Page 17 of Takedown Artist
Micah
The comforting smell of old coffee and Troy’s latest casserole lingers in the air. I’m supposed to be working on the social media for my car repair client, but I’m not. What am I doing instead? Nothing that’s gonna earn me any money, that’s for sure. This is my tenth sketch of Troy. I’m averaging two a day lately. The late afternoon sunlight is perfect for sketching, which isn’t helping me at all.
It’s been almost a week since that awkward but unexpectedly hot night on his couch. A night that I remember vividly at the most inconvenient times, despite my best efforts. And yet, I haven’t made a move to ask for a repeat performance, and I’d like one because the first one just about blew my mind.
Troy has been irritatingly quiet about it this entire week. We go on about our day, doing the usual things, same as last week. As if nothing’s different. But it’s a lie because everything is different. At least for me.
I’ve always enjoyed sex. It’s never been an issue. But this doesn’t feel like the friends with benefits situations I’ve had in the past. And it doesn’t feel like a one-night stand or even myone and only attempt at having a relationship—aka Derek the disaster.
“This one’s great, Micah,” Arlo says, peering over my shoulder at my latest sketch of Troy’s biceps. “Is this for one of your new clients?”
“Uh … no, it’s new,” I say, while thinking frantically of how I can pass this off as something other than me obsessing.
“So cool. Nice arms, love the details.” He’s looking at this far more closely than I’d like.
“Thanks.”
“Did you use one of our guys as a model? That looks like Diesel.”
A dry, sarcastic laugh escapes before I can stop it.
“Oh! It’s like that!” Arlo raises his eyebrows at me. I duck my head because he knows me too well.
“Oh, you are so going to spill, Micah. Come on. Details.” He’s been spending too much time with Tiernan. He’s got that you better talk or else look down pat.
“No details. Nothing to talk about.” I try to salvage the situation, but Arlo always sees right through me. I squirm in my seat because the black rolling office chair I always use is suddenly uncomfortable.
“You are the worst liar ever, Micah,” he says, grinning like a damn Cheshire cat. “Try again.”
I might as well just tell him. He’s going to dig at me all afternoon if I don’t.
“Fine,” I sigh loudly so he knows he’s getting this information under protest. A glance around the room assures me the door is closed, and we’re alone. “You have to swear on your life that you won’t say a word. I mean it, Arlo.”
“Of course I swear. I wouldn’t do that to you. We’re friends. That means something.” His earnest expression reminds me that not everyone is an asshole. I forget that sometimes.
“Troy and I are doing this friends with benefits thing,” I tell him.
“I love that you’re the only one who calls him Troy. Continue.” He waves his hands like a magician.
I roll my eyes at him, but he just laughs.
“Well, now it’s weird. And we haven’t done anything since the first time.”
“Wait, but you did do something? Right?”
“Yes. Right after we agreed to do the FWB thing. We definitely didsomething.”
“And it was … good, bad, monumentally mind blowing? What was it?” he says, flopping his hand out dramatically.
“Oh no, it was good.”
He smirks.
“Just good?”
“Fine, it was so much better than good. Maybe close to mind blowing. Maybe.” I wince, slumping down in my chair because that feels too personal. Too revealing.
“Okay, so the sex was good, possibly mind-blowing, but it hasn’t happened again?”
