Chapter 3
NIK
I needed to get the hell out of here.
Old City was considered the “entertainment district” of downtown, but that mostly meant a shoddy-ass nightclub for college kids and a bunch of hipster restaurants. Sandwiched between an upscale Italian place and an Irish pub my pops lived in when I was a kid was Jonah Wright’s new farm-to-table restaurant, and it was bumpin’.
I came because of Duncan and Chance, and I still couldn’t find them in the mess of bodies, so I kept my ass at the bar, getting pushed by people, with the start of a headache stabbing in the back of my head from the DJ’s shoddily sampled remixes.
Which meant I had to listen to the bartender hit on every pair of legs that talked to him.
“The purpose of this area is to allow customers waiting for their reservations to have a place to pass the time,” the bartender said in a flirty tone to a woman as he pointed to black velvet curtain that served as the divider between the lounge and restaurant.
He continued to talk while he topped off a glittery drink with some kind of flower petal. The whole thing was only two ingredients and took four minutes too long to make. The woman was all about it, though, giving the guy drunken bedroom eyes as she took her first drink.
“Oh, give me a fucking break,” I muttered and knocked on the counter to get the guy’s attention. I shook my empty cup and said, “Hey, bro, can I borrow you a sec and get a refill of my Diet Coke?”
While I got my refill, I scanned the packed cocktail lounge. It was bougie without the snob and hip enough to bring in the college kids. The seating was slim, with only a handful of booths and tables against the banister of a set of basement stairs, where servers jogged up and down to snag supplies.
I’d been here an hour and almost everyone was either drunk or damn near to it. God, I hated Old City. No fancy-ass restaurant with a “cool” DJ and overpriced drinks could clear away what goes on in the alley nearby or the dark corners of the parking lot a block away.
All I had to do was say hi to Chance, Duncan, and Destiny, and then I could get the fuck outta here.
As if he could read my mind, Duncan squeezed between a new set of customers for the bartender to flirt with and said, “Hey, I’ve been looking for you.”
“I told you where I was at, and I ain’t moved,” I said, tapping my foot along to the song playing and keeping my eye on the crowd for Destiny. With Duncan here, Chance wasn’t far away. Destiny, on the other hand, would be a scavenger hunt.
I had half a mind to just leave without saying anything to her, but I knew she’d come for my ass the next time she saw me.
“So, what do you think?” Duncan asked, bringing my attention back to him.
That I could be at home in bed right now instead of my ears bleeding .
“About the party or your fit?”
Duncan rested an elbow against the counter and gave a lazy shrug. “Either.”
I eyed Duncan’s dress shirt and jeans. I’d known Duncan for years and had never seen him come anywhere close to dressing up.
“Well, it’s certainly not boring.” I pinched the fabric of Duncan’s shirt. “I can’t believe Chance made you wear this.”
Duncan barked a laugh. “You’re giving him way too much credit. Destiny would kick my ass if I showed up with my usual look. Consider yourself lucky that you’ll get away with what you got on.”
“I thought I looked good.”
I glanced at my new white T-shirt, jeans, and Converses. I’d gone to the mall yesterday in a panic, worried that I would show up to this thing looking like some kind of trash goblin.
Duncan pointed at my head and said, “You do, but more casual than she lets me be. Actually, she’ll be in shock that you went back to your natural blond.”
I ran my fingers through my newly cut hair, the strands still soft from all the ridiculous product the hair stylist put in it. “Yeah, the days of me doin’ my own dye jobs are over, my guy. After my panic attack at how much I spent at the mall on all of this”—I stretched my arms out to the sides, waving a hand over my front—“I figured, fuck it, go big or go home.”
Duncan’s teasing smile fell a little. Internally I kicked myself in the ass at the joke and quickly changed the subject. “But really, Destiny loves me, and she loves making your life hell even more by making you dress up.”
It didn’t go unnoticed, but Duncan thankfully let it slide. I scratched at the scars of my once-abused veins in the ditch of my elbow—a tic I’d picked up when in my early days of recovery. I’d developed a list of them over the years, but this one refused to leave.
“Duncan!” Destiny said, her voice magically booming over the DJ. I didn’t know how that woman could do it, but it was badass, even if my ears weren’t very happy about it.
“Well, speak of the devil,” Duncan said under his breath.
I snorted a laugh, accepting a hug from Destiny.
“Ah, I’m glad you came,” she said, pulling back, and giving me a once-over. “Damn, boy, you clean up nice.”
Against Destiny, with her long dark hair, perfect makeup, and black cocktail dress, I looked busted. But her smile was sincere, and it made my face heat a little. “Thanks.”
Destiny turned to Duncan and pointed over his shoulder to the group she’d skipped away from. “I came to grab you because your husband needs his emotional support human.” She glanced at me over her shoulder and tilted her head to the other side of the room. “C’mon.”
Sensing that I was about to go into the worst social hellscape, I lifted the cup and said, “I’ma finish this and I’ll find you.”
Destiny looked like she was about to push, but Duncan nudged her in the side and gave a small shake of his head. She pointed at me and said something I couldn’t hear over the music as they disappeared into the crowd, and I turned toward the bar and found the line was a mess of bodies. People were giving toasts to shots, passing back drinks to their friends, laughing, and dancing.
And here I was, standing on the other side of it all, with my sad Diet Coke, sweating my ass off from all the body heat and desperately trying to figure out an exit plan.
From the moment I woke up to the time I went to bed every day, I tried to come up with a plan to separate myself from my recovery. I still couldn’t figure out a way to do it. I’d been clean for half a decade, but I still felt like I didn’t fit in anywhere.
Being here was a prime example.
I set my cup down on the bar and pushed my way through the crowd, my shoulders clumsily bumping other people, elbows pushing into backs. My lungs hurt for air, and my scalp was on fire.
Stepping through the curtain to the restaurant instantly cut the party’s volume in half. The restaurant had several people in it, but the conversation was softer, trading the rumble of pop music for something melodic. A bored bartender stood against the counter, bobbing her head to the DJ’s music.
After I yanked out a bar chair and sat down, the bartender quickly put her phone away and rushed to me, grabbing a bottle of water and the drinks menu, her nose wrinkled in apology.
“You’re the first person I’ve had tonight,” she said, opening the drinks menu to me and filling a fancy glass with water.
I gulped down the water, the chill of it shocking the tension out of my shoulders. “Trust me, you got the good side. I don’t know what all’s in those drinks, but it’s making people goofy as hell over there.”
The woman laughed, wiping her hands over her apron. “Thanks for the heads up. Is there anything on the menu that you’d like to know more about?”
I lifted the glass. “This is perfect.”
The woman did the usual line about giving her name and to call her over if I needed her, but it wouldn’t happen. I pulled out my phone and checked the time, trying to figure out when would be a good time to leave. I didn’t want to pull an Irish goodbye on Duncan, but I also didn’t want to try to find him in the mosh pit.
When the DJ shifted his set to a party song, the crowd erupted into a wild-ass yell. I looked at the bartender and shook my head. “See what I mean? Goofy.”
In silent agreement, the bartender nodded and returned to her phone. I began typing out a text to Duncan with a bland excuse of exhaustion sending me home, where I’d heat up one of the weekly meals he made me, then sit and watch some boring YouTube videos until I needed to go to bed.
I was on my third draft of a text when I heard a deep voice ask, “Hey, is this side open?”
I exhaled a long sigh. Great, now a bunch of fools were gonna come over here and make a whole other drunk scene. Fuck it, Duncan would get a text when I got home.
“Yup, it’s open,” the bartender said in a tone that was far too sweet to be strictly professional.
Confused, I looked over my shoulder and saw a man heading to the bar. His choppy, chin-length raven hair was flipped to one side, revealing a newly done undercut. He was dressed entirely in black—a tight tank top that showed off a full sleeve of tattoos, skintight black jeans, and combat boots.
He certainly didn’t fit in with the rest of the crowd’s cocktail dresses and button-downs, but a guy like this was far more up my alley than any of the other bros on the other side.
Ice-blue eyes lined with black liner found me, and the man pointed at the chair next to me. “Is this taken?”
My foot skid off the footrest. Well, damn, he was even hotter up close.
I shook my head. “All yours, man.”
The guy slid into the chair, resting his ankle on top of his other leg, rubbing his calf while the bartender poured him water and gave him a menu. He looked it over, his finger resting on the nonalcoholic area and asked, “I can’t pronounce it, but could I get this?”
As the bartender made his drink, I studied the guy’s profile, from the silver hoop in his right nostril all the way to his bottom lip caught between his teeth while he groaned.
I couldn’t ignore the zing that ran up my leg when his knee hit my thigh.
“Sorry for invading your space,” he said with a grunt, his face twisted in discomfort. “My legs are killing me from work today, and there were only, like, five seats over there.” He adjusted in his seat again and gave me a once-over that had my skin hot all over. His gaze broke when the bartender brought him his drink, watching him intently as he took a test sip and gave a thumbs-up.
They chatted a bit, and I looked back at my phone at the empty text to Duncan, my original plan to bounce put on hold.
“Out of your element too?” the man asked, his attention back on me.
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and reached out to spin an abandoned cocktail napkin. “Kinda, yeah. I only know a couple of people, but they’re far more popular than me.”
“Hey, you’re lucky. I don’t know a single person here,” the man said, tilting his head toward the ceiling. The light shined over his face, making the silver hoop in his nose more noticeable. Jesus, even positioned under the worst lighting he was hot. He looked at me with a smirk and said, “Well, except for Destiny, but everyone here knows Destiny.”
“She roped you in too?”
The man hummed and took a sip of his drink. “She’s very persuasive.”
I snorted. “Ain’t that the truth. But she’s known for throwing a great party.”
“I’m beginning to learn.” The man half spun toward me and rested his arms on the table. My gaze roved over his black tank top and the several necklaces settled on his lean chest. When I looked back up at him, he extended a hand. “Micah.”
I took it, my fingers clasping around his. His palm was cool against mine. “Nik.”
Micah ran the tip of his index finger up the side of my wrist as he briefly squeezed my hand before letting go and running the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip. The tingling in my hand went all the way up my arm and into my chest.
I cleared my throat. “So, what kind of work do you do that has you make up for the gym leg days?”
“Do I look like the kind of guy who deadlifts?” Micah asked with a dramatic wave of a hand in front of him. I snorted, and his lips twitched as he attempted to keep his face serious. “I’m a delivery driver. Not terribly exciting, but the pay is good, and the benefits are too. What about you?”
“I work at the co-op off Whittle.”
Micah paused, his drink halfway to his mouth, his eyebrows flying up. “Really? That’s on my new route. I’m surprised I haven’t seen you there before.”
I slipped the pad of my thumb along the condensation beading on the side of my glass and bobbed my head in consideration before looking up at him through my eyelashes. “Maybe you don’t remember.”
Micah’s gaze flitted over me, slow and deliberate, one side of his mouth tilting upward. “Trust me,” he said, his voice dropping to a murmur. I looked up to find that crystal-blue gaze locked on me, heated. “I wouldn’t forget seeing you.”
There was interest there, and it wasn’t just friendly.
I wet my lips, my heart knocking my breastbone as Micah’s mouth parted. He started to reach out to me, but then he stopped and clenched his hand.
Something rumbled under my skin, and it had nothing to do with the music.
I studied the tattoos covering his arm and up to his neck. Color and swirls of shapes covered his skin, but one caught my eye—a jar filled with fireflies labeled 27 Club.
If there was one thing I took away from recovery, it was that everyone had a story, and the ways they told their stories were endless. Some people kept it closer to the chest; others made groups and organizations to share their stories to build community. Even after five years, I hadn’t quite figured out where I stood on that. I’d been surrounded with either people who saw me before death almost snatched my ass or people who were in recovery with me.
Micah had a story too. And I wanted to hear about all of it.
“Hope you got past the club,” I said, looking up to Micah. “Otherwise, that’d be damn disappointing.”
Micah looked down at his arm, running the back of his knuckles over the jar of fireflies. His eyes flicked up to me, the confident flirt fading a little. “It’s not for me. But yeah, they just turned this year, so hopefully it works out.”
“Bro, I couldn’t have said it any better,” I said and lifted my cup, and Micah joined me, our glasses clinking. An urge I hadn’t felt before rumbled inside of me, taking on momentum until it was boiling so intensely, I couldn’t stop myself from saying something.
“There came this point in my life recently that I finally understood how sad it is to grow up. All that innocence we had as a child, to go about freely and enjoy the little things, is all gone. One bad day, bad week, whatever, and your whole life will blow up.”
I ran my fingertip through the wrinkled napkin under my glass, watching as the thin tissue pulled back another layer. “And I ain’t saying there ain’t kids out there who don’t got it bad, because there are. They gotta grow up faster than they should, but damn, they got some hope, you know?”
Suddenly realizing how I’d just verbally vomited to a total stranger, a fucking hot one at that, had my head jerking up in alarm, ready to apologize. Damn, I couldn’t even use being drunk as an excuse. Hopefully I could get out of this without making myself look like an absolute fool.
But the apology stuck in my throat when I saw Micah’s face.
The heat that flared in his eyes was obvious, even to me, who hadn’t gotten laid in over a year. He wasn’t freaked out at all. Far from it.
Micah looked over both his shoulders as if we were in a room full of people and he was checking out who was paying attention. When he leaned forward, I caught the dark scent of his cologne, and my head swam. “Look, I don’t know if I’m barking up the wrong tree, but I feel like we got something going on here, and I have nothing else to do this evening. Wanna get out of here?”
Nowhere did my routines and schedules include hooking up with a guy I met barely fifteen minutes before. Micah had confidence and sex appeal, that was for sure. But instead of arrogance, there was a softness in his stare that made me want to be impulsive.
Maybe this was what it was like to live a little.
Micah stayed silent, his finger tapping to the beat of the music in the lounge. He was waiting for me to answer, no pressure, no insistence.
“Yeah, I’d like that,” I said.
Micah’s answering smile was so radiant, my breath caught. It was so beautiful it was almost painful to look at, but if I broke eye contact, I’d risk the chance it would disappear, and I didn’t want to live with that regret.
“Good deal,” Micah said, listing to the side. He pulled out his phone and slid it across the table. “Give me your number, and I’ll text you my address.”
It wasn’t until we were heading toward the exit that my body finally caught up to what was happening. I couldn’t fool myself that the buzz in my ears was from the chaos of the party or blame the hammer pounding against my chest on the music. This encounter had woken up a part of me I thought I had buried a long time ago. I was running back into unfamiliar territory, and one wrong turn could land me in a world of shit.
It was scary as hell. It was thrilling. It was spontaneous. That wasn’t a word I ever used, but it felt right. It was like jumping off the side of a building and wondering if the parachute was gonna work. I’d fucked around with my life like that for years. Now I knew that if this all went tits up, I still had my house, Duncan’s cooking, and a bunch of dumb videos to watch to go back to. I’d land on solid ground.
Micah stopped at the end of the sidewalk and nodded his head to the side. “I’m parked over there.”
I hiked a thumb over my shoulder in the opposite direction. “I’m that way.”
Micah’s eyes flicked toward the lot I’d parked at and back to me. He bit his lip and ran his index finger down my sternum, watching the trail he drew toward my belly button.
He barely touched me, and I still felt it all the way to my cock. I bit my lip to stop myself from groaning on the sidewalk.
“Yeah,” Micah murmured, like he agreed with me. He took several steps backward and tucked a hand into the pocket of his skinny jeans. It was impressive as hell how he got it in there so smoothly. “See you soon.”
I watched him spin around and walk away. Unable to trust whether my pants concealed my body’s response, I quickly adjusted them and headed to my car, Micah’s touch still hot on my skin.