Just What the Truth Is (13 page)

“Micah. So good, so good,” I rambled unintelligently as my orgasm neared. The hands on my ass held me tighter and spread me apart, exposing my rosebud. Then long fingers dipped into my crack and rubbed over that sensitive spot.

“Yes!” I cried out. “Want you inside.”

I rocked against him, hoping he would give me what I needed. I shouldn’t have worried. Micah had never left me hanging. He pushed one long finger into me and increased the pace of his sucks, inspiring a knee-buckling orgasm. I shot down his throat and called out his name before I collapsed onto his lap and rested my head on his shoulder.

Chapter Twelve

M
ICAH
rubbed circles on my stomach and kissed my forehead as my post-orgasm pulse slowed to a normal rate and I caught my breath. I snuggled into his embrace, resting my head on his shoulder and nuzzling his neck. “You make me feel amazing,” I whispered.

He tightened his hold on me. “The feeling’s mutual.”

We sat quietly together, just sharing soft touches and enjoying each other’s presence. But I knew he had work to do, so eventually I sat up. “Sorry for distracting you. I need to visit my parents today. I’ll be out of your hair and you can get some more work done.”

Getting away with seeing my parents less frequently was one thing. Saying no to Sunday dinner after I had made excuses for why I was out of pocket all week was something else. If I tried to pull that move, I would be subjected to pursed lips and disapproving looks for months.

“I’m actually pretty caught up. I mean, there’s always more to do on this fuckin’ case, but if you want me to….” Micah hesitated. His hand, which had been rubbing my chest, paused. “If you want us to go somewhere today, I can.”

There really wasn’t anywhere I wanted to go. Being at Micah’s house meant privacy, which worked out great for me. As long as it was just the two of us, everything was wonderful. I got to be with him without anyone finding out that I was with a guy and without said guy finding out I was a chickenshit. Win-win as far as I was concerned. Plus, I didn’t have time to go anywhere that day. I needed to go to my place, do some laundry, and eat dinner with my parents.

“No worries. I have dinner with my parents today anyway.” I sat up and kissed his cheek. “Actually, I need to get going. Even with light Sunday traffic, the drive takes forever.”

When I stood, Micah rubbed the nape of his neck, a move I had come to realize meant he was frustrated about something. “Yeah, I know. And like I said, I’m fine taking a break from work if you want me to go
anywhere
with you.”

That’s when his meaning hit me. He wanted to come with me to dinner at my parents’ house. Was he out of his mind? What possible excuse could I use to explain why I was bringing a buddy to Sunday dinner? If we went there together, they could figure out what we had been up to.

My eyes widened as realization dawned. That was exactly what he wanted. He thought I would introduce him to my parents as my… my what? The man I’d been screwing? They were the last people on earth I would grace with that information. Hell, Clark had been a regular fixture at our house for years before my parents found out about him and Noah. But as soon as they’d realized he wasn’t just a friend or roommate, he had become persona non grata, no longer welcome at dinners or holidays or anything else. And because my brother refused to go where Clark wasn’t welcome, that had been the death knell in their relationship with Noah too.

How could Micah expect me to choose him over my family? Things were fine as they were. I spent more time with him than I had with any girlfriend. The sex was good—amazing, even. It was enough. Why did he need to push me for more?

“I’ve gotta go,” I mumbled as I stalked out of the room.

The clothes I had worn that weekend were in Micah’s bedroom, folded on a chair in the corner. I stuffed my feet into my shoes, gathered my wallet, clothes, and keys, and turned toward the bedroom doorway.

Micah was leaning on the doorframe, his arms crossed over his firm chest, a concerned expression painted on his uniquely handsome face. I refused to feel guilty about not inviting him to dinner. Hell, my mother could get a job as a travel agent with the skill she exhibited putting guilt trips together. Micah had nothing on her. And if she found out what we had been doing, if my father found out…. I shook my head.

No. Just no. I couldn’t do that to them, couldn’t stomach the look of disappointment on their faces, couldn’t leave them without a relationship with either of their children. I forced myself to keep an even expression on my face as I approached the doorway and Micah standing in it.

He put his hand on my shoulder and looked into my eyes. “Come on. Don’t do this again, Ben.”

All attempts at holding in my feelings evaporated, and I exploded, shouting at him. “Do what? What do you want from me? I say I’m having dinner with my parents and you get all pouty. I don’t appreciate the pressure, Micah. It’s too much. I think I’ll stay at my place tonight. Maybe some time apart will help you start acting like a man and not a little girl.”

Yeah, I know. You’re thinking I’m a total asshole. Or maybe a dumb shit. Oh, a fucktard? That sounds about right. Hey, it’s what I do. I really know how to make the worst of a good situation. It’s a special talent. What can I say?

He gasped, dropped his hand from my shoulder, sucked his lower lip into his mouth, and squeezed his eyes closed. There was a part of me that itched to take it all back, to drop the things I was holding on the floor and wrap my arms around his chest. But the bigger part of me was scared, terrified even.

I wasn’t lying when I said it was all too much. Being with Micah was wonderful, no question about it. But having people find out about us meant giving up so many things. My parents would be devastated, and if the fallout from my brother’s coming out was any indication, our relationship would be irreparably ruined. My circle of friends would never understand. They all had wives or girlfriends. How could I explain my failure to make that work in my own life?

And what about work? The way Micah talked, I gathered he didn’t hide who he was. I had decided the only reason he wasn’t fodder for the gossip mill was because he was single, so people hadn’t figured it out. But even if they did, he was so highly regarded he would be fine. I didn’t have that luxury. I hadn’t been practicing as long, didn’t have his unparalleled reputation, didn’t have the same client base… it was just different for me.

The bottom line was that being with Micah meant I couldn’t be the same man I had always been. And that scared me. So off I went, leaving Micah’s house in a tizzy (again). I got in my car and drove home, refusing to change my mind, refusing to feel regretful, refusing to think at all.

I
T
MAY
have turned out differently if I hadn’t had so damn much experience burying myself in the sand. It wasn’t just my head. I would do a full body submerging and stay there, sometimes for years at a time. Well, I didn’t hide for years that time. I couldn’t. I missed Micah too much. But the week I spent avoiding him was damaging enough.

I didn’t go back to his house that Sunday and I didn’t take his call when it came in that night. On Monday, I pointedly avoided eye contact and ignored his disappointed sigh when he came into the kitchen at work to get a bottle of water just as I was walking out with yet another coffee, trying to stay awake after a restless night. Tuesday and Wednesday, I closed my office door and refused to come out other than for a couple of much-needed bathroom breaks that consisted of me scurrying to the bathroom like a rat in the hopes of not being detected.

Look, if you think you’re clever with the whole “you are a rat, Ben” thing, you’re not. I thought it too. But I wasn’t ready to do anything about it yet. It took two more days before I internally slapped myself around (I know you were hoping for something that would actually leave bruises) and crawled out of the hole I had dug for myself.

Damn it! I missed him. I missed the way he growled under his breath when was reading a particularly annoying document. I missed the way he chewed on his bottom lip and furrowed his brow when he was thinking of the answer to a Trivial Pursuit question. I missed the way his eyes shone when he looked at me. I missed how he bumped his hip against mine when we cooked dinner together, and then dropped a kiss on my cheek or lips. I just missed him.

I knew that feeling wasn’t going to go away. So I could either sit and sulk about how it was all his fault for pushing me for too much too fast, or I could go talk to him. In a long overdue display of maturity, I chose the latter and showed up on Micah’s doorstep on Saturday afternoon.

When he answered the door, all the anxiety and frustration that had been consuming me for close to a week had to vacate to make room for a whole new type of pain. There wasn’t even a trace of the smile that had always graced Micah’s face when he saw me. The sparkle in his eyes was gone. And he didn’t reach for me, not for a hello kiss, not for a hug, not for anything.

“Hi, Ben.” That strong hand that had touched every part of my body with tenderness and passion cupped the nape of his neck.

“Hi.” I shifted from foot to foot, nerves suddenly striking me mute.

“Do you want to come in?” he asked.

I nodded, and he stepped aside, leaving me a wide berth to walk into his house. He closed the door behind me and walked into the living room, taking a seat in the arm chair and waiting for me to join him. I sat on the couch and twisted my fingers together, focusing on my hands instead of his face.

It took a good three minutes of complete silence before I realized he wasn’t going to just brush this under the rug and move on. I didn’t have much experience with talking out issues. My parents were more the silent disapproving types. My brother usually just attacked and screamed. And as far as relationships went, I had always been the disposable boyfriend type—when something went wrong, I would end it or she would end it, and that was that. So knowing how to fix things after a fight was a completely foreign concept. “I’m sorry,” I said.

There. That should work, right? I apologized.

“For what?” he asked, peering at me with those blue eyes that had once been filled with affection and arousal but now remained completely flat.

Jesus! If that wasn’t a loaded question, I didn’t know what was. I was sorry for so many things it was impossible to list them. My entire existence felt like cause for an apology.

“I don’t….” I paused and cleared my throat before continuing. “I’m sorry for yelling at you last week. I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it.”

Micah rested his forearms on his knees and clasped his hands together. He looked down for several long seconds before finally lifting his gaze to meet mine. “So then why did you say those things, Ben? What happened to set you off? We were having a nice morning. Everything seemed fine. And then you just exploded, stormed out, and shut down. You’ve been avoiding and ignoring me for a week. I felt like I was being punished for something, and I didn’t understand what it was.”

I answered before thinking. Not a good move on my part, clearly, but I was a hella slow learner.

“I overreacted. I get that now. It’s just that you were acting like I should be introducing you to my parents. Like it was a given that we’d be going to their house together.” I probably should have stopped talking then, but I kept going, giving myself more rope. “And you’re always like that. All confident, acting like we’re a couple. I don’t remember you asking me if that was what I wanted. You just assumed. Like it’s a given that I’d want the same thing.”

He flinched and then sighed. “I see.”

“What does that mean?” My voice squeaked when I asked the question, and I hated myself just a little bit more for sounding like a little kid. Right, like it was the squeak that created that effect.

“It means that I’m too old and tired to keep going with this”—he waved his hand back and forth between us—“whatever we have going.”

Nothing frustrates me more than the moment during an argument when I realize I’m wrong. Yeah, I hadn’t spoken to Micah in almost a week, but I hadn’t been thinking during that time, hadn’t allowed myself the option of thinking. And as I sat there looking at Micah Trains, I realized that being with him was what I wanted. I did want us to be a couple. And I knew he wanted it too. Why was he playing games with me?

“Oh, come on, Micah, don’t try to pretend like you’re not into me. I’ve been there this past month, okay? You get off hard when we’re together and we both know it. You said you’re falling for me, and I know it’s true. I can tell from the way you look at me. You’re into me.”

Micah stood up and started pacing back and forth across the room. “What’s going on here, Ben? Are you waiting for me to pretend like the sex wasn’t good? Or am I supposed to act like I don’t enjoy spending time with you? Or maybe you think I’m denying my feelings? Well, that’s your bag, not mine. Yeah, the sex was hot. Yeah, I have fun with you. I think you’re smart. I think you’re interesting. And I like you, Ben. A lot.”