she remembered him.
When could he see her again?
"Who?"
Tristan's voice snapped Micah back. "I didn't say
anything."
"Yes, you did. Who's Sam?"
"Nobody," Micah said. He returned to his sandwich
and took a bite, eating more slowly than before. "I'm delusional," he
said indifferently. No way was Micah going to dish the dirt on the woman he had
met the night before. No fucking way. She was his. Nobody needed to know about
her. His, damn it! Micah wouldn't let anyone near her.
Micah swallowed heavily and mentally stumbled. When had he
decided Sam Garret was his? The realization smacked him in the proverbial
forehead, V8 style. What the fuck? Was he already tethering to a new mate? So
soon after losing one? It would explain his misfiring brain cells, but he and
Sam hardly knew each other. But then, mating didn't always occur between two
people who already knew each other. In fact, a lot of the time, it didn't. What
was happening to him? Was he seriously mating Samantha? And what if Sam didn't
share his feelings? Fuck! He was a walking disaster magnet, wasn't he?
"Fine, Micah, play that way. But you and I are going to
have a long talk real soon about what's been going on with you for the past
two-and-a-half weeks."
It was clear Tristan wasn't buying it, but he was the
delusional one if he thought Micah would sit through a one-on-one over the
matter.
"Quit bustin' my chops, Tris. I've got shit to
do." Yeah, like buy a tractor-trailer of groceries to feed the bottomless
pit known as his stomach, while trying to figure out what was going on inside
his body over this Samantha chick. Hmm, I wonder if she'd be home tonight if
I swung by for a visit.
"Well, I expect your ass at the compound tomorrow
night, Micah. I'll give you tonight, but tomorrow night, you're checking
in."
With a roll of his eyes, Micah feigned a salute as he popped
the last bite of Quarter Pounder in his mouth then wadded up all the empty
wrappers and tossed everything in the trash with the empty Coke cup.
"Fine, Chief. I could use the gym, anyway." It had
been weeks since he had done any lifting and his body was craving the burn.
Thoughts of the short-haired blonde he had met the night
before invaded his mind. Her green eyes, her gentle lips, the way her hands had
felt so confident and sure as she had palpated him.
"You could use a haircut, too," Tristan said. He
was trying to sound authoritative, which was a joke with Micah, and Tristan
knew it. "I'll see if Josie feels well enough to give you a trim."
Micah leaned against the counter, his stomach content for
the moment, even if his mind was a mess of confusion. "How is she?"
Micah knew she had been suffering through a rough first trimester.
"Touch and go. She's been really sick, but the doc says
that's normal and should pass soon. She was feeling pretty good when she got up
tonight." Tristan fidgeted with his keys, looking down at the floor before
glancing back at Micah. "She'd love to see you. She's been worried."
Feeling a twinge of regret, because he liked Josie and hated
upsetting her, Micah glanced away. Grabbing a pen off the counter, he thumbed
the cap off then popped it back on as he fiddled with it. "Tell her I'm
sorry. Things were shitty for a while, but I'm better now." It was the
most he would say on the subject.
And I'll be even better once I get another taste of
Samantha Garrett.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Steve Garrett hung up the phone. The last year had been a
colossal waste of time and money.
He paced in front of the large picture window overlooking
the wooded tree line that sloped down the hill behind his home in one of
Denver's more elite and secluded subdivisions. His dark-haired reflection
stared back at him in the glass, as did the fire flickering in the fireplace
behind him.
After his blood pressure normalized, he flipped open the
slip of notepaper he had been clutching in his other hand then dialed the
number that had been scrawled on it.
"Hello?"
"Is this David?" Steve
When could he see her again?
"Who?"
Tristan's voice snapped Micah back. "I didn't say
anything."
"Yes, you did. Who's Sam?"
"Nobody," Micah said. He returned to his sandwich
and took a bite, eating more slowly than before. "I'm delusional," he
said indifferently. No way was Micah going to dish the dirt on the woman he had
met the night before. No fucking way. She was his. Nobody needed to know about
her. His, damn it! Micah wouldn't let anyone near her.
Micah swallowed heavily and mentally stumbled. When had he
decided Sam Garret was his? The realization smacked him in the proverbial
forehead, V8 style. What the fuck? Was he already tethering to a new mate? So
soon after losing one? It would explain his misfiring brain cells, but he and
Sam hardly knew each other. But then, mating didn't always occur between two
people who already knew each other. In fact, a lot of the time, it didn't. What
was happening to him? Was he seriously mating Samantha? And what if Sam didn't
share his feelings? Fuck! He was a walking disaster magnet, wasn't he?
"Fine, Micah, play that way. But you and I are going to
have a long talk real soon about what's been going on with you for the past
two-and-a-half weeks."
It was clear Tristan wasn't buying it, but he was the
delusional one if he thought Micah would sit through a one-on-one over the
matter.
"Quit bustin' my chops, Tris. I've got shit to
do." Yeah, like buy a tractor-trailer of groceries to feed the bottomless
pit known as his stomach, while trying to figure out what was going on inside
his body over this Samantha chick. Hmm, I wonder if she'd be home tonight if
I swung by for a visit.
"Well, I expect your ass at the compound tomorrow
night, Micah. I'll give you tonight, but tomorrow night, you're checking
in."
With a roll of his eyes, Micah feigned a salute as he popped
the last bite of Quarter Pounder in his mouth then wadded up all the empty
wrappers and tossed everything in the trash with the empty Coke cup.
"Fine, Chief. I could use the gym, anyway." It had
been weeks since he had done any lifting and his body was craving the burn.
Thoughts of the short-haired blonde he had met the night
before invaded his mind. Her green eyes, her gentle lips, the way her hands had
felt so confident and sure as she had palpated him.
"You could use a haircut, too," Tristan said. He
was trying to sound authoritative, which was a joke with Micah, and Tristan
knew it. "I'll see if Josie feels well enough to give you a trim."
Micah leaned against the counter, his stomach content for
the moment, even if his mind was a mess of confusion. "How is she?"
Micah knew she had been suffering through a rough first trimester.
"Touch and go. She's been really sick, but the doc says
that's normal and should pass soon. She was feeling pretty good when she got up
tonight." Tristan fidgeted with his keys, looking down at the floor before
glancing back at Micah. "She'd love to see you. She's been worried."
Feeling a twinge of regret, because he liked Josie and hated
upsetting her, Micah glanced away. Grabbing a pen off the counter, he thumbed
the cap off then popped it back on as he fiddled with it. "Tell her I'm
sorry. Things were shitty for a while, but I'm better now." It was the
most he would say on the subject.
And I'll be even better once I get another taste of
Samantha Garrett.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Steve Garrett hung up the phone. The last year had been a
colossal waste of time and money.
He paced in front of the large picture window overlooking
the wooded tree line that sloped down the hill behind his home in one of
Denver's more elite and secluded subdivisions. His dark-haired reflection
stared back at him in the glass, as did the fire flickering in the fireplace
behind him.
After his blood pressure normalized, he flipped open the
slip of notepaper he had been clutching in his other hand then dialed the
number that had been scrawled on it.
"Hello?"
"Is this David?" Steve
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