Page 8 of Meet Me In The Dark

“No? Someone behind you in the dark, cataloguing your every move, his breath on your neck, putting all that time and energy and focus into knowing where you go, what you eat, how you sleep, someone who knows what you like and how you like it, someone who’s made it his mission to give it to you that way? Nothing sexy about that, not at all?”

Silence. Had he gone too far?

“Man, you’re good at that,” she finally commented, seeming torn in two. “Just a little smooth talking and here I am ready to flip all my beliefs upside down. The military should hire you to handle its PR.”

Micah didn’t respond. Did she know? Did she know who he was, what he did? Was this some game she was playing? What was her angle?

“Oof, tough crowd,” said Kara. “Not a fan of Uncle Sam, noted, won’t joke about it again.”

That hit too close to home, and it seemed clear she wasjust guessing, so Micah redirected the conversation towards safer territory.

Well, safe-ish. Micah wasn’t going to lie to himself—the second she’d sent over the drink and note, he should’ve cut his losses and run. Staying was dangerous, in a way that even his riskiest SEAL mission hadn’t been. Not physically. Worse: emotionally.

But something wouldn’t let him leave. He needed to see this through.

“How’d you know I was Jewish? And what’s this charitable action you assume I did?”

She sighed. “I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t fall back asleep, so I did a—remarkably stupid thing, quite honestly—and went for a walk around the Quarter.”

“By yourself?” His voice was sharp with reprimand, and he hastened to soften it. She wasn’t his, and his protectiveness wouldn’t be easily accepted by her. “What I mean is, this isn’t a great spot to walk around at night by yourself.”

He was usually smoother than this. What was this woman doing to him?

She waved him off. “Like I said, remarkably stupid. Anyway, I decided to go over to King PoBoys and get myself some fried oysters smothered in bread when I saw you giving that unhoused man an incredibly generous amount of money.” She looked at Micah from under her lashes, not flirtatious, not accusatory, just…seeing him, clearly.

She continued. “I was impressed. Shocked, and a little concerned that someone I’m kind of doubting is a drug dealer carries that much money on their person in the first place, but still, impressed. The Magen David necklace slipped out from under the shirt you were wearing, so I nicknamed you the Good and Sexy Jewish Samaritan in myhead and figured I’d never see you again. But New Orleans loves to prove how small it is. And then here you were tonight, nursing a bourbon and looking like you wanted to murder someone.”

She glanced down at her hands, as if her nails were fascinating. Sighing, she glanced back up at him, holding his gaze. “It’s not my style to send a guy a drink. It’s not my usual move. I don’t really have moves at all, per se, but I don’t know… it’s Christmas, there was another Jew alone at my favorite restaurant, and my curiosity sometimes gets the better of me, and I figured, well… what did I have to lose?”

Everything. She had everything to lose. So did he, apparently.

Micah had never in his adult life considered committing long-term to a woman, much less keepingone, but dear god,thiswoman needed a keeper.

Kara wasn’t done. “For someone to give that much money to a homeless veteran—even if you’re obscenely wealthy—you had to have a deeper reason. There was meaning behind the action, I could see it. And I just…”

She shrugged.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. I needed to know why.”

No one ever saw Micah that deeply. No one. That hot, tight feeling intensified, and Micah didn’t know if he should just get up and leave her at the table alone and get the hell out of New Orleans, or Louisiana, or maybe the whole of North America… or pick her up, throw her over his shoulder, and take her to his hotel room so he could get so deep inside her neither of them would feel anything but each other for a while.

He settled for a third option.

“I’ve got a soft spot for veterans,” he told her. “Something about them making a huge sacrifice for our country,only to be basically shoved out of the airplane without a parachute, pisses me the fuck off. That guy should’ve been smooth sailing for the rest of his life. He shouldn’t be, he shouldn’t…” Micah swallowed, choking on the words, an unfamiliar burning in his eyes.

Kara watched him carefully. “…shouldn’t be on a street corner, forced to beg to feed himself and his dog, no matter if he’s an addict or not. They deserve better. We owe them better.” She finished for him, like she was in his goddamned head.

Micah nodded once. She turned her head away and shut her eyes, but not before he saw her eyes were wet and glassy.

“Are you crying?” He asked.

“Are you?” She countered, still looking away from him like she couldn’t bear to let him see her so vulnerable.

“Well,” he laughed. “Fuck. I guess I am.”

She whipped her head back around, and then laughed too.

“Guess we’re a pair.”

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