Page 49 of Muzzled

He rolled his eyes at her, smirking as he turned onto the road and she cranked up the music.

*

Ryan steadied hisphone and snapped a few pictures, grinning as Micah struck a pose with Logan for him. “That kind of takes away the whole idea of a candid shot,” he teased when she looked over his shoulder and deleted six of the seven photos.

“I don’t like candid,” she muttered, zooming in on the single picture he had left. “Rather, my left side doesn’t like candid. Send that to me?”

Texting it to her, he sat back in his seat and waved as she skipped off to the dance floor, Logan and a tall, scrawny guy she’d referred to as “Scanner” hot on her heels.

They’d definitely needed the night out.

Micah looked amazing in her minidress, the Victorian-style bodice being one of his favorite topside fashion trends over the centuries. Her red hair fell in long curls down her back, their bounce beginning to fall as the heat of the summer combined with the heat of the dance floor. Her knee-high boots gave her an extra five inches of height, making her look even leggier than usual and keeping her in his line of sight at all times.

His, and that of every other guy in the place.

There hadn’t been a single song that hadn’t brought her multiple offers to dance. Guys milled around, waiting to catch her as she walked by. Neither his nor Logan’s presence dissuaded her admirers from timing their approaches with the cross-fade of the music before someone else was blessed with the next dance.

He reached down and ran his thumb over the zipper of her purse, reassuring himself it was still closed and tight to his side.

Purse duty.

He’d done a lot of little things for Seph over the centuries, from fastening bracelets, to carrying dancing shoes that were a fraction too small, to holding mirrors so she could admire the back lacing of a new dress.

Never purse duty.

He tapped it once more, looping his wrist in the strap.

Micah danced over to the table, pushing her damp hair off her face. “Ready to go?”

“I’m good.” He grinned and took a sip of the warm beer he’d been nursing since they arrived.

She flopped onto the seat next to him. “Yeah, well, I’m not. My feet are killing me, and I’ve pretty much hit my niceness limit for the week.”

“Damn,” he grunted, setting his beer down. “So, is that your way of saying you’re going to be an absolute nightmare around me until Sunday?”

She gave him a sweet smile, tugging on his arm until he eased out of the booth and passed over her purse. “No more than usual.” Giving Logan a quick wave and a reminder to be safe, she linked her fingers in his and dragged him out of the bar. “Now that I got that out of my system, I can hole up in relative solitude for the next three months if need be.”

Eying her slowed pace and slight limp, he stopped and dropped to one knee, angling his back to her. “Get on. The car’s another five blocks from here and I’m not watching you suffer to be beautiful.”

She climbed onto him without hesitation and locked her arms around his neck, apologizing when he adjusted her hold to keep from choking. “We should make this my mode of transportation from here on out,” she stated as he stood. “Onward, trusty steed!”

Hooking his arms under her legs, he looked over his shoulder. “Wrong animal.”

“Onward, trusty canine!” she corrected, pointing ahead. “Not quite the same, is it?”

He took a right down the side streets, his passenger talking a mile a minute about everyone she’d run into at the bar, her words peppered with commentary about which artists she suspected were hooking up with which buskers.

Persephone’s nonstop gossiping had always been something he despised, knowing every word falling from her sweetly sharp tongue was spoken to weave her own narrative. Yet he’d sat at her side, ever the doting pet, and feigned interest to appease her, to show her he was loyal.

But he found himself listening to every word Micah spoke, responding because he wanted to, not by rote, as he’d done for so long. Every tale was harmless and funny, her adoration for those she spoke about coming through in the fondness in her voice and the words she chose. The stories and light gossip she shared with him felt like she was bringing him further into her world, like she wanted him to be as comfortable in her life as she was.

She made him feel needed, but more than that, she made him feel wanted, as though she was happier because she was with him. Her fingers grazed along his collarbones absently, her cheek nuzzled against his every few minutes. There was nothing calculated in her movements or words, no ulterior motive.

He wasn’t sure how to handle it, how to meet her on this unfamiliar ground.

And he wasn’t even sure what that unfamiliar ground was. All he knew was, it was rooted deep in his chest and digging further in with every breath.

“Watch your head,” he warned, skirting the branches of the trees lining the crumbling sidewalk.

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