me and I turn away. The guy can see right through me. I’ll never forget the day he found me leaning against the fence outside my last foster home, drawing with a piece of chalk on the wooden planks. All but the first foster home I’ve had were hellish, and this one was no exception, but at least nobody really cared where I was at any time. Zane talked to me, looked at my pitiful etchings and offered a tattoo apprenticeship.
I didn’t even have to think twice about it. I apprenticed with him for almost a year before I ran away from that foster family for good and was taken into to the residential facility where I got sick. Is it any wonder Zane is my god? Kinda distant, but there, my lifeline in the last two years.
When I next look around, he’s gone, probably back in his booth, working.
My customers file in, one after another. As I work on a guy’s arm, and then a woman’s back, today replays in my mind. Ev at my door, on my sofa, in my shower, in my bed. Beneath me, naked and gorgeous. Sipping coffee on the bench. Her wide eyes when I stopped to talk to Ben in the alley, the fear that began to fade. Her determination to do something good.
How can I not fall for her? Truth is, I fell for her long ago, when she checked on me on the streets. When she saved my life. The unbearable happiness I feel now has as much to do with being with her as with the fact that she may be getting over her new, mysterious fear of the homeless, meaning I may be able to open up to her soon. Tell her the truth that weighs on my shoulders like a sin.
I barely hear my last customer thanking me as I consider this.
Why haven’t I told her yet?
Easy. I’m afraid to lose her before I even really have her in my life. She’s a ray of sunshine in the gray. She makes me breathe harder, live sharper. She brings everything into focus, brings back the colors and the light.
Fuck. If she goes…
I run my hands through my short hair and close my eyes for a long moment. This is why I don’t do feelings, why I don’t fall for anyone. Why I don’t trust.
Because if I’ve learned one lesson in my life, it’s that sooner or later everyone goes, and I’m left behind.
***
My good work at keeping my mind blank through work gets ruined on the way back home. When I stop to talk to my usual people, checking on them and offering some money for food, not thinking about Ev becomes even harder. So much so that, by the time I enter my building, I’m shaking with nerves.
I stand in the living room, unzipping my jacket, wondering if she’ll come. Seth is at the bar, working, and the apartment is quiet. Too quiet, letting my thoughts become too loud. I wish for something to dull the ache in my chest, the memories and the worry, but Seth’s rule for living with me is that we keep no alcohol in the apartment. I don’t know what he heard about me. I’m not a drunkard, but I agreed to his terms, and now there’s nothing I can use as a crutch.
Time passes, minutes ticking by, stretching into half an hour.
She’s not coming. I pushed her too far. Fucked her against the wall when she only came by to check if I’m okay. Forced her to follow me into an alley when she wasn’t sure she wanted to do that anymore. Maybe she really changed in these past few months, and I’m clinging to who she was. To who I thought she was. I never really knew her.
I don’t really know her now. I have no idea why she changed her ways, what is scaring her, and what she will do with me, but I’m in her hands.
Goddammit.
I shed my jacket and tear off my sweater and T-shirt. It’s cold in here. I need a hot shower. I stumble into the bathroom and turn on the water, then kick off my boots and pants, tug down my underwear and step under the spray.
My back is so tense it hurts. I press my fingers into the back of my neck, and it’s like pressing into stone. I let the water beat down on me, feeling the muscles uncoil little by little. I cough a little with the vapor rising around me, but it’s nowhere near as bad as it was a month ago. Damn sickness is hard to shake off, but I’ve beaten it.
I lean back against the tiled wall, and memories of Ev moving against me, around me, flood my mind. My dick hardens and I reach for it, hissing as I wrap my hand around it.
A sound breaks through the beating of blood in my ears and the shower. A ring?
A tune. My cell phone.
With a groan, I tug a few times on my cock, consider ignoring the call, then change my mind. What if it’s something important?
I grab a towel, wrap it around my waist and step out of the bathroom. The cell is still ringing when I dig it out of my jacket. A name flashes on the screen:
Ev.
Fuck. A thousand bad scenarios play out in my head. “Ev? You okay? Where are you?”
“Can’t get inside your building,” her sweet voice answers. “I rang the intercom many times, but I guess it’s broken?”
Shit. “I’ll let you in now. Come on up.”
I buzz her in and look around for my clothes. She’s fast, though, so by the time I grab my pants from the sofa where I dropped them, she’s standing at the door, clearing her throat.
She’s here. She came. Something painful in my chest relaxes. All my doubts seem foolish now that I see her in front of me, her cheeks flushed red, her golden eyes taking me in. They seem to glitter in the light of the lamp sitting on the coffee table, her pupils dilating.
“Hey,” I say, my voice inexplicably thick. �
��You came.”
She doesn’t allow any more stupid words to spill from my mouth. Rising on tiptoes, she kisses me, long and sweet until my cock is back to attention, rock hard and pushing against her soft body. Her small hands ghost up my ribs, then settle on my hips, pushing the towel off. It falls, pooling at my feet, freeing my erection so that it juts right up.
She breaks the kiss and takes a step back, panting hard. Her gaze slides down, focusing on my weeping cock, and it twitches in response. I lift my hands to her arms, then work on the zipper of her jacket. Too many clothes. Too many barriers. I need her, skin to skin, flesh to flesh, to believe she’s really come back.
I tear the clothes off her in my hurry, and she yelps when the button of her jeans breaks off and rolls to the floor with a clink.
“Sorry,” I force through my gritted teeth. “Dammit.” My hands are fucking shaking.
“Micah.” She reaches up and cups my face. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Fuck yeah.” Never been better. I’m just… What? Nervous? Scared out of my fucking mind because I want her so much? “Didn’t think you were coming.”
“Why not?”
I don’t answer, frowning and popping more buttons, finally managing to drag her jeans down.
“I’m here,” she says, and I look up at her face. Not sure of what I see in her gaze, I focus again on getting her naked. This is more familiar territory, and fuck, my cock is close to bursting. I concentrate on that, the burning need in my body, and try to ignore the mess in my head.
She steps out of her jeans, and I blink. I never gave her underwear much notice before—I was more interested in peeling it off her—but this is… interesting. Oh hell yeah, very interesting. My dick takes notice, too, jumping against my stomach.
She’s wearing matching black lace bra and panties. The lace is fine and half-transparent, velvety against her pale gold skin. The cups lift her breasts and only half-cover her nipples. Her pink, hard nipples, which are stiffening more as I stare at them, transfixed.
The blood burns in my veins, and I have to lick my dry lips. My mouth is like a desert. In a trance, I lift my hand to touch the hard nub, and her head falls back, baring the column of her neck.