Chapter 3
MICAH
Ilearned a long time ago that a linebacker’s greatest weapon wasn’t speed or brute force—it was patience.
Reading an offense, waiting for the guard to lean his weight, watching the quarterback’s eyes right before the snap.
Striking the moment the gap opens and you lay somebody out.
If you missed it by half a beat, the running back was celebrating in the end zone.
That same patience carried me through the week after I first met Rylin.
When I left practice Tuesday afternoon, my legs still ached from sled work, my shoulder throbbed where a rookie tight end had tried to prove a point, and my belly was growling for the Micah’s Monster Melt I pretended was off-limits during the season.
Plus, Monday’s full-contact practice still rang in my bones, but soreness never kept a linebacker off his feet.
And it sure as hell wasn’t keeping me out of The Tight Line.
The subway rumbled beneath Midtown as I walked the last block. My shirt clung to me by the time I shouldered through our glass door, and the deli’s blessed AC hit me.
Twenty-six hours after I’d walked out of The Tight Line, half drunk on the sound of her laugh, and I was back again. One of the other servers I’d briefly met when he was hired, Derek, waved from the host stand, but my eyes had already found the only thing that mattered.
Rylin.
She was wiping down a four-top near the window, her hips swaying to the beat, and the sight of her punched warmth through my chest. I tracked her every step, my eyes sweeping over her, not missing a thing.
The cheap, threadbare sneakers were patched with silver duct tape at the sides and across the toe, where the sole had started to separate.
The way her ponytail swung even though it was already drooping loose from the morning rush.
That stubborn smile pushed against the tired.
Her makeup was freshly done, but it didn’t hide the shadows that still smudged the skin under her eyes.
When she noticed me, hesitation flickered behind her hazel eyes. One day wasn’t enough to erase her caution. I wasn’t deterred, though. I raised a hand, nothing more, and slid into the same booth as yesterday. She finished busing her table before approaching, a pen already in hand.
“Back already?” A hint of amusement colored her voice, but the guardrails were still up. Obviously, nobody got close to her without earning it. Which would make it all the more special when I finally breached those walls of hers.
I grinned, sinking into the vinyl booth. “I’m starving. And how could I own a place where I didn’t crave the food?” Winking, I added, “And the service.”
Her mouth quirked like she wanted to argue, but didn’t have the energy. “What’ll it be?”
“I know I shouldn’t, but I had a hell of a workout today. So, I’ll take my Monster Melt, extra pickles. And you,” I added, leveling my gaze on her, “grab something for yourself. I know your shift ends in twenty minutes, and I’d bet my next paycheck you’re working a double tonight.”
Rylin huffed. “I told you, I—”
“Policy,” I cut in, gentle but unmovable. “You’re going to eat, Rylin.”
A sigh slipped past her lips. “Fine.”
The small victory felt huge.
While I waited, I pulled the deli’s profit-and-loss statement up on my phone, pretending I cared about the uptick in cured-meat costs when all I really did was steal glances at her.
Every time she slid a tray across a table, I found new details—the way her knuckles whitened when she lifted a bus tub that weighed half what she did, the soft sweep of freckles across her cheekbones, and the elastic hair tie at her wrist holding an extra pen.
When she finally set my sandwich in front of me, the scent of melted provolone hit me like play-action. My stomach growled loud enough to make her laugh.
After I took a moment to let the sound wash over me, I picked up the melt and took a bite, then sighed happily as the flavor of black pastrami, caramelized onions, provolone, horseradish cream, and grilled rye filled my mouth.
“Good?” she asked with a small smile.
“I’ll let you know once I come up for air.” I took another massive bite, closed my eyes, and hummed. “Lionel outdid himself.”
She eased a water glass onto the table, and her fingers trembled just a little. Probably low blood sugar, which happened when you skipped meals. I swallowed and nodded toward the pass-through. “Order in for yourself?”
Her cheeks flushed. “Yes. Happy?”
“Ecstatic.”
That almost coaxed a laugh again, but she turned away too fast. I let it go and continued eating my sandwich. When Rylin disappeared into the kitchen, Tammi slid into the booth opposite me, arms crossed.
“You’re hovering,” she said without preamble.
“I prefer ‘strategic observation.’ Sounds less stalkery, more executive.”
“Uh-huh. Let me know when your executive duties involve inventory instead of heart-eyes.”
I scowled. “No one’s seeing heart-eyes. I’m being subtle.”
“Yeah, right. Nobody’s buying this undercover routine.” Tami snorted. “You’re a six-foot-five freight train in a crowded station, Micah. Subtle left the platform three stops ago.” Then she leaned in, her voice softening. “She’s good people, Micah. Don’t spook her.”
“I have no intention of spooking her.”
Tammi arched her brow, unconvinced, but before she could say anything else, I glanced at the pass-through to the kitchen and spotted Rylin carrying a chicken-avocado wrap nearly as big as her arm.
She was walking toward the hallway that led to the employee break room.
I quickly slid out of the booth and jogged over to the door, entering the back just in time to intercept her.
“This way,” I said as I steered her back to the front and over to my table.
Rylin opened her mouth to protest, but I shook my head. “Sit with me. Ten minutes won’t kill the ticket count.”
She hesitated, her gaze flicking to Tammi for backup. My manager just shrugged, trying to hide her smirk. “Owner’s orders, honey.”
I patted the seat across from me. “C’mon, babe. You’ve fed half of Manhattan, now feed yourself.”
Her shoulders dropped a fraction in surrender. She set down her food, then slipped into the booth, her cheeks pink with embarrassment, and her eyes skating everywhere but my face.
I poured iced tea for her, pushed the cup across the table, and waited until she took a bite that was big enough to crack the tortilla.
Only then did I pick up my own sandwich again, trying to focus on it, rather than the growing bulge between my legs with every bite she took.
She chewed, swallowed, and muttered, “You don’t have to babysit me.”
“Not babysitting.” I kept my tone easy, which took effort since I was fighting off pictures of that blissful expression on her face while I buried myself inside her over and over. “Call it quality control. Can’t have my best server passing out on the floor.”
A reluctant laugh loosened the tension in her shoulders.
She took another bite, a larger one this time, and the knot between my shoulder blades finally eased.
But there was a reverence in the way she ate, savoring every bite.
Watching her chew like she wasn’t sure when the next meal might come sent a protective surge through me so strong my fingers curled around the edge of the table.
Slow the fuck down, Daughtry. Patience.
When she’d finished half the wrap, I said, “Good. Now the rest, or I’m docking my own pay.”
Her eyes flashed, amusement winning out over pride. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah, but taking care of the people who take care of me is how I was raised.” My lips lifted at the corners as I watched the color creep back into her cheeks.
I drank the rest of my iced tea slowly, watching her until she’d swallowed every last bite. At some point, I just gave in to the fantasies of seeing that pink mouth wrapped around my dick. But I had to stay sitting, with my hard-on hidden by the table.
When she was finished, she quickly hopped to her feet, mumbled something about work, and dashed off.
Chuckling, I left another hundred beneath my water glass.
Just as I was about to step outside, Rylin rushed over and tried to hand it back.
I lifted one brow and reminded her, “Investing in my own business.”
She rolled her eyes, but this time, she slipped the bill into her apron pocket without arguing. Progress.
I went back to the deli at closing time, staying out of sight.
I knew she took the subway even when she’d closed down The Tight Line after one in the morning.
Sure, a lot of New Yorkers did it, but they weren’t my girl, and I was determined to make sure she was safe.
Her apartment was steps from the station, so I never followed her all the way to her building.
I watched until the train doors closed behind her, tension finally easing once I knew she was safe.
On Wednesday, I decided to pitch in and help bus tables.
She clearly wanted to protest, but apparently chickened out, choosing to ignore me instead.
When I took the bucket of dishes to the back, I noticed that the bracket under one of the shelves was bent.
Rylin’s brows hit her hairline when she came through the door and saw me attaching a new one and rehanging the shelf.
“Don’t you have people for that?” she asked, seeming genuinely curious.
“Getting my hands dirty isn’t exclusive to the football field,” I answered with a crooked smile. “I enjoy all kinds of hands-on…activities.”
Rylin scurried away, but not before I saw the blush darkening the freckles sprinkled across her face.
I laughed quietly. Definitely making headway.
That night, I once again stayed out of sight as I followed her to the train and waited until she was safely on.