9

Dolly

I will not look. I will not look. I continued to chant that in my head as I walked past a shirtless Micah sprawled out on my small sofa. One of his long legs was thrown over the back, and the other foot touched the floor. That did not look comfortable, but the display of so much of his muscular, hard, rippled, tanned skin was making it very hard for me not to stand and stare at him. Take it in. Memorize every inch.

NO! I would not do that. It was wrong. He was sleeping. He didn’t know he was barely covered by the blanket that had fallen mostly onto the floor.

Once I made it to the kitchen, I took a deep breath and inhaled slowly. Lord help me, that was not a view I was used to seeing in the morning—or ever actually. Especially not in my apartment. I busied myself with preparing my moka pot with the fresh-ground espresso beans I had bought from Whole Foods yesterday morning. Caffeine would help. I just needed a jolt to clear my head. That was all.

“Please tell me that contraption makes coffee,” Micah said from behind me in a voice that was thick and raspy from sleep.

I tensed and tried to pretend my entire body hadn’t tingled from the sound. “Italian espresso,” I informed him, then cleared my throat before glancing back.

I was glad I’d spoken before looking. He was still shirtless, wearing jeans that he hadn’t bothered to button or zip. The black of his boxer briefs was clearly on display. He looked good enough to eat.

His gaze traveled down my body, then back up as he slowly grinned. “You know, Tink, just because that wrap covers you from the neck to the floor doesn’t mean much when it’s pink satin and lace. Maybe I should call you Barbie instead. So damn prissy.”

I wasn’t sure if that was a nice way to insult me or make fun of me, but I wasn’t going to dissect everything that came out of his mouth. There was no point in it. He’d be gone soon, and I doubted we would see each other again for another six years. Other than Pepper, we had nothing in common.

My moka pot was ready, thankfully, and I focused on making my cup with a splash of cream, the way I liked it.

“Please make me some,” he begged as I took a sip from my cup. “I have no idea how to work that thing.”

He was probably exhausted from trying to sleep on my sofa. Feeling sorry for him, I set mine down and went about making him some espresso.

“I can’t imagine you slept well on that sofa,” I said.

He yawned, and my eyes were drawn to his stomach as he stretched. The way his abs flexed made every private part of my body come alive. He was walking sin. Forcing my gaze anywhere but at him, I walked over to the refrigerator to pull out the supplies for avocado toast.

“I’d have slept better in your bed. Are you offering that? Because I won’t say no,” he drawled.

I closed my eyes for a moment and took another deep breath. “I suppose we can change places. I’m not as large as you, so I would sleep better on the sofa,” I replied while turning back to the moka pot to check on his espresso.

He chuckled. “Now, what kind of man would I be, kicking a lady out of her own bed? I was thinking I’d join you. Just to keep you warm. No touching—unless you wanted me to. I wouldn’t mind.”

His words brought images to my head that rattled me, and I managed to lose the grip on the moka pot. It slipped from my fingers, clanging and spilling onto the gas eye.

I looked down to see the welt on my skin. The pain from the spilled espresso simmered, but thankfully, the stove’s safety switch instantly shut it off. Embarrassed, I was sure my face was the shade of a bright red apple.

“Easy, Tink. I didn’t mean to get you so worked up. Did you burn yourself?” he asked, coming up behind me and reaching for my hand.

It finally registered.

Great. Just great.

“You need to ice that,” he said, running his thumb over the swollen spot.

I winced, and he made a deep sound in his chest before letting my hand go and moving away from me. Taking the warmth of his body and scent with him. He took three long strides over to the fridge and opened the freezer. When he saw the stack of three bright pink ice packs, a grin tugged at his lips. He took one out, then turned back to me.

“Burn yourself often?” he asked.

I shook my head as he took my wrist and placed the ice pack on my burn.

“I just like to keep them handy if needed. To pack in a lunch box or if I pull a muscle from doing Pilates.” I stopped talking as his smile grew bigger. Why was that funny?

“Very organized,” he replied, “and pink.”

Annoyed by his teasing, I took my hand from his and held the ice pack on my burn. This was embarrassing enough. He didn’t have to add to it.

“What did I do now?” he asked.

I turned to the stove to clean up my mess. “You seem to find me amusing.”

“I’m not making fun of you, Tink. It’s cute.”

Cute. Just what every girl wanted to be referred to by a man like Micah Abe. I was always cute. I hated that word.

“I’ll clean it up. You keep the ice on your hand,” he told me, taking the towel from me.

I let him have at it just to keep from having to talk to him.

He leaned over and started wiping up my spill, and I was too weak not to watch his back flex and move. The tattoos were more like a work of art. I wasn’t one who liked tattoos much, but on Micah, they only seemed to make his already-perfect body more appealing.

“Why don’t you put up whatever that healthy shit was that you pulled out of the fridge and I’ll go get us some real breakfast?” he said as he turned back to look at me.

My eyes snapped up to meet his gaze, and I hoped that he didn’t realize I’d been admiring his body.

“There are the doughnuts that Pep brought last night too. I left you three of them, but they are probably not as good this morning.”

“I can just eat avocado toast. You don’t need to get me nothing,” I told him.

He gave me a crooked grin. “I’m starving, and I need a real cup of coffee. I won’t go out and get something and not bring you back something too. So, tell me now what you like, or I’ll guess.”

Fine. At least this would get him out of the apartment long enough so that I could breathe. Get a shower and recover from this morning’s events.

“There’s a breakfast café two blocks over, called Glory Griddle. It’s known for its chicken and waffles. I like the egg white, spinach, and feta omelet there.”

His eyes brightened. “I love chicken and waffles,” he said.

I caught myself before replying, I know. With maple syrup. Or at least, that had been his favorite the last summer he stayed at Pepper’s.

I managed a tight smile and said nothing more. He would also like their coffee there. I didn’t add that information. He’d figure it out himself.

“You sure you don’t want something more filling than that?” he asked me. “Maybe some pancakes?”

I shook my head. “I don’t eat big breakfasts.”

“All right then. Healthy-ass omelet it is. I’ll be back in a few. Lock up. Let no one inside.”

Again, I just nodded.

When he left me in the kitchen, I sighed in relief and leaned back against the counter. That could have gone worse, but it could have gone better too. At what age would I stop being an awkward weirdo? With Canyon, I had managed not to be so nervous and clumsy. But Micah Abe got the worst version of me, it seemed.

Just my luck that the only sexy man I could be normal around was a criminal who hadn’t wanted me in the first place.

When I heard the front door close, I made my way to the bathroom. No use in standing around and thinking about all the ways I could have handled that better. It was done.

Micah got a phone call once he got back with breakfast, and I was finished eating mine and getting ready to leave for work by the time he was done.

When he walked back into the apartment, he looked at me and frowned. “Sorry that took so long. Had issues with one of our nightclubs last night, and I had to handle some things. You ready to go to work?”

“Yes, I need to go, but I put your food in the toaster oven on warm to keep it from getting cold, and there is an extra key to the apartment on the key ring just there.” I pointed at the location beside the door.

He didn’t glance back at it. “I’ll go grab my food, and we can go,” he said, walking past me.

We can go? What?

“You’re going now too? You can eat here and leave when you’re done or whenever you want to.”

“I’m driving you to work. One of the guys is meeting us there and will wait in the parking lot today to watch over you until you get off. I’ll be back to get you, but if not, he will bring you back here and stay until I can get here.”

Pulling my purse up on my shoulder higher, I thought about my words carefully before saying them. I didn’t want to argue more. I’d done plenty of that yesterday, and I was plumb exhausted from it. But I also didn’t see how this was needed. Not once had Canyon ever come by my work to see me. I wasn’t sure he knew where I worked exactly. Sure, we had discussed what I did, but never details.

“It’s a college library, Micah. I’m safe as can be. Most of the time, I’m in the back, pulling the resource requests sent in by professors. They have security and all that.”

Micah was chewing with his waffle wrapped around his fried chicken breast in one hand and his keys in the other. He walked past me and opened the door. I was going to be late if I didn’t leave now, so I went outside, and he followed me.

“Campus security is a fucking joke. Let’s go, Tink,” he replied simply and placed his hand on my lower back to lead me toward the stairs. “This is the best fried chicken I’ve ever put in my mouth. Great suggestion.”

I stared up at him, and he winked.

My privates started tingling again. Dang it.