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He nods but rises from the desk. “Yeah, I’ll go with you.”
Understandable. That dickhead who confronted me the first time I visited is likely to be around. Micah remains wary of Sean Halligan but insists they’re cool with each other and are back to being sparring partners.
It never fails to amaze me how men can do that; brawl like animals and then shake hands.
Still, I’d rather not encounter the guy on my own if it can be avoided.
Elijah walks with a limp yet always manages to move fast. The night he visited for dinner he cheerfully informed us that his doctors recommend a foot amputation due to the years of damage caused by his diabetes. He said they could haggle over which parts of him to cut off after he quits breathing for good. Until then, everything will be staying in its original package, thank you very much.
The gym is a dim gladiator battleground of sweat, violent collisions and vintage heavy metal music. This is Micah’s favorite place, where he gains a sense of belonging that eludes him elsewhere.
When I spot him, my breath catches.
Bare chested, a monument of ink and sculpted muscles, he’s like an Olympian god, too perfect to be real. His shorts hang low on his hips, showcasing ridges of a flawless pelvic V that I have a habit of running my tongue over.
He stands casually between a pair of hanging punching bags, his focus on the two men battling it out within the ropes of the nearest ring. Micah smacks his hands together with approval when one of them knocks the other to the mat. Another man walks by and barks out a comment that inspires Micah to crack up laughing.
As always, the sight of his smile electrifies my soul.
Elijah bellows with a wave. “LYONNE!”
Micah spots me and after a flash of surprise his grin returns. But before he moves, he conducts a rapid scan of the room. His eyes zero in on Sean Halligan, who is currently in a far corner trying to kick the stuffing out of a punching bag. Halligan doesn’t even look up.
Micah, satisfied that no threats are imminent, rips his gloves off and closes the distance between us at record speed. Showing up here with no warning isn’t something I’ve done since that first visit. Not because he’s told me not to but because this place is both out of my way and out of my league; a part of him that doesn’t have much to do with me.
I see the question in his eyes and give him the answer before he can ask.
“Nothing is wrong.”
Micah nods but his initial smile has dropped off. He glances at Halligan again even though Halligan is paying no attention to us. Tension now coils through his sweaty muscles, his street instincts launching into protective mode.
Being here right now is a mistake. I’m intruding on his private world and I’m about to make a life altering broadcast.
But Micah captures my waist with a possessive arm and I press my body to his, not caring that he’s all sweaty.
“I’ll leave you to it.” Elijah smacks Micah’s arm and limps down a corridor.
Micah peers down at me with a mix of curiosity and concern. “What’s going on?”
He knows me too well. And I’m rotten at hiding my feelings.
I hug him. “Will you walk me to my car?”
“Couldn’t stop me.”
The second we step outside into the sunshine my nerves start firing on every cylinder.
The walk to my car is short and silent. He’s waiting for an explanation but I can sense he’s distracted.
I hang on him with no shame, forever hungry for his touch. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you when you’re in the middle of training.”
“You can interrupt me anytime.” He slides his hand up and massages the back of my neck. “And don’t apologize for it.”
“Okay, I’m not sorry at all.”
“That’s better.” He tickles the hollow at the back of my neck.
The sex shop mascot is cemented to the same spot. He looks a little glum but perks up when he sees us and starts to dance.
