Page 24 of Robbin’ the Rich

This was dangerous too. Possibly more dangerous than the sex. Yet I tucked myself closer against him anyway.

A few minutes later, wrapped up in warm sheets and the steady rise and fall of Micah’s breathing, I fell asleep beside the hot priest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

6

ROBIN

When I woke up the following morning, the other side of the bed was empty. For one disorienting second, disappointment hit me hard enough to actually annoy me. Seriously? I stared at the ceiling while sleep and reality slowly caught up with each other. Right. There was a Halloween party with a hot priest and life-altering sex. Honestly, it still sounded fake in my head.

I rolled onto my side and looked at the rumpled sheets beside me, faint traces of cedar and warm skin still lingering against the pillows. He’d left. It was normal, expected even. This was a hookup, a very good hookup, but still a hook up.

And yet my first irrational thought was immediately, Well now I have to find his band schedule like a stalker.

I frowned at myself. Unacceptable behavior, Robin.

Then I smelled coffee. I froze. A second later came the unmistakable sound of something sizzling in a pan.

Oh. Interesting. I pushed myself out of bed, tugging on an oversized t-shirt as I wandered down the hallway still half asleep.

And stopped dead in the doorway to the kitchen.

Micah stood at the stove barefoot and shirtless, flipping French toast while coffee brewed beside him.

Morning sunlight spilled through the apartment windows in soft gold streaks, catching against messy blonde hair. And now that he wasn’t hidden beneath stage lights and rolled sleeves, I could see his tattoo’s better. A full sleeve wrapped down one arm in dark intricate ink I hadn’t fully noticed last night. Pieces of galaxies and other space and Star Trek references I didn’t entirely understand.

Everything I learned about Micah kept contradicting the version I expected at first glance.

I just stood there watching him for another second. Watching the easy way he moved around my kitchen like he belonged there already. The way the sunlight caught against his tattoos while he flipped the French Toast. His mere existence in my apartment was alarmingly comfortable. And what was even more weird was I didn’t find it intrusive. I found it… nice.

Micah caught me staring from across the kitchen and smiled immediately. My stomach did an annoying little flip.

Before I could prepare myself, he crossed the kitchen and wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me gently against him while pressing a soft kiss to my mouth. The affection was easy, like he’d been kissing me casually in kitchens for years instead of approximately eight hours.

“You made breakfast,” I said, mostly because my brain needed safer territory.

Micah glanced toward the stove. “I worked with what you had.”

“I had leftover Chinese food.”

“You also had eggs and bread.” He shrugged. “French toast isn’t exactly fine dining.”

I narrowed my eyes slightly. “You’re competent for a man in a band.”

He shrugged and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “That’s fair.”

“And you cleaned my kitchen.”

“I panicked after realizing you own approximately nine hundred expensive electronics and would probably know how to hide a body.”

“Correct.”

Micah grinned and leaned against the counter beside me while coffee brewed behind him.

“You know,” I said slowly, tracing my gaze along the ink, “I need to ask an important question.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“Is your entire tattoo sleeve Star Trek?”