Chapter 6
Six
MICAH
S huffling cards helped me think.
The motions, the tactile feeling of something that wasn’t a boxing glove touching my hands, one smooth, practiced bridge after the other, a habit I’d developed as a kid spending hours upon hours alone with nothing to do.
Every card in this specific deck had passed through my hands a thousand times, maybe more.
They were worn soft at the edges, familiar.
My phone buzzed, distracting me mid-bridge, sending the cards into a clumsy pile, with two facing up.
One didn’t surprise me—the ace of spades card that someone had taken a pen to long ago, to write Micah on.
The other… was the queen of spades.
Huh.
I didn’t often consider myself lucky. I didn’t need “luck” when I had the gift of foresight, and could conduct myself accordingly.
Had conducted myself accordingly, with varying degrees of success until I learned how to truly channel it.
Rhea Dawes being the woman on the other end of my visions of my future?
That had to be luck.
A blessing.
A reward.
Something.
She was too fucking fine for that to not be the case.
Before I’d ever even laid eyes on her, she’d invaded my psyche—faceless, formless, but present—an impending meeting all I could do was wait for.
And then, one night after a hard workout, I was scrolling social media, and there she was.
Cocoa freckles sprinkled over toasted-cinnamon skin, big sandy hair, body for days, pouring champagne in some drunk woman’s mouth, wearing a crop top with Dream Girl printed across the front.
Indeed she was.
Suddenly, those visions were all the more vivid, and all the more consuming.
I had to see her in person.
I figured out the club, showed up every night, trying to run into her.
When I did, it was a relief.
She was real.
Real, and beautiful, and mine… eventually, at least.
I wasn’t so socially inept that I didn’t understand there would need to be some degree of finesse, and definitely some patience. I couldn’t just pop up and say, “ you’re the love of my life, I saw it in a vision ” and expect to not land my ass in jail, beat up, or shit… disappeared, fooling around with someone attached to Kingston Whitfield.
My “truth” would send her running in the opposite direction.
Or… I’d thought so, until fight night, when I felt her trying to get into my head.
She… was like me.
But different.
That had thrown me for a bit of a loop.
It had thrown me, sure. But it also made me cautious. Careful.
Every time I’d tried to lay it all out before, the vision shifted. Never in a good way.
So yeah… I wanted to tell her everything. But I wasn’t risking it. Not this time.
Even if patience had never been my strong suit.
I’d waited long enough for some sort of organic thing to happen. When I saw her sitting ringside, looking good as fuck, I took it as a sign. When I touched her, finally feeling that velvet-soft skin under my fingertips… I knew I was on the right track.
Now I just had to not fuck it up.
I’d been trying to let things between us breathe, but I was wondering now if that was a mistake. In my efforts to not rush anything along, I’d held back from being on her phone every damn day, I hadn’t showed up at the club.
Hell… I hadn’t shown up at her door.
Trying not to come on too strong.
I was worried though… What if I wasn’t coming hard enough ?
A chime from the security system pulled me out of my thoughts.
Somebody was at the door.
I was quick to grab my phone, check the cameras.
Rhea was at my door.
She hadn’t knocked, or rang the bell yet, she was just standing there, like she was still considering the situation.
I couldn’t blame her.
I’d be pissed about the mind games too, but this was the kind of resistance I needed to introduce to make sure I wasn’t fucking it up.
Giving her the address and gate code were enough.
I ignored her questions.
Another thing that probably pissed her off.
But if she was meant to come, she would.
She had.
One month .
One month since the fight, since touching her, talking to her. I’d been restrained, waiting for her to seek me out.
And now she was here.
“Yes,” I whispered to myself, watching the camera as she pulled out that queen of spades card I’d given her.
A keycard.
Corny? Sure, whatever.
But the message was loud and clear.
She held it up to the keypad—flash of pink, then a soft click before she stepped inside, and the tension dropped from my shoulders.
I slid the phone in my pocket and headed downstairs to meet her.
“You should know, I expected a bit more fanfare,” she said when she saw me, crossing her arms. “Balloons, flowers, fireworks, something .”
I grinned as I approached her. “I wasn’t sure you would come,” I admitted.
“Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t know your mind games would bring me to your door?”
“I didn’t know when .”
Her eyes narrowed. “Fair enough. So… gifts, then. Shoes, jewelry… those don’t deflate or die.”
“Stop fucking around,” I told her. “You’re not impressed with lavish gifts, and you would’ve been disgusted if I tried. Wouldn’t you?”
She stared for a moment, then blew out a sigh, looking past me to the backyard.
Not saying anything.
For so long that… shit, I was doubting myself a little now.
Instead of letting that feeling linger, I stepped ahead, motioning toward the open glass doors. “Come on. Let me pour you a drink.”
On a sigh, she looked back to me, staring for a moment before I caught the subtle shift in her energy.
She wasn’t relaxed, but she was curious… and that was all I needed.
After a few seconds of hesitation, Rhea followed me outside, her eyes roaming as we moved, taking in her surroundings. My home was a custom build in a small gated community in the Vegas hills, well away from both the city and the mega-mansions others with similar bank accounts may have chosen.
I didn’t want all that.
It was well-appointed of course, but in terms of size, I wanted something modest. Not too much for me to care for by myself, that would always feel like mine, like home... and could maybe feel like that for her too.
Eventually.
Outside, the rapidly-cooling Vegas night air spilled around us. With a touch of a button the firepit was lit, casting a soft, golden glow over the seating area. A warm breeze moved through, ruffling Rhea’s hair and sending it cascading around her face and shoulders.
Beautiful.
When she realized I was watching her, she scowled at me, and I shook my head, gesturing at one of the cushioned loungers. “Sit.”
She gave me a look but moved that way anyway, while I popped back in and grabbed a bottle and glasses from the minibar a few feet away. When I walked out, she’d just sat down, crossing one leg over the other, that pretty brown skin on display with her dress riding up her thighs.
“You’re bossy,” she declared.
“You like it,” I shot back, smirking as I poured drinks for both of us.
She scoffed. “What I like is knowing what I’m getting into.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her gaze locked on mine as I extended one of the glasses in her direction. “Whatever’s in that glass? You drink it first.”
I lifted an eyebrow and let out a quiet laugh. “You think I’d do you like that?”
She smiled. “Drink.”
Her tone was direct, eyes challenging, she was serious.
I shrugged, keeping my gaze on hers as I lifted the glass and took a slow sip of the bourbon.
There wasn’t shit for me to hide.
I swallowed, then offered the glass to her a second time. Her gaze stayed on mine as she accepted it, then drained the glass. In the next moment, her hand shot out, fingers pressing against my wrist before I could even consider pulling away. Immediate sensation ripped through me, concentrated hot and sharp in my head.
She was in.
I sucked in a breath, bracing against the sudden pressure in my skull, but not pulling away from her touch or pushing her out of my head.
I let her see and feel the certainty, the desire, the need for her that had been brewing in me before I ever even saw her face.
No traps here.
Tricking only if she wanted that.
After a moment, Rhea gasped, her fingers twitching against my wrist. I felt what she’d brushed against—the part of my memories that was unrealized visions—I did push her out then. I couldn’t risk whatever might come of her having that knowledge.
She’d seen enough for now, enough to know there was no harm waiting for her here, no ulterior motives.
Just me wanting her.
Wanting what was mine.
She yanked her hand back like she’d run across something electric, eyes wild from her perch on the edge of her chair.
I smirked, taking the glass she’d let go slack in her fingers to put beside the other on the table. “Did you see what you needed to see? Enough to understand you don’t need to be afraid of me?”
Her jaw clenched. “Nobody’s afraid of you.”
I tilted my head, frowned. “Your hands are shaking.”
She sucked her teeth, curling her fingers into fists in her lap. “Fuck you.”
“I gladly will… if you’re ready for that.”
At first, her eyes were narrowed in frustration, but then—probably as she processed what she’d just experienced—her gaze softened with understanding.
“You didn’t know I was coming tonight , ” she muttered, then spoke louder, “But you know about other nights, don’t you?” she asked. “Like… you already know we’re going to sleep together?”
I nodded. “I do.”
“You’ve seen it?”
I chuckled. “What, like my own personal flick, starring me and you? No.”
“But you’ve seen other things?”
“Yes.”
“Like what?”
“I can’t tell you that,” I admitted, and she let out a huff.
“Why not?”
“Because in the past, when I’ve talked to someone about what I saw, trying to warn them… the vision changed. Made it worse. So I don’t do that anymore.”
“That sounds a little superstitious.”
“Maybe so. But I know better than to ignore it.”
She stared at me for a moment, then nodded, clasping her hands together in her lap. “Fair enough,” she said, quiet… thoughtful. And then, “So you can’t tell me what you saw… Can you tell me what you felt?”
My head tipped to the side. “Elaborate.”
“You have visions of some type. Of, I’m guessing… your own future. Somehow, I’m connected to that, because you seeing me, seeking me out… is literally imprinted on you. It’s important. And so, I’m not asking what you saw, since you’ve already said you can’t tell me that. Instead, I want to know how what you saw made you feel.”
I drew back, surprised by the question.
And honestly… not sure how to answer.
“Transparently,” Rhea said. “That’s how you answer. Just be honest with me.”
Right.
I picked up my forgotten drink, downing it before I leaned forward, elbows propped on my knees.
“What I felt with the visions is kinda hard to say. But I can tell you my experience with you directly. Is that okay?”
She nodded.
“Relief.”
Rhea’s lips parted slightly, but she stayed quiet, listening.
“You ever had something meant for you, close enough to feel it, but just out of reach? That shit is frustrating.” I chuckled. “But then one night, there you were.” My gaze swept over her, slow, deliberate. “And it was like this weight off my shoulders. Relief .”
Her chest rose on a sharp inhale, like she felt those words deep.
I sat back, letting a slow smirk curve my lips. “I don’t mean to piss you off, or be cryptic…” I tipped my chin toward her. “But that Dream Girl shit… it’s a fantasy to these other niggas. But understand… it’s real as fuck for me. ”