Euphoricwas a new English word I’d picked up. There was a similar word in Russian, which Iwhispered to myself as I remembered the way his tongue tasted in my mouth and the way his cock fit inside my palm.
And the noises he made when he came…
I shifted, trying not to get hard because Alexio would notice, and then he’d get pissed off about it. Though he was a lot less pissed off these days now that he was having regular, and I assumed very good, sex with Jonah.
I wondered for a very brief moment if Jonah was as intense and passionate as Micah, but that seemed wrong, so I stopped and instead stared at the doors again, and…
Oh. Oh. There he was.
The lobby doors slid open, and he appeared on Alexio’s arm. I could see the two of them talking, Micah with his head tipped down, a very expensive-looking pair of sunglasses on his face. He was holding his cane in a loose grip and letting Alexio guide him, which made me feel some type of uncomfortable way. I wanted to be the man he was touching.
I wanted to be the man he turned to.
It was an unfair thought.
Alexio spotted me right away, and his steps picked up, and a moment later, he was at the driver’s door, staring me down. I sighed and opened it, leaning one leg out.
“Yes?”
His eyes widened a fraction. “Vanya. Move yourass out of my seat. Also, we’re taking Micah to Salem on the way.”
I grinned. “Okay. But I can drive. Micah up front with me. Alexio, in back where you belong for playing so badly last night.”
“Uh, fuck you,” Alexio started. “We won the game.”
“Yes, thanks to me and my defense,” I reminded him. “You were very bad keeping the puck after first period.”
Alexio flipped me off.
“I don’t mind being in the back. I prefer it,” Micah interrupted softly. There was something heavy in his tone. Something a little darker than before.
Was he ashamed of what we’d done? Did he regret me?
“You’re not driving my car. Move. Your. Ass.” Alexio reached out and tugged me by the front of the shirt until my legs slipped out and I dropped to the ground. Huffing, he shouldered past me and then froze. “Were you drinking a fucking latte in my car?”
I frowned at him. “No. I have coffee like normal person. In the café.”
He gestured angrily at the dark seat, and my eyes widened when I saw the white smear. Oh. Oh shit.
That wasn’t from a latte.
“There’s goddamn dried latte foam on the seat, Ivan!”
Before I could say anything, Micah erupted into a coughing fit and turned his face away, and Alexio frowned over his shoulder.
“Yo. Hey. Are you okay?”
“Fine,” Micah wheezed. “Just allergies.” He quickly felt along the back door and fumbled with the handle until it opened, practically throwing himself inside and slamming the door.
Alexio groaned. “Fuck’s sake, will you please be careful with my baby. She’s delicate.” He spit onto the hem of his shirt and began to clear up the mess.
The not-latte mess.
“I clean it,” I told him quickly.
He waved me off. “It’s fine. Just…for the love of god, no food or drink in my car again, okay?”
I nodded. There was no point in arguing because I wasn’t about to tell him what the stain actually was. My cheeks were hot as I moved around to the passenger side and debated for a minute about whether or not I wanted to get in the back seat. But it was obvious Micah was asking for space, and I wasn’t going to be the guy who stomped all over the boundary he’d put up.
