Chapter 21. Micah
MICAH
Meredith spins her chair away from her workstation and into the aisle, her heels raised. “Brynn, our intern extraordinaire, we have a surprise for you.”
I stop walking at the word surprise and loiter by Priya’s desk like I’m reading something important on my phone.
Brynn looks up from her computer, eyes wide. She gulps. “Okay?”
“In celebration of your new status, the team’s going out after work. Dream Downtown reopened its underground cocktail lounge and the agency scored a few passes to its private party tonight.”
“The Electric Room?” Lucius claps. “Eyval!”
“If you’re into cultural appropriation and lounging on national symbols.” Josie snorts.
Brynn shakes her head. “Sorry, guys, I don’t have the funds right now. Plus, I don’t have a fake ID.”
“Didn’t you use one in high school?” Priya wrinkles her nose.
Brynn shrugs. “We always just drank at friends’ houses.”
Meredith clicks her front teeth. “Mandatory team bonding, you need to go.”
“You always say that.” Brynn slouches in her chair, squinting at her screen.
Meredith turns. “Micah, you coming?”
“Other plans.” Let them think I have a date. Tight spaces and crowds belong to another time in my life.
I know this routine by heart. Me—trying to outpace the Shadow People down Fifth Avenue as if they possess real legs. The real fun happens when one of them walks backward ahead of me, commentating on my every thought. But routine went out the window when Brynn entered my elevator.
You got that right, the Woman in Black’s henchman sneers.
“Stop. I’m going home.” No reason for me to be in an underground nightclub with some DJ and his strobe lights.
I wipe the sweat above my lip.
The Woman in Black tilts her head and wraps her hand around my bicep.
“Get off!” I yank my arm away.
A few people stare. Most steer clear.
Someone will probably ply Brynn with drinks and make a move tonight.
The henchman cackles. Donovan, Lucius . . . take your pick.
“Shut up!” She’s not like that. Doesn’t even have an ID. She’ll sit by herself again, practicing her straw origami.
I should really go keep her company. Meredith and her inane “team bonding” nights.
I turn west on Bleecker toward the Meatpacking District.
I’m not spying, I’m checking up on my underage team member.
Okay, I’m spying.
I travel down a neon-lit loading ramp covered in graffiti. The further I commit, the walls edge in closer. My scalp perspires. I hold my breath, moving faster, and duck inside what looks like a British movie set—gothic chandeliers, leather couches upholstered with Union Jack flags.
Josie’s comment this afternoon makes a lot more sense now.
A wave of cool air with hints of coconut hits my face. My chest thumps to the beat of the Sex Pistols song pumping out of the speakers.
I order a sparkling water at the bar. No fish and chips here. Only vibrant-colored cocktails in the hand of every enthusiastic twentysomething present. I scan the room to find her. Before my brain can register, my lungs seize.
She’s dancing with Lucius at the far end of the room, a fancy green drink in her hand. I knew he liked her. He may take part in the ribbing spurred on by Donovan, but his eyes tell a different story. The way he watches her in meetings.
Dammit.
Sipping his drink, he grabs for her hand.
They look awkward together.
Her eyes survey the room; maybe she’s bored by him?
Find me, I implore in my head.
Her gaze lands on me, and she offers a small wave.
My chest bursts.
She turns back to Lucius.
Acid climbs up my throat. My eyes burn, staring. She doesn’t look again.
Stop stalking and walk away. Better yet, leave.
I zigzag through the crowd. The vibe in here is like a shiny penny. In a few weeks, after the bridge-and-tunnel crowds descend, this place’s appeal will dull.
I frequented similar club openings back in high school with my then friends. Even at fifteen, someone always knew a bouncer or manager who could get us through the door.
I operated like a player then, verbally beating down lesser opponents to impress the hardest-to-get girl in the room. I didn’t care if feelings got hurt. Once I scored her tongue in my mouth, perhaps more, I lost interest. The hunt far outweighed the catch.
Until now.
I circle the room a couple of times and stop at a neon sign accenting the hallway bathrooms.
Brynn exits one of them. “Found you!” She points to me, her voice volume on high. “Thought you were hiding.”
“The lights give me a headache.” I smile. “Did you follow me?” Really, that’s your line?
“What? I can’t hear you. The music . . .” She taps her ear to illustrate like a kindergarten teacher.
We move down the narrow hallway toward the emergency exit, escaping the thump-thump of the speakers.
With my back to the wall, I prop my foot against it, hands in pockets, heart exploding. “I saw you dancing.”
“Not very well, I imagine.” She grimaces and shifts her weight to her other foot. She’s wearing my favorite red dress of hers that shows off her curves and exposes her thigh when she walks. Her spicy vanilla scent fills my nostrils. I inhale, wanting more.
She grins wide, not looking at me.
I hear her speak but I’m too busy staring to make out the words. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Thought you had plans tonight,” she says louder.
Not going to answer that. “Everyone still here?” Gone home, I hope.
“Dancing, I think.” She glances back toward where I first saw her.
Lucius and the others are standing by the bar, getting more drinks. They don’t seem to have noticed us back here; good, gives me a chance to be alone with her. Tucked in this hallway, we’re hidden from most of the club-goers—apart from the blonde who’s sitting at the end of the bar, gawking.
She smiles my way like she knows me. I can’t place her. Not from my high school. Too young to be a client.
Then she sees Brynn, her eyes grow large, and she drops the glass in her hand.
People around her stoop to help.
Her eyes remain glued on Brynn.
“Do you know her?” I tilt my head in the blonde’s direction.
Brynn looks around me and shakes her head. “Never seen her before.”
We both shrug.
“On the subway the other day, who was the guy you helped?”
She stares off for a few seconds. Her amber eyes glow. “Oh, a friend from middle school.”
“Is that where you got the idea for the gender fluid makeup line?”
“I guess they were the first person I knew who identified that way. Rikki was always so creative and comfortable being themself. Some people can’t deal when others don’t fit the mold.
I got some of that growing up, people saying I’d be prettier with makeup or if I dressed more feminine.
They labeled me a tomboy, called me gay. ”
She’s never spoken more than two words to me before now. My head spins with all this new information.
“It doesn’t matter to me if you are.” Where the hell am I going with this? “I mean, no one should tell you how to be.”
Color flares on her cheeks, she avoids my gaze. Her eyes sparkle from the alcohol, lips wet. I’ve never seen her like this: hair tousled, that smashing dress slightly askew, baring her shoulder. Her honey skin calling my name.
Voices exit the bathroom behind Brynn. A group in flowy minidresses spills out. One of them, red-faced, leans over to say something in her friend’s ear—knocking her into Brynn’s back and pushing her into me in the process.
I catch her just as her face skims my chest.
Our eyes lock.
Hints of russet swirl like fire in her amber eyes. I’m transfixed. A thirst rises in my throat.
Her hands graze her arms where I touched her. She parts her lips, her shoulders press into her back. She lifts her face toward mine. Her breath’s sweet, like a green apple lollipop.
Not the time or place. Still, I want to . . .
Her gaze breaks from mine. She squints toward the bar.
It’s just us, I say silently. Stay.
She backs up against the wall, her cheeks colored a deeper shade than before.
I hesitate, then step toward her. I imagine hoisting her hips and sliding her up the wall, pressing my mouth and pelvis to hers.
“Um, I should go,” she mutters. “Priya’s holding my purse.”
My thoughts stammer. The words I’ll go with you fail to leave my lips before she disappears into the sea of people and the Shadow People descend, smirking.