Page 72 of A Crazy Kind of Love
Micah pushed me off him to the side and ripped off his jeans and then my underwear. Then he was over me and in me, kissing me, sighing, moaning, saying my name, saying “Oh, my God.”
Saying “I love you.”
My eyes flew open. “What?”
He stopped, and his eyes opened. “Did I just say that out loud?”
“Uh-huh.” I pushed my hips up, urging him to keep moving.
“I wasn’t supposed to say that. I know that. I’m sorry. You don’t have to say that.” He still wasn’t moving.
“Micah. Could we talk about this later?” I put my legs over his back and forced his shoulders down to me. His eyes closed again, and he fell into rhythm.
He hadn’t lied that he could go longer than five minutes. He took his time, and only after I shuddered with a groan, did he hit a faster pace until he dropped to one side, dripping sweat and breathing heavy.
“Is Zion going to be pissed?”
“Um, no.” I’d already picked up sounds from Zion’s adjacent room. “They found something to do while they waited.”
I got up and started to dress. “Come on. I’m going to need to eat something and check my glucose levels before we leave.”
He lay on the bed. “Do you want to talk first?”
“We’ll talk later.”
I closed the bedroom door and went to the bathroom where I’d left my pump when I showered. I reattached it and started making turkey wraps for everyone. Micah joined me, dressed again. Zion and Adrianna emerged, thankfully also dressed. I handed out sandwiches and said, “Let’s eat and walk.”
It was a hike to the flea market. Adrianna and Zion walked about two blocks ahead of us. Adrianna’s anonymity would be compromised if anyone recognized Micah next to her. We stopped along the way and bought drinks. I carried my water bottle in one hand and held Micah’s hand with the other. Occasionally, we’d pass someone who did a double take at Micah. Nobody stopped us on our way to the flea market, but once we arrived, we slowed down to look at all the wares. And then someone tapped Micah’s shoulder and asked, “Are you Micah Sinclair?”
He turned and said, “Yup. What’s your name?”
“Mark.”
“Hey, Mark. Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand, and they shook.
Mark said, “Would you mind if I got a picture with you? My roommate’s never going to believe this. He’s a huge fan.”
“That’s awesome.” Micah didn’t point out that Mark had basically just said he wasn’t a huge fan.
Mark handed me the camera. I guessed this was going to be my new job. Selfie photographer to the stars. I said, “Say cheese,” and clicked.
Micah put a hand on Mark’s shoulder and said, “Tell your roommate thanks for the support.”
“He’s going to die. Thanks, man.”
Other people had watched the exchange, which prompted more people to gather the courage to approach him and talk to him. Every time, he’d ask the person for their name and lay a hand on their shoulder or across their back. He’d find something nice to say to each and every person, no matter what.
“You should run for office,” I said. “You’re a natural politician.”
He draped an arm over me, and we passed through the flea market, looking at everything. The nice thing was, there were no paparazzi at the flea market. Well, there were two, but neither Zion nor I were interested in shooting pictures of Micah.
At one stall, he stopped and tried on a knockoff Gryffindor scarf. “Would this be my house?”
“You read it!”
“Some. What do you think? Where would I be sorted?”
“Yes. Gryffindor. Definitely.”
