Just What the Truth Is (8 page)

T
HE
good thing about being swamped at work was that it didn’t leave any room for me to focus on my personal issues. Even though I was drowning in contract negotiations and deal closings, my brain felt like it was finally able to rest. Pretty pathetic, isn’t it? Believe me, you aren’t thinking anything different from what I had already realized about myself. I just didn’t know how to fix it. Then, around midmorning, I succeeded in making things worse.

Call the Guinness people, because surely I must qualify for some sort of world record. “Person most unable to manage his own life,” perhaps. Or maybe “guy least likely to find his own ass with a map and a flashlight.”

“Good morning.” I heard Micah’s raspy voice along with a knock on my slightly open door. “How do you feel about going on a Starbucks run?”

I looked up to see his brilliant smile aimed at me. He was wearing a gray suit, a sky-blue shirt, and a light and dark gray hound’s-tooth tie. If ever there was a man made to wear a suit, it was Micah Trains. He looked incredible—powerful, handsome, brilliant, and intimidating, all mingled together in a sexy-as-hell package. I wanted to get up from my chair, fall at his feet, and worship him by rubbing my face against that bulge in his pants. A mental image of me doing just that came unbidden into my mind, causing my body to become excited and my brain to become horrified.

“Hi.” I managed to push the word out of my mouth.

Micah walked into my office and hovered next to my desk. I wasn’t sure what he wanted until he finally let out a sigh, planted both hands on the top of my desk, and leaned in toward me. He was going to kiss me. Right there at the office in front of everyone. Yeah, okay, we were the only two people in my office, the door was barely cracked open, and the people on either side of me were out. But still.

I jerked my head away and darted my eyes toward my office door in a panic. When I was sure that nobody had seen Micah’s little display, I looked back at him. The pain on his face was clear, but I didn’t feel like there was anything I could do about it. Kissing him when were alone at his house was one thing—there was no chance of anybody finding out. But doing it anywhere else was just asking for trouble.

After a few seconds, he sank into one of the chairs across from my desk and rubbed his palm over the back of his neck. It seemed like he was waiting for me to say something. But when I didn’t, he sucked in some air, let it out, and then leaned forward, clasping his hands together and resting his forearms on his knees.

“Look, Ben, I know you’re worried about dating someone from the firm, but we’ve already talked about this. There’s no policy against it, we’re both partners, we’re in different practice groups, so our work doesn’t overlap at all. I just don’t think it’s going to be an issue. Besides, people are going to figure out we’re in a relationship eventually, so we may as well just be up-front about it from the beginning.”

Okay, so how would you respond to that little speech? Would you maybe apologize for having overreacted? Or maybe you’d go with the honest approach and explain that it wasn’t just the people from work at issue and you were having trouble with the idea that anyone, including yourself, thought of you as gay? Or maybe you’d try to brush the uncomfortable moment under the rug with a joke and then get up and go for that coffee run so the awkwardness could be forgotten?

Yeah, well, any one of those options would have been superior to my choice of action. To be fair, though, I was going for that Guinness World Record in “biggest dumbass on the planet,” and I’m fairly sure my next move managed to lock it up. “Who said anything about a relationship? We just… hung out a little. It was nothing,” I said.

Nothing. Everything. Sure, anybody could get confused about the difference between those two things. After all, they’re practically identical. And by “practically,” I mean “not at all.”

I couldn’t bring myself to look Micah in the face when I was talking, and then it was too late, because he got up and slowly walked out of my office. He paused by the door with his back to me. “I’m sorry for my mistake. I’ll see you around, Ben.”

And then he was gone.

I waited to feel relief at the fact that I no longer had to figure out how to deal with Micah. I waited for my feelings to go away or get shoved so deep into my stomach that I didn’t have to think about them except during those times when things got really bad and I coughed up blood. I waited for my body and my mind to shake this off, just like I had shaken off so many things and then gone back to acting like the man I was supposed to be.

But none of that happened. I still hated the man I was. I still wanted Micah Trains and didn’t know how to stop myself. And I still wasn’t sure that I wanted to be stopped.

I folded my arms on my desk and dropped my head on top of them, blocking out the light and trying to get myself together. When I heard a thumping noise and realized it was my head hitting the desk over and over again, I knew that I had made the wrong call in dealing with Micah. Hey, if what’s obviously in front of you fails to get your attention, try a self-inflicted traumatic brain injury. It’s a time-tested approach sure to solve even the most difficult dilemmas.

N
EITHER
giving myself a concussion nor burying myself in my work all day made a dent in my feelings. When I found myself reading the same sentence for the fourth time and still not having any idea what it said, I knew it was time to pack it in for the day. I shut down my computer and looked at my watch. Six thirty. It was late enough for the staff to have gone home and probably most of the attorneys too, but my guess was that Micah “Workaholic” Trains was still in his office plugging away.

I was walking toward his office before I had come up with any sort of strategy. Earlier that morning, he had come into my office with a sweet smile and a Starbucks invitation and I had acted like a complete asshole. All right, so just marching up to him and saying, “Whatcha doin’?” probably wouldn’t be the best approach for me to take. In light of that, I turned toward the elevator bank instead.

Fifteen minutes later, I was standing in front of Micah’s office door, shifting from foot to foot nervously and looking at the back of his head as he typed away at his computer.

“You planning on just standing there enjoying the view all day, or is there something I can do for you, Mister Forman?” His gravelly voice had a distinct gruffness to it.

I walked in and sat down in the chair across from his desk, but he still didn’t turn around. Well, I supposed it was time to eat crow. Fair enough. “I thought you might want that coffee you mentioned earlier, so I picked some up. I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I brought options. I have an Americano, a mocha, a latte, a macchiato—”

He swiveled his chair so he was finally facing me and interrupted my menu list. “I’m not a coffee drinker. I like tea.”

His voice sounded angry, but I felt like there was a hint of tenderness in his eyes. That gave me enough hope to keep trying. I reached into one of the four-pack drink carriers I had brought with me and held two cups up to him.

“Black or chai?”

That earned me a chuckle and a smile. He took one of the cups from me and sipped at it. “So this is an apology for earlier?” he asked quietly.

“Uh huh.” I nodded. “I was a jerk and I don’t know what to say and….”

He nodded. “It’s okay. I understand. Believe me, I’ve had my share of pissy days. Apology accepted.”

There was a part of me that wished he hadn’t been so understanding, because it made me feel like even more of an ass. Being cruel was never okay, even if I had been having a bad day, which I hadn’t. My day had been typical. The reason I had lashed out at Micah had nothing to do with my day and everything to do with my reluctance to admit my feelings for him.

I wanted so much to ask his advice. Maybe there had been a time when he had been scared too. Maybe he would understand what I was going through. But when I looked at Micah sitting in his corner office, jacket hanging on the back of his chair, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie loosened, top two shirt buttons open, I saw only confidence and strength. It was impossible to imagine such a smart, successful guy feeling scared of anything.

So I didn’t utter another word about that morning. Instead, I sipped at the tea Micah hadn’t taken and relaxed back in the chair. “Are you going to break for dinner, or do you need to work through?” I asked.

Micah arched one eyebrow. “Well, that depends. Are you inviting me to dinner?”

That had certainly been my hope. But hearing him say it still made me blush. I had essentially just asked another man out on a date. Embarrassment aside, I had to answer the question. And since I wanted to spend more time with Micah, dinner seemed like a perfect plan. “Yes, I’m inviting you to dinner. What do you say?”

He grinned and got up from his desk, snagged his jacket, and threw it over one shoulder. “You’re on. And I’ll just warn you right now that I plan on being a very expensive date. I skipped lunch today and I’m so fuckin’ hungry that I’ll probably end up eating almost as much as you on an average day.” He winked at me with the last part.

I laughed and stood up. “Alright, smart guy. Let’s go. Your supersize meal is waiting.”

Chapter Eight

M
ICAH
walked over to me, gripped my waist, and pulled me flush against him. My heart rate immediately skyrocketed, and I held my breath. I knew what was coming, but unlike that morning, I didn’t let myself pull away.

There was still a part of me that was very aware of the fact that I was at work in the arms of another man. But it was late; almost everyone was probably gone for the day. And besides, Micah smelled so damn good.

When his lips met mine and I felt his tongue slip out and lick my bottom lip, I moaned and opened to him. My hands left my sides and landed on his chest, my head tilted so he could plunder my mouth even deeper, and my hips joined his in a slow circular dance.

When we finally broke apart, I whimpered. He raised his hand from my waist to my face, cupped my cheek, and stroked my lips with his thumb. The look in his eyes was nothing short of smoldering. “Damn, Ben, you are a fuckin’ fantastic kisser.”

With him, maybe. I really hadn’t been one for kissing before. A hello peck, yeah, but not a full-on, tongue-swapping, breath-stealing kiss. I leaned forward to eliminate the new space between our faces, taking another kiss and then another until our mouths were locked together again.

When our hips joined the party, rubbing our groins together, I knew it was time to stop. But I couldn’t. I just whimpered, clutched his shirt, and kissed him harder.

Eventually, I felt both of his strong hands on my waist, holding me still. He pulled his mouth away and kissed across my jaw. “We need to stop. I’m about one more grind away from bending you over my desk, and even I think that’s probably taking things too far at work.” He kissed my neck and then gave me a little bite. “Well, at least on a Monday evening. If you want to get kinky that way, we can try it on the weekend or much later at night, when the place is deserted.”

I felt a further tightening in my groin and knew that my dick liked that idea. “Oh, God. I have to be so careful with you, Micah, or else I’m going to be in huge trouble.”

I hadn’t realized I had spoken my thoughts out loud until he raised his face so he could look at mine and answered me. “If anyone’s in trouble here, I’m pretty sure it’s me. I can see myself seriously falling for you.” The intensity of his gaze deepened. “Question is, are you interested in being there to catch me?”

A ringing sound interrupted the sober moment. Micah sighed and squatted down on the floor, where he had apparently dropped his jacket at some point during our groping session. He looked up at me apologetically as he dug his phone out of his jacket pocket and stood back up.

“I’m sorry, but I need to get this. It’s my mom’s ringtone, and it’s the third time she’s tried to reach me today.”

“Go ahead.” I nodded toward the phone. “Do you need me to leave?”

He put his hand on the small of my back and shook his head as he pressed a button on his phone and held it up to his ear.

“Hi, Mom.” Pause. “I’m sorry I couldn’t call you back earlier. I had a filing I had to get out by five.” Pause. “I’m not working too hard.” Pause. “I mean it, I’m fine.” Pause. “Yeah, I am, but I’m leaving now.” Pause. “I’m going to get some dinner.” Pause. “Because my cooking can’t measure up to yours, so I don’t bother trying.” A smirk and a pause, then a laugh. “Silver tongue or not, I mean it. Listen, Mom, I need to go, but I’ll call you later.” Pause. “I love you too. Bye.”

I put both hands around his neck and looked into a gorgeous set of twinkling blue eyes. “Silver tongue? So that’s the secret weapon you’ve been using to turn my knees into rubber every time we kiss.”

Micah dropped the phone into his pants pocket and moved his hand to my crotch, outlining my still visible erection with a fingertip and then cupping it and giving it a squeeze. “Hopefully, I’m impacting a body part located higher than your knees.” My body trembled in reaction to his touch. Then he leaned down to pick up his jacket and smirked up at me. “And if you like feeling like you’re having trouble walking, then you’ll be ecstatic when I properly introduce you to my
real
secret weapon.”