18. Robin
ROBIN
Trixie's was packed enough that the noise settled into a comfortable roar around them. I sat with Belle and Zella at one of the high-top tables near the stage, nursing a beer while pretending I wasn't watching the band.
I was absolutely watching the band. More specifically, I was watching the lanky blonde bassist in a faded Star Trek shirt who was currently concentrating on his instrument like the fate of the universe depended on it.
Belle followed her gaze and smirked.
"Oh, you have it bad."
"I don't know what you're talking about," but I just smiled. While I was still denying it outwardly, I knew I did, in fact, have it bad.
Belle leaned forward. "Have you told him?"
"Told him what?" I shrugged while holding my beer.
The words had barely left her mouth when Micah glanced up from the stage. As if he could somehow feel her looking at him. His eyes found mine. He smiled…. And winked.
"Oh my God!" Zella practically shrieked.
Belle slapped the table triumphantly. "I knew it!"
I rolled my eyes, but I could feel myself smiling anyway. "We can't all fall for giant broody rich men. Some of us fall for hot nerdy bassists."
There may have been squealing, but I chose to ignore it.
The ridiculous thing was that the wink wasn't even the best part anymore. A month ago, that would have been enough to leave me flustered for hours. Now it was the familiarity behind it. It was a private gesture between us.
Micah adjusted his glasses and turned back toward the crowd, still smiling.
During the band's break, I slipped away from the table and intercepted him near the back hallway.
"There you are," Micah said, his entire face lighting up.
"Here I am."
His smile widened. "Having fun?"
"I was."
"Were?"
I hooked a finger through one of his belt loops and tugged him closer.
His eyebrows disappeared behind his hairline.
"Robin."
"Micah."
A laugh escaped him. "You have that look."
"What look?"
"The one that usually gets me into trouble."
"Good."
The answering grin he gave me was warm and completely unguarded. He looked at me like he was still trying to piece out my intentions… and truthfully so was I. Yet I still grabbed his hand and pulled him further down the hallway.
The noise from the bar faded into the background. As I opened the door at the end of the corridor.
“Where are we going?”
We continued until I pulled him around the back of the building. Then I pushed him against the wall. A small huff of air left him as he looked at me with intoxication and a level of awe.
I claimed his mouth in a kiss. Without a second's pause he slid his hands into my hair, cupping my face and pulled me close. I knew what I wanted to do. I had pictured this all night watching him up there on the stage.
I began to undo his pants as I bit his bottom lip.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“You know what I’m doing.”
“I don’t actually know.”
Then I dropped to my knees in front of him.
“Oh… Oh.. Robin are you su—”
I wrapped my mouth around his cock, and his head hit the wall with a soft thump.
I looked up at him, checking in. He looked down at me, his brow tight and his lips parted.
Then he caressed my face. How was he still so sweet when I was sucking his dick behind a bar?
I sucked him harder and swirled my tongue around the head as I continued to work him.
“Fuck, Robin. You’re so hot.”
He continued to caress my cheek with his thumb. The juxtaposition of this was so perfectly him. Gentle caresses in the alley fit the rockstar who also wore a Star Trek shirt.
“Baby, fuck, baby, fuck.”
His gentle caress turned into a hand fisted in my hair as he was close to the edge. I don’t think I have ever enjoyed giving head quite this much.
“Baby, I’m gonna—”
I sucked him into my mouth taking him all the way in until he hit the back of my throat. His hand pulled and I enjoyed the sting as he emptied into my mouth.
I stood up, fixed his pants and kissed him.
He looked at me with a glazed over smile. “You really are perfect.”
He pulled me close and tried to spin us, so my back was against the wall.
I let him and enjoyed the feel of his lips on mine until I felt him starting to undo the button of my jeans.
I pulled back and looked up into his eyes.
His hair was damped with sweat around the edges from being on stage and his eyes were fixed on me with a lusty determination.
“Micah, you don’t have to.”
He only responded with a kiss.
I pulled back again, hating the giggle that bubbled up. “Micah, you have to go. I only did that because you look so hot on the stage.”
“And now I want to return the favor—”
“Micah, we’re on,” a voice called from the doorway.
“Later,” he said in damn near a growl before kissing down the side of my neck.
I cupped his face and gave him one last kiss. "Go be a rock star."
"I'm a bassist."
"Looks the same to me.”
Micah kissed me one last time as the lead singer called his name.
“I’ll be watching.”
He gave me one more kiss and turned still smiling as he headed back toward the stage.
An hour later, the band had packed up for the night, Trixie's was closing down, and somehow, I found myself squeezed into a booth at the twenty-four-hour diner down the street with half the Grim Reapers and one extremely confused science teacher.
"I still don't understand why we're here," Micah admitted as a plate of cheese fries landed in front of him.
"Because," Belle explained patiently, stealing one of Raphael's onion rings, "after enough alcohol, every derby team requires greasy food."
Sonia didn't even look up from his burger. "She means she's hungry."
"That too," Belle smirked.
Micah nodded solemnly. "Ah. The sacred post-drinking ritual."
"Exactly."
"Like Klingon death chants."
The entire table went silent. Belle blinked. Zella blinked.
Then they all burst out into laughter. Micah quickly realized what he'd done. "Oh no."
I sat back and watched, knowing he was about to get it, but it was sink or swim with this bunch.
"Oh yes," Belle said. "Please continue."
Micah sighed. "That wasn't a normal thing to say, was it?"
"No," Sonia said.
"Not even a little," Zella added.
To his credit, he looked completely unbothered. "If it helps, Klingons do have very strong communal traditions."
"It does not help," I informed him.
Across the table, Zella was grinning so hard I worried she might hurt herself.
Most people tried to be cool when they met new people, and it would appear Micah wasn’t most people. He was just himself. There wasn't a single ounce of pretense in him.
"So," Belle said, leaning forward with all the subtlety of a charging rhinoceros. "Tell us about yourself."
I groaned.
Micah looked amused. "What would you like to know?"
"Intentions."
"Belle!" I snapped.
"What?" she asked innocently. "I'm protective."
"You're nosy."
"Like that’s anything new."
Micah laughed before looking at Belle.
"My intentions are to spend as much time with Robin as she'll let me."
The booth went quiet. My heart immediately attempted to escape through her throat. Micah looked completely sincere.
Belle's expression softened, clearly satisfied by his answer "I like him." Belle pointed at Micah.
"I was under the impression you already liked me."
"I did, but now I approve."
“Can someone please remind me why I’m friends with you guys?” I groaned.
The table dissolved into laughter, but Micah just squeezed my knee under the table.
By the time the waitress returned with refills, Ariel was asking about his tattoos, Mel was questioning him about teaching middle schoolers and Zella had somehow convinced him to explain the science behind black holes using saltshakers and ketchup bottles.
I mostly listened.
He wasn't performing for them. He was simply being Micah. He talked animatedly with his hands and pushing his glasses up his nose every few minutes while getting distracted by science tangents. Then he’d laugh along with the girls when they teased him.
And one by one, they all fell for him.
But by the time the check arrived, Belle was asking if he'd help her understand the telescope Raphael has in his study, Ariel wanted recommendations for science podcasts, and Mel had declared him an honorary Reaper pending further review.
"Pending?" Micah asked.
Mel nodded. "We have standards."
The smile was permanently plastered to my face like dumb ass, only it didn’t feel dumb. It felt nice. Who was I becoming?
I reached under the table and laced her fingers through Micah's. He smiled. Without looking away from whatever ridiculous argument Mel and Zella were having, he squeezed my hand.
The drive back to my apartment was quiet.
We’d had such a nice night and there was no need to fill every second with conversation.
Micah rested one hand on my thigh while some old rock song played softly through the speakers.
Every now and then he would slide his hand up and squeeze my knee, and it was nice.
God, I hate that word, but it was. It was all so lovely.
By the time we reached my apartment building, I did not want my time with him to end.
"Want to come up?" I asked.
Micah smiled. "I was hoping you'd ask."
A few minutes later we were curled together on her couch, my body tucked against his side with my legs draped over his lap.
The television was on, though neither of them were paying attention to it.
At some point I'd started tracing patterns across the back of his hand while he absentmindedly played with the ends of her hair.
I was sinking into a sentimental feeling that was completely foreign.
Maybe it was the upcoming holidays, but it was probably because I was in love with Micah.
It had happened slowly, somewhere between kicking his ass in video games and his kissing me under a sea of shooting stars.
I had fallen hopelessly and irritatingly in love.
Micah seemed to sense the shift in my mood.
"You okay?"
I stared at their joined hands for a moment before answering. "Yeah."
Eventually I sighed. "I'm just not really looking forward to tomorrow."
"What does your family do for Thanksgiving?" he asked.
"The family dinner. Only this year my mom has decided she’s not cooking, and we are going out to eat. It’s weird."
Micah continued to run his hands through my hair.
"Same. Although it’s not weird. We always go out to eat.
My mom isn’t exactly the domestic type. If we had it at the house it would be catered, like every other family meal.
But at least since we are going to a restaurant, I should be able to leave after with minimal guilt"
That earned a laugh from her. "That bad, huh?"
"My mother has already called three times to confirm I'm coming," he said with a shake of his head.
"Three?"
"Yup."
"That's excessive."
"I’ve been blowing off family stuff lately and she is just reminding me that is not going to happen tomorrow."
There was something behind his eyes I wasn’t sure about, but I didn’t push. I was dreading whatever my mother had up her sleeve as well.
"At least we're suffering together."
"We are."
For a few minutes we sat there. The television continued talking to itself while the November wind rattled faintly against the windows.
"You know," she said slowly, "the Reapers really liked you."
Micah laughed. "That’s good, I like them too."
"No. I mean really liked you."
He bent his head and kissed my hand. "That's good." His thumb brushed across her knuckles. "I liked hanging out with them."
"No, I mean..." I shook my head, frustrated by my own inability to articulate what I meant. "Thank you for… I don’t know… It just means a lot that you are interested in my life."
Why was it so hard to say I have feelings for you? I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t seem to make the words come out. Is being vocally constipated a thing?
"They're important to me," was the only thing I could get out.
"I know."
And he just sat there, cool as a cucumber, while I struggled to finally tell him what I felt.
"And you..." I took a deep breath and decided just to plow right through. "You're important to me too."
His breath caught and his eyes flew to mine. Maybe when you are telling someone like Micah your feelings it wasn’t so scary.
"You've become my favorite part of the day," I admitted quietly.
Micah closed his eyes. When he opened them again, there was so much affection there it made her chest ache.
"Robin… I have something I need—"
But he could get out whatever he wanted to say, I needed to end this conversation. I wanted to crawl under a rock where emotional vulnerability couldn’t find me. "Forget I said that."
"Not a chance." He lifted our joined hands and pressed a kiss against my knuckles. The gesture was so absurdly sweet and did remind me who I was trusting with this unseen side of myself. It was Micah, he was safe.
"You've become the favorite part of my day too," he said.
After a minute he cleared his throat. "So. What time does your family obligation from hell end?"
I laughed. "Hopefully by six."
"Excellent."
"Why?"
"We should celebrate surviving."
"Celebrate how?"
Micah pretended to think about it. "Pie."
"Pie?"
"Thanksgiving pie tastes better when stolen from family gatherings."
I considered that. "I can get behind pie."
I curled closer against him and felt his arm tighten around me automatically.
"Six o'clock," she said.
"Six o'clock," he agreed.