“Whoa.” I take a step back, torn between giggling and having a mini breakdown. “Who is what?”
“You got some.” She plants her hands on her hips and tilts her head to the side. “So who is it?”
The breakdown threatens again. Oh God, do I have a hickey? I lift my hand to my neck, hoping to hide any evidence of what happened last night. And this morning. Twice.
Crap. My face heats. “How do you know I got some? Is it written on my face? Am I walking funny? What?”
“That.” She points a finger at me. “That flush, and that self-satisfied smile. I can read you, girl.”
I bite my lip and can’t help but grin when I think of Micah. “That obvious, huh?”
“Yep. So who’s the lucky guy?”
I shake my head and try to side-step her to escape the interrogation. I am a bit torn. I do want to share my big news with Cassie, but on the other hand it’s all so new, so shiny that I want it to myself for a while longer.
“Do I know him?” She taps a finger on her lips. “Have I seen him with you before? Wait.” She’s watching my face like a hawk. How can she read me so well? “Is it that blond guy who was staring at you from across the street at the donut shop?”
My face is now burning. I guess the clues she needs are not so subtle. “Yeah. Micah.”
“Micah.” She winks. “Stayed over at his place?”
“Okay, how do you know that?”
“Same clothes you wore yesterday.”
Crap. I stayed at Micah’s, and we had sex, and he held me and told me things about himself I don’t think he often talks about and… What does it all mean? Will he want to see me again? Am I special to him, or does he often take girls home?
I even forgot to take my walking stick when I left his apartment—my excuse for going over to see him. I am transparent in my actions, an open book, and he’s like an encrypted message. He may have told me a few things about his past, but he remains a mystery. Apart from telling me he basically grew up in foster care, I still know nothing much about him.
Cassie clears her throat, then opens her mouth and closes it. Her brows shoot up. I have no clue what she sees on my face, but she opens her arms and pulls me in for a hug. Stunned, I let her.
“You really like him, don’t you?” she whispers against my shoulder, and I stiffen a little, because damn, I’d like to keep a few of my thoughts private, thank you very much. “I think he really likes you, too. I saw the way he was looking at you.”
“You should warn people you’re a mind-reader, you know,” I mutter.
“Where’s the fun in that?” She pulls back and smiles. “I know everything you like and hate.”
“Do you, now?”
She nods as if accepting the challenge. “You hate this job. You don’t care for sports, or selling things. You love your family, but they are too controlling and often negligent. You want to work with the homeless and those in need.”
“Hey, wait a minute.” Shock steals my breath. “How the heck do you know all this? I never told you about—”
“And you love Micah.”
Her final words ring in the small changing room like bells.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I finally manage. “I don’t love him. I don’t even really know him and…”
She arches a brow, and the rest of what I was about to say dies on my lips.
I don’t love Micah.
Do I?
I open the door and head out to the shop, hoping a customer shows up soon. I really don’t want to face what’s in my head right now.
My cell phone beeps as I finish work. A message from Micah.