AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He nods without looking at me. “Two blocks to the north.”
“And you work there as well as train there?”
“Yup.”
I know he’s a Mixed Martial Arts fighter but I’m not really sure what that looks like. I’d have to guess it looks like men rolling around on a gym mat and kicking the hell out of each other.
“Dani says you always win.”
“Dani’s right. This is my building. Moved up to the fourth floor a couple of months ago. Hope you don’t mind stairs. There’s no elevator.”
Even in the dark I see that the brick box of a building would benefit from a facelift. A naked yellow bulb hangs above the door, which sits at the top of half a dozen chipped concrete steps. The windows of the bottom floor are protected by stark iron bars. Inside, a man is curled into a snoring ball at the base of the stairs and Micah motions for me to step right over him.
Micah takes the lead and keeps checking to make sure I’m right behind him. The stairwell is narrow and dark. After the first two flights I start feeling like I’m ascending a medieval tower. One with streaks of garbled graffiti on the walls and ringing with the shouts of a couple screaming ‘FUCK YOU!’ at one another.
Micah checks over his shoulder once again when we reach the fourth floor, like he doesn’t trust me not to run off. This is worlds away from the place we grew up.
The thing is, Micah has options. His family owns a colossal property development company. I know he has a chilly relationship with his mother but I can’t imagine Matilda would refuse to give him a job.
Dani is under the impression he stays here because he wants to forget where he comes from. I can’t think of a better explanation.
“Home sweet home.” He unlocks the door and shoves it open, waiting for me to walk through first.
Somehow I was expecting a mess but this is far from a disaster. The apartment is small, a studio, even smaller than the suite I shared with Dani back in college. But the queen sized bed is neatly made and aside from a couple of dishes in the sink, there’s nothing out of order.
There isn’t much room for furniture. The sofa is only a two seater. The dresser and nightstand are mismatched shades of dark wood. And the small bistro set just off the kitchen has two chairs but the table is tiny.
Micah spots an open sketchpad on the table and quickly snatches it up, closing the cover, an obvious signal that he has no desire to share the contents. He’d always been an extremely talented artist, even designing his own tattoos. I just assumed his art was something that had fallen to the wayside.
“Did you forget to wear a bib at dinner?” Micah gestures to my dress.
I’d forgotten about the stain. Now that I take stock of the damage I see a softball-sized red splotch that would look pretty gory if it was a few shades darker.
“Call it a casualty of my east side adventure. I just bought it too. You mind if I use your bathroom and try to rinse it out?”
“Go ahead.” He moves to his dresser and then makes a shockingly chivalrous move. “Here, in case you want to change.”
I catch the hooded sweatshirt he tosses to me. The words Emerald City Cyclones are emblazoned across the front. I feel a thud of dread in my belly as I’m reminded of Pierce Carrington.
But then I also remember this is the team Conner plays for, which would explain why Micah roots for them. I don’t follow football much but I do know Conner’s having a great season as the starting quarterback and the Cyclones have a shot at the playoffs.
Micah tucks his sketchpad under his arm and crosses the room. “The sweatshirt should be as long as a dress on you.”
“Thanks.”
He flips the latch on a narrow door and opens it. A cool breeze drifts in, bringing with it the sound of the street below. “And if you’re thirsty, there’s water and beer in the fridge. Take your pick.”
Before I can thank him again, he vanishes through the door to the balcony, leaving me on my own.
Luckily, there are no nightmares awaiting in the bathroom either. Just a very surreal sense that I’m in a place that I never expected to be, which is standing in Micah Lyonne’s bathroom in my bra and panties.
The dress might be a lost cause. I rinse it out in the sink as best I can and ring out the water before draping it across the shower rod. Micah was right about the sweatshirt. It reaches nearly to my knees.
My hair had been trapped in a bun but it’s been coming apart ever since I left the bar. I pull out the claw clip and shake the dark waves loose before critically assessing my reflection.
My mother, an ethereal redhead, was beautiful. I don’t look like her. She passed down her petite figure but otherwise I’m a dark eyed, dark haired testament to my Sicilian roots on the Ballerini side of the family.
I kick my heels off because I’ve been wearing them for about fourteen hours and my toes hurt. At some point I need to call my bank with an alert that my cards have been stolen but I’ll wait until I get home. Last year when my credit card information was stolen online the bank had no issue with reversing the fraudulent charges.
