Page 46 of Pretty Heartache

Now, he rambles on, asking me which ones I like and which tile I think will go with which flooring. Several times he’s caught me so deep in thought I had to ask him to repeat his question. He doesn’t press me on it, though, and I don’t divulge my thoughts.

The air is thick between us, the conversation in the house leaving us riddled with unanswered questions. I want to know more about Micah. I want to know why he feels left behind in a world of thirty-somethings. Does it have to do with him going to prison?

Temptation dared me to ask him back at the house, but I didn’t want to bring it up when he’d already felt comfortable enough to share certain pieces of himself with me.

After picking the tile and placing an order, Micah and I head back home.

Thunderous dark clouds roll across the sky in the distance. The farther we drive out of the city, the closer we crawl toward the storm ahead. I glance over my shoulder while Micah races down the street and turns onto the highway.

The city grows smaller in the distance, stealing the sunshine and clear blue skies with it. We’re only halfway home when drops of water start to fall from above. They’re slow at first; the thunder rumbling into the ground beneath us. Water from the road kicks up at our legs as another round of thunder crackles in the distance. I shift my hold on Micah’s body and close my hands around his shirt, clutching onto him firmly. His muscles move beneath my touch with every breath.

We’re taking the exit to our neighborhood when the rain picks up even more. Quick pelting drops of water cover us in sheets of rain, the sound of it drowning out the traffic and the loud rumble of the bike’s engine. We pull to a stop light, waiting to turn left, when Micah takes the opportunity to pop open his visor and look over his shoulder.

“Normally, I would stop and pull over to wait out the storm!” he yells. “But since we’re almost home, we’ll just keep going. Hang on.”

I nod, letting him know I heard him and tighten my grip.

I catch one more glimpse of his blue-gray eyes before he snaps his visor shut, revs the engine, and turns when the traffic light switches to green.

I concentrate on my body pressed against his as he weaves through the streets of our neighborhood. The tiny bits of rain splash and bounce off every parked car we pass. Water wicks and slaps against the exposed parts of my skin. The front of me is almost dry, but my shoulders and back are drenched with cool rain.

I flex my legs around his thick frame, thinking back to yesterday when I’d seen him out in the garden. I wasn’t just watching him work. I was thinking about him differently. I was seeing him in a new light.

I was a woman falling for a man.

I still don’t understand my feelings for him, but something has changed over the course of these months living with him. Micah has allowed me access to the parts of himself he doesn’t share with the rest of the world. He looks at me differently, talks to me differently, treats me differently.

My stomach flutters at the idea of there being more to us than simply roommates. I loosen my grip on his shirt and dare to feel his chest once again. My wrinkled fingers press against him. I wish the barrier of wet fabric wasn’t resting between his beating heart and me. I want to know if I have an effect on him at all.

Does he react to my touch the way I do to his?

I squeeze my eyes shut and will myself to calm the thoughts running rampant in my mind. I haven’t been able to shut them off.

Micah’s touch has awakened what I thought were dormant parts of my soul. It amplifies across my body, sending shockwaves to my heart and stomach. Every time we connect, I find myself wanting more. I want to see how far this feeling can go.

The house comes into view, and Micah takes a sharp turn into the driveway. Eventually, he comes to a stop, and I look over at the flower box below my bedroom window. All the weeds and dead branches are cleared out. A puddle of water now floods the soil, spilling over the edges and onto the green grass. I climb off the bike and remove my helmet, placing it on the seat, then stand beside Micah’s bike and stare at his back. He hasn’t turned off the engine yet. He hasn’t made a single move to climb off his bike, which is strange given how hard it’s raining. White knuckled, he tightens his grip on the handles and remains on the leather seat.

For a moment, I think he might leave me here. Maybe he forgot to run an errand. Maybe he wants to put distance betweenus, considering the last several weeks. He knows something is different with me.

Rain continues to pour from the sky in sheets. I look up at the near-black clouds, squinting against the raindrops. My shirt and leggings cling to me like a second skin. My hair sticks to my cheeks, and water drips from my eyelashes. It’s completely ridiculous that we’re still out here instead of rushing inside to the comfort of our warm, dry house.

My heart feels like it’s going to rip right out of my chest, as if Micah’s opened it himself, barely hovering his hand over the organ that keeps my body running.

I silently beg for him to turn off the engine.

To do something.

To say something.

But he doesn’t.

Unsure of how to will the feelings inside me to fade, I chance another look at the garden. My gaze immediately lands on all the furniture we left in the yard, still sitting in a large pile from when we emptied the shed days ago.

“Shit,” I hiss, immediately jogging through the side yard.

I push through the half-broken, wooden gate separating the side yard and leading to the back. My feet smash into puddles along the way, and water soaks into my shoes, saturating my socks.

“Addy!” Micah yells behind me. I hear the creaking of the wooden gate opening and closing behind me again.

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