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 haven’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.”