2. Chapter Two
Micah
Idon’t know why I agreed to do this.
Yes, you do.
Fine. Yes, I do. Because Arlo’s become my best friend and I’d literally die for that bitch. Especially after everything he and Tiernan have done for me.
Which is why I am driving around in my craptastic old Chevy looking for Diesel’s house because this paperwork has to be signed right now. Why is this so hard? It’s like they decided house numbers should be as small as possible. I need a magnifying glass to find them.
My car, in its dilapidated state, is limping along. It’s in desperate need of a mechanic, but that would require funds. Something I don’t have in abundance right now. Especially since my dickhead landlord just raised the rent. Again.
I’ve named my car Corkus from my favorite manga, Berserk.
Not out of any thought that the name might inspire it to be loyal, but more as a taunt.
I’m effectively daring it to be loyal. It won’t work, I’m sure.
What I really need is a new lucrative client who appreciates my work.
One that will actually pay on time. Both would be excellent, even if they aren’t probable.
I finally see it. A red brick, one-story house with white siding and a black door and shutters.
The yard is impeccable, neatly trimmed with flowers lining the sides of the driveway and the front porch.
It looks like a real home. One that you’re happy to come home to at the end of the day.
And doesn’t that just fit Diesel to a T.
It’s at the end of the street, because of course it is. No matter that the GPS has it about five houses back. Technology out there improving our lives on the daily.
I pull up to the curb. Corkus is so relieved to stop, he makes a kind of choking sound before he just shuts off. Wonderful. With my luck, he won’t even start again.
The folder Arlo gave me is lying on the back seat where I threw it when I got in the car. I hate to say it, but I might have been a little irritated about doing this favor, at least at first. Not because I don’t love Arlo. More because I’m not a big fan of people.
Even though Diesel’s a co-worker, and a fairly nice guy, as far as I know, I don’t like going to strangers’ homes. It’s always awkward.
My body’s already bracing for impact. I try to remind myself this isn’t another foster home, but that muscle memory is pretty deep whenever I pull up to a new house. Yeah, it’s fucked up. I know. I’ll get around to therapy someday. Maybe when I finally have a livable income.
I force myself to grab the folder and step out of the car.
Let’s just get this over with. Then I can go home and spend all night working on my art while not dealing with other people’s terrible marketing ideas.
Sunday night is for me. That’s my me-time, and it’s non-negotiable.
It’s the one thing I give myself that no one gets to take away.
I scan the street on instinct. This neighborhood is middle-class suburbs at their finest. Sedate with neatly mowed lawns and sturdy American cars in the driveway. People who take care of their homes.
There’s an old guy in greasy coveralls working on a car in the garage next door. Hell, maybe I should ask him to recommend a cheap mechanic. I know basically nothing about cars. I won’t do it because I don’t approach people I don’t know, but it’s a nice thought.
The old man looks up with a smile and waves at me when I ring the doorbell.
I sort of half-wave back out of obligation, not sure what the protocol is since the suburbs aren’t really my kind of place.
You don’t wave at people where I live. That’s like asking for all the creepy randos to come talk to you. Nope.
“Well, hello there. You’re here to see Troy, I bet. Come on in.”
The sweet smell of newly baked cookies catches me off guard.
I’m bustled into the house before I can even protest, much less get a look at my welcome committee.
Once inside, I look up to find a sweet older lady in a blue flowered dress pulling me in for a hug.
Something I usually try to avoid. This one isn’t terrible, though, so I don’t pull away immediately.
“I’m Gloria. Troy’s mom.”
Gloria looks exactly how I pictured Diesel’s mom.
Mid-fifties, hair going gray but not quite there yet.
Diesel’s a big boy, and I can see where he got at least some of his height.
I’m 5’10” but Gloria tops me by at least an inch or two.
She’s got a brilliant smile that lights up her entire face as if she couldn’t imagine anything better than me showing up unannounced.
She looks at me expectantly. It takes me a second to realize that I should introduce myself.
“Um, hi, I’m Micah. I work with Diesel, I mean Troy,” is all I’m able to spit out before she pulls me into another hug and squeezes me tight. Even though I shouldn’t, I kind of melt into it. I have the strangest urge to ask her to do it again, but I shake it off.
“Oh, of course, you do! Well, come on in the kitchen, Micah honey. We’re doing our Sunday meal prep. I’m sure Troy will be thrilled to see you!”
I open my mouth to say I just need a signature, but she’s already leading me into the kitchen. The house smells amazing. Which isn’t surprising because Diesel brings in some banging food.
The kitchen itself smells like onions and garlic cooking in butter, which is better than any dessert in my book.
It tells you dinner’s coming soon, and it’s gonna be tasty.
It looks modern, as if it was recently remodeled, with stainless steel appliances and an oven with two doors.
Wow, I didn’t even know that was a thing you could do.
The walls are painted in white and grayish-blue, and the cabinets are a warm honey oak, which looks perfect with the white marble countertops.
There’s light jazz playing in the background, not too loud, just an undertone. It’s nice after the cacophony at the gym, especially when Tank gets a hold of the speakers. I love me some Taylor Swift too, but not all-day long.
I have to stop for a second because there’s Diesel, standing in front of the stove, back to me, wearing what I can only describe as a fifties-era apron, and it’s pink.
Hot pink. So much is going on here. I want to laugh so badly, but I hold back.
I like Diesel, so I’d hate to offend him.
Which is okay because Gloria’s got me covered.
“Troy! Come greet your guest, son. Micah’s come for a visit.”
“Micah?” Diesel, or Troy — not sure which anymore because now that I think about it, Troy fits him much better, drops the mixing spoon into the pot and whirls around while trying to untie his frilly pink apron, which says “Don’t Go Bacon My Heart.
” And that’s it. I can’t hold it in because this is absolutely fantastic.
But I’m also me, so what he gets is a genuinely amused smile, but I’m laughing like a loon on the inside.
What we aren’t going to discuss is how my eyes linger on that juicy ass, looking so very nice in those tight gym shorts, or the way the man looks as if he could manhandle me straight into the bedroom.
Jesus, I need to get laid.
Troy’s face is definitely pink, although it’s hard to tell with his dark brown skin, but I can see it on the tips of his ears. I watch his mouth open, then shut, then open again before he gets a resolute look on his face and stops fidgeting with the apron.
“Micah! Didn’t expect to see you today?” The deep, rumbly voice of his, which I refuse to admit I like, sounds both chagrined and confused. Home Troy is warm and open in a way that Work Troy isn’t. It’s an interesting contrast.
I hold up the folder from Arlo.
“Just need you to sign some stuff for Tiernan. Not sure what it is, Arlo said it was important.” Unable to dismiss my grin, I hand him the folder, thinking he’ll sign it and I’ll be out of here, but that’s not what happens.
Gloria plucks it right out of his hand, setting it off to the side and out of the way of all the meal prep containers neatly lined up on the counter.
“No business yet. Troy, where are your manners? Ask the man to stay for dinner.” She nods in my direction, giving Troy, I’ve now decided it’s Troy, what I assume to be a mom look. Never having experienced one, I can’t be completely sure. I try not to think about moms because it makes my chest ache.
Troy turns those amber eyes on me with purpose, and I can tell I’m about to be staying for dinner.
“Micah, would you like to stay for dinner?” he asks, impeccably polite, but I can see his lips turning up at the sides, eyes lighting up with suppressed laughter.
“You’re not really giving me much of a choice, are you?” I’m not sad about it. I’m absolutely sure that this food will be much better than the ramen that’s waiting for me at home. Here is the better choice by far.
“Not even a little,” Troy says as he grins at me.
Before I know it, Gloria has me seated at the breakfast bar with a glass of white wine—beer is not my thing—and a plate of cheese and crackers.
The deliciously sharp cheddar is cut up into neat little squares that perfectly match the size of the crackers.
She’s got them arranged in a cool pattern on the plate, and I’m kind of scared to mess it up. It looks so nice.
Gloria, of course, swoops in, starts loading up a plate, and places it in front of me without a word before turning back to the stove. I don’t really know what to do, so I eat the food and drink my glass of wine. It’s delicious.
“Micah dear, what do you do at the gym? Are you a fighter like my Troy here?”
My mouth is full, and I shake my head. Thankfully, Troy answers for me.
“Micah does all of our social media, mom. He’s a whiz at graphics and all that creative stuff.
He’s gotten us all kinds of new business.
” The admiration in his voice knocks me for a loop.
I certainly haven’t done anything to earn that kind of praise.
My face heats and suddenly I’m examining the floor tile like it’s my job.
“Oh, that’s wonderful! I’m sure Tiernan appreciates that. I know he’s not fond of technology,” she says, shooting me an approving smile. Her kind eyes gaze at me with affection, and the warmth in my chest that I’m choosing to ignore spreads.
“T’s talking about expanding into the next space and opening up some additional classes too,” Troy adds.
Hmm, I didn’t know that. I’ll have to get some more pictures up of Troy’s BJJ class. They get the highest views and seem popular with our followers. And honestly, he’s adorable with his kids. He’s got this gentle way with them I really admire, and the patience of a saint.
Gloria asks me about my job at the gym, and I tell her more than is usual for me. It’s disconcerting, and against my better judgment, I keep talking. She seems so interested, and it’s really nice when someone pays attention.
When the old guy who was working on the car next door comes walking into the kitchen just as dinner is almost ready, it doesn’t even faze me, because, of course, Troy lives right next door to his parents.
He looks like an older version of Troy, although that should probably be the other way around.
The only difference is that this guy has hair.
Not a lot, but more than Troy. They have the same smile, and their eyes get the same crinkle at the corners.
“Hey, Pops.” Troy nods as the old man wraps his arms around Gloria, tugging her up for a hug.
“What deliciousness are you making for dinner, my Morning Glory?” he rumbles next to her ear.
“Humph. As if you don’t know by the smell.” But she’s wearing an enormous grin and leaning back against the man I can only assume is Troy’s dad. It’s cute as hell.
Troy huffs out a laugh.
“It’s pot roast, Pops. Which you already know, ‘cause I told you earlier.”
“I’m asking my bride, son. Not you.” Gloria giggles in his arms and he kisses her cheek.
“Let me wash my hands and then you can introduce me to this young man.” He nods at me with a welcoming smile.
Troy introduces me to his father, James, as we head to the dining room. The table is properly set, and there’s even an elegant blue tablecloth. Dinner is spread across the table in matching serving dishes, the pot roast getting center stage, and it looks absolutely delicious.
I panic a bit when I realize that we’re all eating at the table together. I’m not sure I remember which fork to use or whatever it is other people know about manners.
“We just do things buffet style,” Gloria tells me, giving my arm a reassuring squeeze. “Just grab your plate and help yourself. Nothing formal.”
I resist the urge to run away. I can do this.
Dinner ends up being so much fun that I forget all about table manners.
Troy’s parents keep us thoroughly entertained with hilarious stories from his childhood, and Gloria had plenty to share from her years teaching middle school.
More power to her, because there’s not enough money in the world for me to wrangle a bunch of pre-teen kids.
When I finally leave for the night, I don’t leave empty-handed.
Not only do I have the signed papers, but I’ve got enough food to last me the rest of the week, and I’m bringing my car back next weekend so James can take a look at it.
I also got hugs, even from Troy, which I have to admit were kind of nice.
I’m still not completely sure how all this happened, but I don’t hate it.