Chapter Three
THREE
Micah
My phone buzzes on the kitchen table where I’m working on my laptop. When I see it’s my dad calling for the second time this evening, I let out a heavy sigh. I can’t keep ignoring him.
I take a second to clear my throat. I haven’t spoken since my meeting this morning at East Nashville University. I don’t want him to think anything is wrong if I sound hoarse or squeaky.
“Hey, Dad. What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing much. Just wanted to check on you and see how you’re doing.”
“I’m fine.”
He chuckles. “You say that every time I call you.”
“Well, you’ve called me almost every day this week. My life is pretty boring, so I don’t really have much else to say.”
“Right…”
There’s a pinch in my chest at the slight defeat in his tone. I need to watch my tone. I sound so irritated when he’s just trying to check on me.
“Sorry, Dad,” I say, making sure my voice is lighter this time. “Work’s just been busy. I want to make sure I do a good job on this audit.”
“You’re going to do a great job, honey. You’ve always had an amazing work ethic.”
The confidence in my dad’s tone stings. His belief in me almost hurts at this point. After everything I screwed up—and after everything he and Mom gave me to help dig me out of the hole I got myself into—I’d rather he be skeptical than unwaveringly supportive. I don’t deserve it.
A quiet moment follows, and I’m almost certain he’s holding back from saying another encouraging comment. He knows I can’t stand it.
“Did you make sure to eat dinner?” he asks.
“Of course I did.”
“What did you have? And please don’t tell me it was something you microwaved. You’re young and need to nourish yourself with proper home-cooked food.”
I chuckle, feeling the slightest bit lighter this time. Most thirty-two-year-olds would be annoyed with their parents fussing over their eating habits, but it always makes me laugh. It reminds me of when I was a kid and he’d ask me what I had for lunch at school and I’d say something ridiculous, like dinosaur meat. He’d counter with his own made-up meal, like unicorn steak or mud pies, and we’d go back and forth, naming silly foods until we laughed so hard we could barely speak.
“Unicorn steak, of course,” I say, smiling.
“What a coincidence. So did I.”
We both laugh.
“I made a yummy veggie chili actually. And cornbread. That was from a box, though, because you know how much I hate baking. Still. I think that’s a pretty good meal for someone of my cooking-skill level.”
Dad lets out a low whistle. “Well, look at you, Iron Chef.”
We share another laugh. Then he pauses and clears his throat. “Honey, you’re always welcome to come over for dinner. You know how your mom and I always cook way too much. It was my turn to cook tonight, and you should see the pile of pansit that’s left on the stove. We always love having you.”
That familiar sting hits once more. I glance around the cozy space of this luxury loft in the Gulch—this luxury loft that isn’t mine. It belongs to my super successful twin sister, Jordan, who is out of the country for the next six months and needed a house sitter, so I’m taking care of her place for her. And because she’s an angel, she’s not even charging me rent.
“I’m good, Dad. You don’t need to offer to feed me every night.”
“I know that,” he says quickly. “It’s just that we’re your parents, we love you to bits, and we’ll take any excuse to see you, kiddo.”
I smile despite the shame that heats me from the inside out. My whole family has done more than enough for me this past year. My parents helped me pay off the credit-card debt I piled up after my breakup, and my sister gave me a place to live. They’re the reason I’m doing well right now.
I’m beyond grateful for them. Without them, I’d be living in a roach-infested apartment with an empty bank account. But it’s also why I’m so adamant about not going over to see my parents all the time. I want to show them that I don’t need to rely on them for everything. I want to show them that I won’t always need their help and that I’m capable of making it on my own, even after making the biggest mistake of my life.
I close my eyes, and a flash of that awful day appears. How I lost my place, my savings, and my fiancé in a single day. All because I let myself get too comfortable…because I was stupid. I should have seen it coming.
When my eyes start to burn, I quickly blink. “I appreciate it, Dad. Really. But I’ve got a good routine going here.”
“Sure, honey. I get it.”
“How about I stop by Sunday? I’ll be in the mood for some pansit and leftovers by then for sure.”
“Honey, that would be wonderful.” I can hear the smile in his voice. God, my dad is so kind and loving, I could cry.
I manage to hold it together while we exchange I love you s and tell each other good night. But as I finish up my work, my brain goes to the one place I know it shouldn’t.
Ashton.
As I shower and get ready for bed, I can’t help but think about what he’s doing. No doubt he’s with Bianca. Probably cuddled on the couch reading together. Or in bed…
I press my eyes shut so hard, they start to burn. Why the hell do I do this to myself? I don’t even want to be with Ashton anymore, that cheating, manipulative prick. But if I’m being honest, I miss the stability of our life together, of feeling happy.
Actually, thinking I was happy is more accurate. Because if I had known everything he was doing behind my back, I would have left him long before that afternoon from hell when I found out everything and my entire world came crashing down…
I shuffle to the kitchen and down a glass of water, somehow swallowing past the lump in my throat. No more wallowing. I’ve done enough of that to last a lifetime. My breakup with Ashton was a wake-up call. No more giving my heart to some guy who seems amazing only to get screwed over seven ways to Sunday. Over my dead body will I ever get into another romantic relationship anytime soon.
By the time I crawl into the massive king-size bed with a pillow-top mattress, I know I’m too wound up to sleep. I need a distraction. I grab my phone and pull up my favorite way to take my mind off my pathetic life.
I tap the Scribble Share app and navigate to the profile of my favorite writer on the platform: ShakespeareInLust.
I smile when I read the username, like I do every time I see it. Ridiculously cute and clever. This author rewrites Shakespeare’s famous plays as steamy erotica stories with happily-ever-afters. I may be anti-romance in my personal life, but I’m a total fangirl for their stories. They’re currently rewriting Romeo and Juliet as mafia erotica, and I’m tearing through the chapters—they’re so steamy and so freaking good.
When I see they’ve posted a new chapter to their story, I crack a smile. The tension in my neck and shoulders melts as I sink into my plush pillows and comforter.
I’m one sentence in before my eyes go wide.
“Jia, baby, do you understand just how badly I’ve been craving you?”
Rome dipped his head back down between Jia’s legs, dusting a kiss on her left inner thigh, then her right. He savored the delicate twitch of her leg muscles, how her body responded so greedily to the slightest touch from him. A shuddery breath fell from her lips as she started to speak, but Rome gently scraped his teeth against that supersensitive patch of skin. This time Jia’s breath turned ragged. By the time his tongue made it to her clit, her entire body was trembling.
Jia moaned, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. “But what…what about…”
Rome ran his tongue slowly up, then down, rendering Jia speechless. When he began making delicate swirls around her sensitive bud, she yelped. She tugged her fingers through his midnight-black hair before pulling his face away.
“Rome,” she panted.
His entire body ached at the loss of contact. Already he was desperate for more of her sweet taste, and he had only been without it for two seconds.
Jia gazed down at Rome, her burnt-sienna eyes hazy with arousal. “My dad…he’s going to murder you, Rome…”
Rome quirked an eyebrow at the same time as a taunting smirk tugged at his lips. He lowered his head back down between her legs. He slipped a finger inside her, moaning at how warm and wet she was.
“Here’s the thing, Jia. I don’t fucking care.”
He worked his tongue against her until she was screaming with ecstasy, until her brain forgot about everything and everyone that wasn’t Rome. As she exploded around his tongue and fingers, she realized that she didn’t care either. All she wanted, all she needed was Rome Montez.
My breath is shallow when I finish reading. Wow. That was hot as hell.
My entire body is flushed by the time I turn my phone on silent and reach to turn off the lamp. I contemplate breaking out the vibrator from the nearby nightstand, but I don’t. It’s past eleven now. I need to go to sleep.
I burrow into my comforter and catch myself thinking about the writer behind ShakespeareInLust. I’m guessing she’s a woman. So many amazing erotica writers are women.
As I drift off to sleep, I catch my delirious brain wishing I could bring Rome or any of her male characters to life. I’d happily trade in any of the real-life douchebags I’ve dated for Rome or any of ShakespeareInLust’s romance heroes. I let out a sleepy chuckle. If only.