‘Wanna come over to my place tonight? I finish at ten.’
God, I’d love to. But Mom will have a fit if I don’t show up home tonight, and Joel… My jaw clenches. I’m nineteen. I don’t have to be a good girl and stay home every night. I don’t have to do it to please my mom. Come on!
My fingers hover over the keys. Then I type as fast as I can, before I lose my nerve: ‘Sure. See you there.’
Two seconds later, my phone pings with another message from him.
‘Great! R u near Damage? I have my break now.’
Damage? As in Damage Control?
I worry my lip between my teeth, then I grin. My heart starts to pound at the thought of seeing him again—and it’s only been a few hours since I left him. Jesus, this is ridiculous.
‘On my way.’ I stare at the words I’ve just typed and shake my head at myself.
Hopeless, Ev. Hopelessly addicted.
I barely limp as I lea
ve the store and hurry down the street, my bag swinging. I feel alive, more alive than ever, my every sense alert, every nerve singing. Everywhere I look, the colors are bright, every detail crystal clear. I still see the misery and pain, that isn’t going away—the people sleeping on cardboard boxes, wrapped in filthy sleeping bags, hands with blackened nails cradling their unshaven faces—and although that pain tugs at me, and I slow down to look at them, memorize where they are, try and think what they may need most, I feel light and happy.
I feel so good, so drunk with joy it’s scary. After the high, usually there comes a low. The higher the rollercoaster, the steeper the dive.
Before I manage to frighten myself more, I reach the donut shop and turn toward Damage Control, across the street.
He’s there, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, his jacket gray and his hair golden. He’s looking right at me, his grin so wide I can clearly see it from where I’m standing.
My heart flips over. I cross quickly, and he meets me as I step on the sidewalk. Grabbing me around the waist, he spins me around in the air and laughs when I yelp. He’s still laughing, that quiet, vibrating sound I like so much, when he lets me down and lifts his hands to cup my face. His hands are warm and rough, and his eyes shine as he bends to kiss me.
He tastes like buttered popcorn and sparkly wine, and I cling to his neck and kiss him back, with tongue and teeth and all. Shit, I keep surprising even myself when I’m with him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He actually seems to like it, judging from the moan rumbling in his chest and the tightening of his arms around me.
He pulls back for air. “Fuck, how am I gonna wait until tonight to touch you?” he whispers. “Fuck.”
“Come on.” I tug on his hand, and he tugs back, shifting uncomfortably. My gaze falls to the big bulge at the front of his jeans, and heat fills me. “Oh crap.” I want to laugh, but he really seems uncomfortable, and at the same time I want to strip him naked, take him in my hand, my mouth…
Jesus. I’m turning into a sex maniac for this guy.
He finally starts walking, following me, and we cross the street, going for donuts and coffee. We sit outside, on the benches, under the gray sky. Micah sips his coffee and stuffs half a donut in his mouth. He makes faces at me, showing the donut between his teeth until I almost fall off the bench laughing.
He chews and swallows and makes even that look sexy.
You’re crazy, Ev. Calm down.
“So you’re coming over to my place later?” He’s drinking coffee, his face mostly blank, but he’s watching me from under his lashes. There’s tension around his eyes.
He’s nervous, I realize, and it makes me feel better. I’m not the only one out of my depth here, it would seem.
“Depends,” I say and again I can barely recognize myself. I’m never this bold—unless I’m with Micah.
“On what?”
“What are you offering? Dinner? Wine?”
“I can do that.” He smirks. “Anything else?”
“Entertainment?” I stick my tongue out at him and give a breathless laugh. Oh God, Ev, that was lame.
“Oh, I’ll keep you entertained all right,” he says, his eyes darkening to midnight blue, and I know I’m in deep, deep trouble.