Chapter 14
The car took us only a few blocks and pulled up in front of a trendy bar. I groaned. There was little I hated more than going out with people who would order round after round of drinks and proceed to get tanked while I remained on a different plane of sobriety. I resolved to hang out for the first round but abandon Zion if I had to when the party switched gears.
The doors opened onto a crush of people, fighting to get into the bar. Micah caught the eye of the hostess, and she motioned with her fingers. “Follow me.”
We pushed through packed bodies as the black-clad blonde wended her way toward the back. Moving through the crowd, I heard Micah’s name pop up in conversations nearby, but like a wave trailing always behind us. Micah moved too quickly for anyone to stop him. If he’d hesitated half a second, he would have been down there all night fending off requests for photos. Or knowing him, he’d be stuck down there granting everyone’s requests. It didn’t seem to make a difference to him either way.
At the bottom of a set of stairs, the hostess paused and pointed up the dark wooden steps. “Go on up. Martin will take care of you.”
Micah laid his hand across my back and waited until I’d taken the first steps before he climbed away from the curiosity seekers with Zion following. We sandwiched Micah like a pair of shadows nobody would ever take note of.
The upstairs room had its own door, further separation from prying eyes. It was a testament to New Yorkers that nobody had climbed the stairs after us, hoping to crash the party. And evidence nobody downstairs worked for Andy Dickson.
Micah’s bandmates had already made it to the bar and were engaged in an intense conversation. I scanned the room for Kendall, but she hadn’t made the cut. There were a couple of girls, but none of them looked as eager to please as Kendall had. For all I knew, these were their sisters or wives. Or groupies of long standing.
Micah planted himself at the end of a table, and I took a seat facing him. Zion sat beside me.
A waiter approached. “Can I bring you a drink, miss?”
The others were nursing beers or mixed drinks. I always felt like such a freak. “Could I get a club soda with lime?”
He nodded. “Sir?” he said to Zion.
“Uh.” Zion scratched his head. “Could I get a mojito?” When I rolled my eyes, he said, “What? It’s still technically summer.”
The waiter nodded and turned to Micah. “The usual, sir?”
Micah looked at me for a beat. “No, thanks, Martin. I’ll have a club soda with lime. And could you bring us an assortment of appetizers? Boneless wings? Chips and dip?”
“Certainly, sir. Right away.”
When the waiter left, I asked, “What’s the usual?”
Micah wrinkled his nose. “Would you believe seltzer water with lemon?”
“Not likely.”
“It’s not important.”
“You don’t have to forgo your appletini or whatever on my account.”
He smirked. “You think I drink appletinis? For your information, I drink nothing but boilermakers with a side of Jäger-meister.”
I snickered. “Is that so?”
“Seriously. I usually grab a beer or two after a show. That’s all. It’s Eden you want to watch out for. She and Adam have their fridge so full of beer, there’s no room left for actual food. Which is fine since they seem to live off pancakes.”
I laughed at that image. “They’re so lucky. I haven’t had pancakes with real maple syrup in fifteen years.” He lifted an eyebrow, and I realized I’d opened up a subject I didn’t want to pursue. And since I didn’t want to spoil his night, I waved my hand at the mugs of beer on the other table. “Again, don’t let me stop you.”
He raised his voice loud enough for the room to hear him say, “I only drink because this company here is intolerable without a pint or two.”
Instantly, the insults hurled back his way.
“Micah gets his talent from a bottle, you know.”
“Micah gets tanked off a pint of Ultra Lite.”
They all behaved like family, and I realized I had no idea who anyone was. “Micah, could you introduce your friends maybe?”
His eyes widened. “Oh, God. Sorry. Right.”
He stood and banged on the table until the room quieted, and everyone looked up to him. I wondered if I was getting a glimpse into how band practice went down. “Everyone, this is Josie Wilder, the photographer from the Daily Feed I told you all about.” This was met with a mix of shouted greetings and catcalls. I might have to reassess my earlier judgment. Maybe some drunk people were fun to hang out with.
“And I’d like you all to meet her friend, Zion, who I believe also works at the Daily Feed. So we have double the spies in our midst. Bear that in mind, folks.” His Cheshire grin disarmed the insult.
He pointed at the red-haired cutie facing me at the adjacent table. “This here is Shane. You’d best stay outside a four-foot perimeter from him because he has a long reach. By that I mean, he’s our drummer.” Shane nodded his head as though he were acknowledging a lady at a ball.
“That fat bastard is Rick, my bass player. He’s off-limits. Not because he’s married with two kids, but because as I just mentioned, he’s a bass player.” Micah pretended to shudder as though that were self-explanatory.
“Noah, our lead guitarist, is the only one of us with a lick of talent. The only reason he hasn’t abandoned us for another band is because he’s so damn ugly.” Noah was in fact quite pretty, but he laughed in a way that only someone with no issues of self-confidence could.
“And let’s see if I can get anyone else’s names right.” He then proceeded to mis-introduce the girls in the room, leading me to hope he hadn’t slept with either of them.
The door opened, and servers brought trays of food in. The conversations changed course like a flock of birds in flight, converging, diverging, chaotic, yet responsive. The room never fell silent. Shane lit into Zion with loud but hilarious complaints about tabloid coverage, and I turned my gaze back to Micah.
As gregarious as Micah had been with the introductions, he didn’t engage with the debates and reminiscences of his bandmates. He sat quietly across from me with his chin on his hand and an elbow on the table, eyes on me.
“What?” I asked. Self-consciously, I touched my face expecting to find something stuck to it.
“Nothing. I was just wondering why it took such an elaborate ruse to get you to come out with me.”
“This was a ruse?”
Splotches of red appeared on his cheeks. “I’m exaggerating a bit. But you have to admit, you make it tough on a guy.”
My own cheeks felt warm. “How do you mean?”
“You’re kind of hard to read.”
I shot him a pot-calling-the-kettle-black look. “And you’re not?”
He opened his mouth to say something more but then thought twice and turned his eyes away with a small smile playing across his lips.
Zion shoved a plate toward me, and I took my eyes off Micah. Zion had carefully chosen a variety of appetizers that would make a decent late night snack for me: a couple of boneless wings, celery, three corn chips and spinach dip, and more celery.
“Uh, thanks Zion.”
He nudged me. “Eat.”
Micah watched the exchange and asked, “Does he usually do that?” He started piling food on his own plate.
I took advantage of the situation and shoved a round ball of fried chicken in my mouth so I wouldn’t have to answer. Zion filled in the silence. “Girl’s high maintenance.” He knocked my shoulder with a laugh and twisted around to return fire with Shane.
Maybe I should have just explained it all to Micah right then. Why Zion was watching me like a hawk after last week. Why I refused to order a simple pint of beer. But it sucked. It sucked to be the one who couldn’t do everything everyone else wanted to do all the time. It sucked all through high school to have kids think I wouldn’t drink because I was uncool. It sucked to drink anyway and then spend the night in the hospital. And it doubly sucked to get left out of everything when people learned why. I knew by now that a drink wouldn’t kill me, but I fought hard enough to eat right. I didn’t need to factor in the added complication.
And I didn’t need to complicate Micah’s view of me when he barely knew me.
But Micah didn’t let it go, and as we ate, he peppered me with questions about how Zion and I met. “So how long have you two known each other?”
“Almost ten years, now. There weren’t many students pursuing a BFA in photography, so we saw each other all the time and eventually started hanging out. We had almost nothing else in common, but when you’re away from home, the strangest people become family. Emergencies happen, and you fall back on each other. Bonds are forged.”
“Emergencies?” He glanced at my plate. “I get the feeling he took care of you.”
I blotted the corner of my lips with a napkin and took a drink before answering. “We watch out for each other. When school ended, he moved up here, while I found a job in Atlanta. It’s funny that neither of us appreciated how strong our friendship was until we were miles apart. We always knew we were friends, you know, but it always still seemed like we were from different worlds and we’d return to our respective corners when we were no longer forced together. But as it turned out, we have more in common than we realized. He’s been trying to get me up here for years.”
“Why’d you finally decide to come?”
I crunched on a celery for a bit. “It’s not that I think tabloid journalists are beneath other photographers. But there’s a difference between feeling good about what I do and feeling good about how other people perceive what I do. And I knew my dad wouldn’t approve.”
“And so?”
Did I want to lay out my whole history—how I’d watched my parents make choices in the face of their own parents’ disapproval? Micah’s expectant expression encouraged me to give him a piece of the truth, but this wasn’t the place for unburdening the past, so I gave him the short version. “And so, one day, I decided I could wait until my dad died to start making decisions for myself, or I could live down his disappointment.”
He leaned back, considering that. “And what about your mom?”
“Mom? She supports whatever I want to do. She worries a whole lot, but she knows and loves Zion, so she believes I’m in good hands.”
He caught the attention of the waiter and had him refill our drinks. Before I could grab the reins of the conversation and make him answer some questions, he asked, “So Anika Jo, what’s your ambition? Do you have any long-term goals?”
I squinted at him. “I will answer your question if you tell me your full name. It’s only fair.”
He laid his elbows on the table. “Oh, you’re a negotiator.”
I licked my lips and crossed my arms. “Waiting.”
“I’m Micah Jordan Sinclair. Pleased to meet you.” He reached one hand out.
We shook, but then he didn’t let go. We rested our arms on the table, now joined together between the baskets of food and drinks. Half my brain zeroed in on the feel of his skin against mine while the other half lurched around for words to say to keep up the pretense of acting normal.
I processed his name for a second. “Jordan? So I’ll just be calling you Jor Jor from Jersey from here on out.”
“Oof. Anika and Jor Jor? Sounds like the world’s worst Star Wars porn.”
“It does!” I had to laugh. “Jordan’s nice, but Micah suits you better.”
“That’s just because it’s what you know me by.”
His finger stroked along my wrist, and it triggered a reaction down every corridor of my nerves. I could only manage a single-word response. “Maybe.”
“Now you owe me an answer. What are your plans?”
I’d hoped he’d forget. Nobody my age should be without a long-term plan. Instead, I cheated and told him something different. “I used to want to follow in my dad’s footsteps, but when he’s working, he spends way too much time away from people, way out in isolated locales. As much as I hate the invasive nature of my job, I love that I get to be out on the streets, meeting all kinds of people.” I squeezed his hand. “Like you.”
“I love meeting people, too. It’s half the fun of what I do.” His face suddenly lit up like a lightbulb should have popped out of the top of his head. “Have you ever considered becoming a concert photographer?”
The sudden change in conversation gave me a sense of vertigo. “What? No. What I did for Eden was the first time.”
“You should come out on the road with us and shoot our shows.”
My hand pulled away from him of its own accord. “You want me to be a groupie?” Even as I said it, I realized how passive-aggressive it sounded.
He sat up stiff. “I’m sorry. I get an idea and say things without thinking.”
I unclenched my fists. “I shouldn’t have said that. That was—”
He relaxed some, but he’d lost his friendly tone. “It just occurred to me that it wouldn’t be that different from what you’ve been doing, but maybe your dad would approve more. There are some very successful concert photographers. I looked up your dad’s photos after I saw his name in the paper last week.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. And then I saw what you did with Eden. You’re talented. I bet you could sell your photos to the Rock Paper.”
“Oh, so you want me to help you get your picture in the Rock Paper?” It would have been better if I could tell him what was really troubling me rather than tear him apart by lobbing these sarcastic barbs at him.
“Ouch. Is that what you think?”
I took a shuddering breath to get my disappointment and irritation under control. I should have remembered he was just a big old flirt.
But even so, even if he was trying to find a way to use me to further his own career, I didn’t want to start a fight with him, especially not here among his friends. He hadn’t needed to bring me along. And he’d been nothing but gracious. “I’m sorry. Can we start over?”
He reached his hand back across the table toward me, but not like a greeting. His hand was palm up, vulnerable. I reached mine out to him in return, and he clasped my fingers in his. “I don’t want to start over. I want to go on.”
A wave of dizziness swept over me at his words. My eyelids fluttered and closed, and my head rolled around to the side. When I opened my eyes, Zion reached over and felt my forehead. “We should be going.” He pushed his chair back and offered me his hand.
I wanted to communicate with Zion in giant semaphore flags to let him know I was fine. But I couldn’t easily explain the situation either to Zion or to Micah. “Oh, hey Zion. It’s fine. I’m just swooning over something Micah said, though I’m sure insulin shock must appear the same to you.”
Micah jumped up when I stood. “One second. Let me at least call my car.”
As Micah texted, Zion handed me my pocketbook. I glared at him although he meant well. “I’m fine, Zion. Really.”
Micah led us down the stairs, through the crowd and out into the night. “My driver should be here in a second.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
As soon as he lit one, I moved several feet away from him out of long habit. He blew out a cloud of smoke, then threw the cigarette on the ground and twisted it out with his shoe. “Oh, right. Don’t drink, don’t smoke.”
I glared at him. “I’m not a Goody Two-shoes, if that’s what you think.” My voice faltered, and I felt like an idiot. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I didn’t want Micah to think I was going to start crying on his account. So I walked toward the street and turned my back on him, choking in huge breaths of air to calm down. Just because I didn’t want to stand in a cloud of smoke, did that make me too lame for the rock star party?
Micah laid a hand on my shoulder. “No, I didn’t mean—”
“Are you Micah Sinclair?” A couple of girls in short skirts, low necklines, and high heels flanked Micah.
Micah’s head jerked toward the interruption. “What? Yeah.”
The redhead said to her blond friend, “Told ya so.” She flung her hair and inched closer. “God, you’re even cuter in person.”
The car entered the street, and I took a step toward the curb. Micah’s hand fell from my shoulder.
“Mind if we take a selfie with you?”
I couldn’t even look. I willed the car to hurry up so I could dive in and get away, but the road was clogged with taxis. I contemplated hailing one, but I couldn’t find one that wasn’t occupied.
“I’m sorry. This isn’t a great time.” Micah stepped closer to me, away from the girls.
“Oh, please. It’s just a quick picture.” The blond one pushed her way beside Micah with her back to me and her arm around Micah’s waist, without bothering to ask him if she could touch him. Like he was a cardboard cutout instead of a person.
“Do you mind? I’m in the middle of a conversation.” Micah eluded her grasp right as the car pulled up.
Zion opened the door for me, and I bent to climb in, but Micah caught my arm and said, “Hey, is everything okay?”
I turned my face away so he wouldn’t see the tears already falling. Zion ushered me into the backseat and threw over his shoulder, “Everything’s not okay, Micah. She’s diabetic.”
Of their own volition, my eyes cut sideways to check on Micah’s reaction. His mouth hung slack for an instant, and his eyebrows drew together as he ran through everything he’d ever known about me. I didn’t want to stand there watching him reprocess our every interaction through the filter of disease, so I looked away and climbed into the car.
Zion followed and closed the door. “Hey, if he’s not cool about that, he’s not good enough for you anyway.”
I dropped my head into my hands, and Zion rubbed my shoulder.
When the car didn’t start moving right away, I looked up to see why just as the door on my side opened up. Micah stuck his head in. “Is there room for an asshole?”
I wiped my eyes on my shirtsleeve. “You’re not an asshole, Micah. You didn’t know.”
“I do now. Can I ride with you? Can we start over?”
I scooted over to let him in. He closed the door and told the driver where to go. He laid his hands in his lap and stared at them. “I’m sorry, Jo.”
“Why?”
“Why am I sorry?” He adjusted himself so he could look me in the eye. “I don’t know why, but everything I say or do seems all wrong. I’m all feet in mouth with you. And then all that—” He waved back in the direction of the bar that was receding quickly behind us. “So I’m sorry.”
“You couldn’t help that.”
He put his arm around me and held me close. “I know I’m impossible to be around.”
That made me laugh out loud. It was the complete opposite of the truth, and suddenly all I wanted to do was relax into him, but my guard had gone up. And it remained fortified. “Why are you being so nice?”
“Oh. I thought that part was pretty obvious. I really like you.”
“But you barely know me.”
He leaned forward far enough to see past me to Zion. “Can you give me a reference?”
Zion was laughing. “Yup.”
“Is Josie Wilder from Georgia?”
“She is.”
“Is she a tabloid photographer?”
“Indeed.”
“Is she pretty terrible at her job?”
Zion guffawed. “She’s a great photographer. She’s a terrible tabloid photographer.”
“And why is that?”
“Because she focuses too much on the humanity and not enough on the sensational.”
I sat up. “I’m not terrible at my job. I just haven’t been at it long enough.”
“I have one last question.”
Zion said, “Shoot.”
“Does she like me back?”
Zion, bless his heart, actually looked like he was torn. I gritted my teeth and waited for him to show my full hand. But instead he said, “Isn’t half the fun finding that out for yourself?”
When the driver parked in front of our building, Zion opened the door and then turned and said to Micah, “She shouldn’t stay out too late. She has to be up early in the morning. But I’m going to bed.” He jumped out and slammed the door behind him, leaving me alone with Micah. And his driver.
He still had his arm around my shoulder, and I couldn’t decide if I should push back and talk to him, or shut my brain off long enough to give into whatever was happening.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. He rubbed my shoulder, and I looked up into his face.
“I feel fine. Zion overreacts sometimes where I’m concerned. I’m like his only family.”
“He obviously cares a lot about you.”
I leaned back to see him better. “Micah?”
“Yes?”
His eyes met mine, and I wished I could read his mind. I wished I could make him tell me point by point why he thought he liked me. I wanted him to make guarantees he couldn’t make. I wanted him to promise not to hurt me.
Instead, I gave him back the one point he’d already earned. “I like you.”
He smiled the big smile, the one that brought out the dimple in his cheek. He ran a finger across my forehead to move loose strands out of my face. Then he kissed me. The first kiss was sweet. Our lips tested each other, tasted each other. Then he put his hands around the back of my neck. I pulled away and listened for the dangerous sounds of my heart pounding in my ears. He opened his eyes. “Everything okay?”
I reached for him and wove my fingers in his hair. I pressed my lips on his. The second kiss felt like an invitation to open myself up to him. When his tongue brushed against mine, a delicious queasiness spread through my belly.
“Can you come back to my place?” he asked.
The clock on the dash showed two a.m. My quick math told me that I’d be up all night if I went home with him. As it was, I’d be lucky to be up by eight. “I have to be at work by nine tomorrow. I should be going to bed.”
“Okay.” He pulled me in for a tight hug. “I’m sorry again.” He shook his head and leaned back. “You must think I’m a jerk.”
My mind was racing.
Zion had brought his boyfriends home occasionally. Not often, but it wasn’t unprecedented....
Micah took my hand. “But thank you for coming out tonight.”
And I could be a little late in the morning if I made it up at the end of the day.
His thumb stroked mine. “When can I see you again?”
And that kiss. My legs were still shaking from that kiss. And . . . “Can you come up?”
He inhaled sharply. “Jo. You don’t have to.”
I laid my hand on his cheek. “Would you please come up?”
“Are you sure?”
In response, I pulled him in to me and kissed him until his lips parted, and his hands roamed into uncharted territory. I broke away. “Yes. I’m sure.”