Page 60 of The Secret
Micah
So,it was possible the wholedatething was going to be harder than I thought. In fact, it was possible I was having a mild panic attack over it, which was so unlike me that rational-Micah was sitting in the corner with a jumbo popcorn watching me hyperventilate.
“You've got this, Bloom,” I told myself as I sat on the bed in my jeans and nothing else, and stared at my open closet. “All you need to do is grab a shirt and get in your car. It’s that easy, buddy. It’s Constantine, for God’s sake. You know him. You've talked with him. You'veblown him. The ice has been well and truly broken.”
Except… well, that was kind of the problem, wasn't it? This wasn't me going to The Hive to have a couple of beers and get sucked into the throng on the dance floor for a minute, or to throw darts with some of the regulars and smirk at the guys who preened and pouted and fretted about who they'd be taking home. This was mebeing one of those guys. This was me already knowing exactly who I wanted to take home tonight.
I felt like a virgin at this because I was.
The phone rang as I was contemplating whether a second shower—to wash off the flop sweat that had accumulated after the first shower—would be a good idea, and it was really indicative of my state of mind that I just clicked Accept without even looking at the screen to see who it was.
“Yeah?”
“Um, whoa. Holy naked flesh, Micah. Warn a girl!”
I sighed and pulled the phone away from my ear, scowling at my sister. “You FaceTimed me?”
“You didn’t notice?” Lauren laughed. “Okay, Leandra said you were beingvery un-Micahtoday. I’ve gotta admit, I thought she was exaggerating, but if anything, she was underselling it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, yes, giggle all you want. Get it out of your system. But I’ve gotta go. I have… plans.” I heaved out a breath as nausea clogged my throat.
“Wait!” Lauren yelled waving her hand. “No, don’t go. Talk to me. What’s going on, Micah? Are you okay?”
“Yes, of course. I’m fine.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re always fine, even when you’re not.” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you sick?”
“No.” I huffed out a laugh and wondered if vomiting on camera would ruin my credibility forever. “I’m going out.”
She blinked and I could see her sitting down on her living room sofa and pulling a flannel blanket over her shoulders. “Youare? On a date?”
Did she have to make it sound so ridiculous? “I guess. Yeah. Kinda.”
“You don’tknow? Are you meeting someone at a prearranged time and location for the purposes of a sexual or romantic tryst?”
I sighed impatiently. “Yes.”
“Then it’s definitely a date.”
“Super. Okay, call you tomorrow.”
“No, wait! I need more information. Who are you going out with? Where are you going? What are you wearing?”
I rubbed a hand over my face. “I’d really rather not get into it.”
“Then let me make some guesses.” She grinned, pulling her hair into a bun on the top of her head. “You’re going out with the Ross kid, aren’t you?”
I narrowed my eyes. “So you and Leandra have already hashed over this, too, I see.”
When I’d gotten back to the booth at the festival, Leandra had demanded to know what the fuck was going on. I’d tried to put her off, which was really foolish, in retrospect. Telling either of my sisters I didn’t want to talk about something was like waving a red flag at a bull, because it confirmed there was, indeed, something to talk about, and the inability to let go of a subject was genetically programmed in the Bloom DNA, like somewhere in our evolutionary history we’d been closer to Dobermans than monkeys.
“Um. I don’t suppose you’d accept psychic twin powers as a plausible reason for my knowledge?”
“Yeah, I don’t suppose I would.”
“Come on, Micah. We’re concerned about our big brother, that’s all! And Leandra’s not the only one who’s noticed something different. I’ve stood next to you in that stupid booth at the farmer’s markets every other week, and I’ve seen the way you stare across the aisle at him when you think I’m not looking. At first I thought it was your usual, you know, beef with the Rosses.”
“Mybeefwith them.” I laughed helplessly. “How old are you?”
