Chapter 12 #2
She always feels bad about me driving her. Truth is, I don’t mind. I like spending time with her—hell, I’d go out of my way just to be in a car with her. She probably thinks I was joking when I asked her out, but I wasn’t. I want to give us a real shot.
If my dad ever found out, I’d get an earful of lectures. But screw it.
“I'm headed to campus too,” I lie easily. “Meeting Wyatt.”
She gives me a flat look. “You are not.”
“Yeah, I'm not,” I admit, smiling. “But I'm not letting you take the bus alone at this hour when I have a perfectly good car sitting downstairs. So.”
I say it like it’s already decided.
“Micah.” She sighs. “Just stay. I'll be fine.”
“I'm driving to campus whether you're in the car or not.” I shrug. “Your call.”
She stares at me. “Why are you so stubborn?”
“Why are you so stubborn?” I ask back.
She looks at me for a second longer than usual.
“Micah,” she says, quieter now, “you don’t get to decide everything for me.”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “Yeah,” I admit. “I’m working on it.”
She rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth gives her away. “Fine. At least let me help you clean up first.”
“Nope. Don’t touch anything,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m gonna finish this up with the guys later.” Not a complete lie.
She’s in the passenger seat of my car again, more relaxed than before. Every time I drive her, she seems a little more at ease with me, and I love that. I even catch myself easing off the gas—me, actually driving under the speed limit—just to make this ride last longer.
“Hey, do you have your driver’s license?” I ask.
“Yeah. I got one as soon as I could, but I’ve never had a car, so I’m very much inexperienced,” she says.
Good to know.
“Why?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.
I shrug casually. “Thought maybe you’d want to drive my car sometime.”
Her eyes widen. “What? No way. I am not driving something this expensive. I looked up this car, and there’s no way I’m ever getting behind the wheel.”
She’s practically panicking, which is honestly adorable. She has no idea I wouldn’t care if she totaled this car, as long as she was safe, of course. What I do care about is her taking unreliable buses or walking everywhere, especially to and from that sketchy part of town her apartment is in.
“What are you picking up?” I ask as I pull up to the student center.
“I’m not sure. The student I’m tutoring said he left me something,” she says.
He.
“You must be a hell of a tutor if he’s leaving you gifts,” I say lightly, though my grip tightens on the wheel. “Do you want me to go with you?”
She places her hand on my arm, soft and warm. “No, I’ll be right back.” She smiles before slipping out of the car, leaving me staring after her.
Who the hell is this student, and why is he leaving her gifts?
Is he trying to get with her? Fuck. There it is again—that jealous feeling.
It keeps showing up uninvited every time I'm around Sophie, and I still don't know what to do with it.
I've never had to feel this before her. Attention has always just come to me without any effort on my part. Cocky as that sounds, it's the truth.
Sophie comes out of the student center looking nervous. Not flattered, not happy, but very nervous. She’s holding an box like it’s something she doesn’t even want to touch, then climbs into the car.
“You wanna open it? See what it is?” I ask, curious—and, okay, maybe a little on edge.
“Uh, no, that’s okay. I’ll open it at home.” She gives me a quick, tight smile. “Thanks for the ride. Again.”
The box has been re-taped. Weird. What kind of gift needs to be hidden inside an box?
Sophie peeks inside anyways, then immediately shuts it again, her face draining of color.
“What is it, Sophie?”
“Nothing. Can we just go? Please?” she says quickly, almost begging.
Between the text from earlier and now this, my patience snaps. What the fuck is going on?
Before she can stop me, I take the box from her and tear the tape open.
Inside is a sleek white La Perla box.
What the fuck? My stomach drops.
I flip it open. Bras. Panties. A bodysuit. A robe. All black and deep red silk. I’ve had my fair share of flings with girls who bragged about their La Perla sets—they were careful not to get anything on them, treating them like fragile treasure.
This all must cost a fortune.
And then I find the note.
I like my girls in quality lingerie, and this is as good as it gets. There’s more where this came from, if you’re ready to start enjoying the finer things with me.
My jaw locks.
“Micah—”
“Who gave you this?” My voice comes out lower than I mean it to, sharp enough to make her flinch.
She doesn’t answer.
“This isn't just a gift, Sophie.” I shove the box shut, the note still crumpled in my fist. “This is him telling you exactly what he wants from you.”
“I didn't ask for it,” she says quietly, eyes dropping to her hands.
Something in my chest pulls. Of course she didn't. Why would she even feel the need to say that?
“I know you didn't.” My voice softens for half a second before I can stop it, then hardens again. “But whoever this is thinks he can just—“ I stop. Exhale. “What's his name?”
She shakes her head. “Micah, please, just—don’t.”
“Don’t?” I laugh, but it’s humorless. “You think I’m going to let some guy send you shit like this and not do anything about it? No way in hell.”
Her eyes dart to mine, and I can see she’s torn—embarrassed, worried, maybe even scared.
I force my voice steady. “Sophie. Let me help you. Just tell me who he is, and I’ll deal with him.”
“Micah, it’s okay. I don’t want to get you in trouble. Really. Please. Let me handle it. I can do this. I’ve been taking care of myself for years.”
But now I can take care of you. If you’d just let me. Why won’t you let me?
My grip tightens on the wheel. I’m resisting the urge to slam my palms against it.
It takes so fucking much to resist. Why won’t she let me in?
Why won’t she let me help her? I have the resources.
The connections. Should I just tell her who I am?
Tell her I can make this go away with a single call? Fuck.
Her hand comes to rest on my forearm again, light and grounding, like she knows exactly how close I am to losing it. “Hey, I’ve got this. I promise.”
“Sophie, do you trust me?”
She hesitates. God, she hesitates. “I—Micah—You have to understand. For so many years, I’ve been let down by the people who were supposed to protect me.
I had to learn to take care of myself. I’ve survived worse than this.
” She looks at me, her voice soft but steady.
“I trust you more than anyone else I know. But I trust myself more.”
Shit. I get it. I think. I try not to take it personally, but it still feels like a punch to the chest.
“Fine.” My jaw tightens. “I’ll let it go. For now. But promise me you’ll come to me if—before—things get worse.”
“I promise.”
She opens the door, grabs the box, and without even a glance at it, tosses the entire thing straight into the trash.
I sit there, watching her, and my gut twists. I told her I’d let it go, but there’s no way in hell I’m dropping this.
Nico better get back to me soon. Fuck, what’s taking him so long?