Page 17 of She Likes It, Hey Micah
I may have done some research on Micah Taylor before heading to the caterer this morning, and I discovered her dad is one of those guys who has always had a ton of money and is constantly getting married to someone new. He could probably bankroll anything she wants.
Tilting her head, Micah studies me like she can’t figure out why I am bothering to warn her. “You know,” she says, “Lila threatens to fire me at least once a day, so that’s not really much of a concern.”
“Why do you work for her?”
Instead of answering that question, she tucks her arm through mine and leads us out the door. As always, I feel her touch everywhere, like a slowly spreading heat that is just uncomfortable enough to keep me on edge. I’ve decided that part of the reason I’m so aware of her touch is because she so easily gives it. Most people, especially with a stranger, reserve this kind of intimacy for farther down the road. Micah leans into me like we’ve known each other for years. I don’t think she’s touching me because she wants something either, and I still don’t know what to do with this fact.
If she isn’t using body language to grow my interest, what is her intent?
“Be sure to check your calendar when you get back to your office,” she says, completely ignoring my question. “We have more appointments coming up this week.”
I’m afraid to know, even if I absolutely want to be everywhere that a decision might be made.
She pulls away when we reach my car, and my eyes dart around the empty parking lot. There was a car here earlier, one I assumed was hers, but it’s no longer parked anywhere in sight. Either her car was stolen and she’s not appropriately freaking out, or she didn’t drive here. Ember isn’t anywhere nearby, and Sun City isn’t known for its public transport. Not without encountering the strangest people, and I can’t see Micah feeling comfortable around people like that.
Not that I can really claim to know her all that well.
“Well, I’ll see you at our next appointment! I’ll leave it up to you to figure out when and where.”
She’s halfway down the sidewalk before I realize she’s likelywalkingback to Ember.
“Wait!” I shout as a strange sense of panic bubbles up inside me. “You’re not walking, are you?”
Micah grins at me but doesn’t stop, instead turning around and walking backward. “All the way back to Ember? I’m not that crazy. Bus stop is just a few blocks this—”
“Let me give you a ride.” I’m not especially thrilled by the idea of being in a confined space with this woman, but neither do I like the notion of letting her be on her own on the bus. Who knows what kind of riff raff she might encounter?
Tilting her head, she purses her lips in the kind of smile that tells me she’s trying not to laugh at me. “Are you worried about me, Fischer Price?”
I narrowly avoid cringing at the name. I hate it, but it’s the easiest way to avoid her finding out who I really am. “Fischer,” I correct, as if that might stop her. I don’t think anything can stop her from doing what she wants. “And no, I’m not worried, but I—”
“Liar.”
This is not the sort of conversation to have at a distance, so I hurry forward to catch her before she hits the crosswalk. Thankfully she stops as soon as I reach her, though she looks far too amused for my liking. “Okay, yes. I’m worried about what could happen on a bus.”
Her eyes travel from my head to my toes, leaving me feeling slightly exposed. I wish I had a jacket to add another layer of protection from her gaze, but it’s too warm today for that. It may be October, but Sun City rarely drops below comfortably warm, even in the winter. And why am I thinking about the weather? I don’t know. Maybe to stop my thoughts from focusing on how much I like the way her auburn curls glow slightly gold in the sunlight.
“I don’t think you’ve ever been on a bus,” she says after her perusal.
“Was that supposed to sound like an insult?”
She chuckles, making me wonder what her laugh sounds like. And now I’ve crossed into creepy. “It was just an observation, Fischer, but if you choose to take it as an insult, that’s on you. The bus is great.”
“The bus is full of people who are…” I’m not sure if there’s a nice way to put this. “Not normal.”
This time she does laugh, and the sound is just as musical as I expected. “What is normal? Normal for you isn’t the same as normal for me. Or normal for the guy who talks to his dog every day. Have you never stopped to wonder what people think about you when you’re walking down the street all stompy?” She demonstrates, stomping her sandals on the pavement.
I hold back a grimace. “I don’t stomp.” I probably stomp. Especially lately.
“You do stomp. I’m pretty sure it’s because you’re full of bad energy.”
“You and my roommate would get along.”
Her eyebrows shoot up, and it seems to take her a second to find a response to that. “I did not take you for the roommate-having type, Fischer.”
“I wouldn’t be if I didn’t have to be. I’m an assistant, remember?”
“So am I, but I can still afford my own apartment.” She says this with a healthy measure of pity in her words, which has my chest growing tight.
