Not that I really need the stick, as my flight from the cafe has proven. Yes, my knee aches dully, but I can do without.
Heat rushes up my neck, and a shiver of pleasure goes through me at the memory of his touch. Truth is, any excuse would do if it allows me to see Micah again.
***
I’m standing outside Damage Control, passers-by jostling me in their hurry to get to their jobs or the shops or their families... A cold wind is blowing.
Rocking back on my heels, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket, I study the tattoo designs pasted on the inside of the glass. Octopuses, aliens, flowers, abstract symbols.
Stop procrastinating, Ev. It’s been days. Just get inside.
I push the door open. A different guy is standing behind the tall desk this time. My first impression is that of a lion—wide-spaced eyes and a golden mane brushing broad shoulders.
“Hi,” he says, flashing me a smile. “Here for a tattoo?”
“No, I...” I reflexively back away and glance around, hoping Micah will materialize from behind a booth. But no such luck, and again all eyes turn on me. “I’m just looking for someone.”
“Hey, Rafe, she’s looking for Micah,” a guy with blue hair calls from the opening of a booth. He winks at me. “He knows her.”
“Micah isn’t here today,” Rafe the lion-man says. “Want to leave a message for him?”
“Is he okay? Is he sick?” And now I sound like his mother. Crap.
Rafe cocks his head to the side, his eyes crinkling. “He didn’t say.”
Why am I still concerned? I only just saw him yesterday, and he looked fine. But there’s something about Micah—his color, his face, his face—that feels familiar and troubles me.
“Can you give me his phone number, then?” I ask. “He has something of mine.”
The blue-haired guy comes out of his booth and winks at me. The cerulean hue of his T-shirt matches his head. “I wonder what that might be.”
Someone I can’t see whistles from the back of the shop.
“None of your business,” I say, my teeth clenching, and turn to go. “Thank you for your time.”
“Wait,” the blond guy says. “Ocean says Micah knows you.”
I stop and give him a level look. “Yes.”
“Do you think he’s sick? Did he seem sick to you?” He blinks his amber eyes at me, a crease forming between his brows, and I realize he’s concerned, too.
Why would he be concerned that Micah is sick?
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I just want to see him. And he does have something of mine.”
He nods quickly. “I’ll give you his address. But you’d better not leave dead animals on his doorstep or harass him, are we clear?”
I open my mouth and close it. He’s kidding me, right? But not a muscle moves in his face, so I can’t tell. Who is this guy?
He writes a few words on a piece of paper and holds it out for me without another word.
“Thanks.” I take it and glance at the address.
“It’s really close,” Ocean says.
A quick look goes between the two of them, one I can’t decipher. It doesn’t matter what they think, if they think I sleep with Micah or whatever—though the thought of sleeping with Micah makes my skin prickle and my heart pound with excitement. A pulse starts between my legs and heat spreads inside me.
Clutching the paper with his address in my hand, I hurry out as fast as my feet can take me.