Page 82 of Tapped

What am I thinking?

This isn’t that.

No matter what place inside me it touched, I can’t go there. It was sex. That’s it. I need to separate that from everything else.

The only thing I have the emotional space for is getting Chase home.

19

SEX GOD

Micah

It’s not lost on me I just spent the night in another man’s house.

Fucking his wife.

In his bed.

Then I fucked her in his shower.

This morning, I gave her an orgasm while she sat on his kitchen island.

Okay, fine. Calling this his house is a stretch that’s even bendier than his wife.

Jeff Michaels’ name is not on the deed. Hell, he’s not even listed on the homeowner’s insurance policy or the utilities.

My work is based on facts, and since I’m fucking good at my job, this is hands-down fact. I looked that shit up as soon as I identified him as a target. This house—if you can call it a mere house when it’s really a small mansion—is paid off and solely in Evie’s name. There has to be a story there somewhere, especially given the prenup Jeff was forced to sign prior to their marriage years ago.

He’s like the asshole friend who crashed on your sofa in college and you couldn’t kick out no matter how hard you tried.

I wasn’t kidding when I told Brax I’m not a homewrecker. That is one line I will not cross. My parents have been married thirty-eight years, and have been through thick and thin. I’m not sure how they would’ve survived losing Hannah if they didn’t have each other. Hell, I barely did.

Do I want what my parents have some day?

Hell, yes.

Someday being the operative word.

I look across the house to the subject that has made me a homewrecker in definition only. She’s curled into herself, her bare legs and feet tucked beneath her in the corner of the sofa. Her hair is still wet from our shower, and she’s wearing a pair of cutoff shorts and a tank. I know for a fact she didn’t bother with a bra since I had my way with her on the island.

Once the clock hit eight, she kissed me and apologized that she’d have to ignore me so she could FaceTime her son.

I told her to never apologize to me for wanting to spend time with him. Then she apologized again and told me I’d have to be quiet and stay out of the video feed.

If she wasn’t so anxious to talk to him, we would’ve had another discussion on why she feels the need to apologize for things that she damn well shouldn’t.

But she was anxious, so I let that slide and had to figure out her complicated espresso machine on my own.

She smiles into the screen, but I can tell it’s not genuine. Her expression is tight and full of anxiety. They talked about what he did yesterday. Every time Chase asks when he has to come home, Evie deflects better than a politician in the hot seat.

“Grandpa will be home today,” Evie tells him. “What are the three of you going to do?”

His little voice comes across the phone. “Grandpa got us a model plane to build. It’s a goodbye plane.”

Evie tips her head and she looks like she’s holding back tears. “You mean a biplane?”

“That’s what I said.” It sounds like he’s running in circles with the phone. “Grandma is making me read and it’s not even school. I don’t want to, and I don’t like the book she got me.”

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