Love Starved (4 page)

The first thing Micah saw
were the flowers: a big bouquet of deep purple irises, interspersed with pink tulips. Then there were dimples and bright amber eyes alight with a smile. Micah stared until the man took a step closer and kissed him on the cheek, surrounding him with a warm, spicy scent.

“Hi, I’m Angel,” he said in a pleasantly low voice and handed Micah the bouquet. “And these are for you.”

“Hi,” Micah replied. It came out breathless. “They’re lovely, thank you. Come on in, I’ll put them in water.”

Angel smiled warmly. “Lovely flowers for a beautiful man. That seems fitting.”

Micah couldn’t help but respond with a smile, feeling himself blush.

“I’ll just—” He gestured toward the kitchen. Angel came in and closed the door behind himself.

“Of course. I’ll wait.”

Digging through the cupboards for the vase he knew he had somewhere, Micah took deep calming breaths to compose himself. Yes, the man was stunning—tall and blond and with a beautiful smile that reached all the way to his eyes—but that was no reason to react like an awestruck teenager. It was the bouquet that undid him, though.

All his life, ever since he’d started thinking about dating other boys, flowers had been a part of that mental picture—the giving, the getting, choosing the perfect combination, reading the meaning of a bouquet someone chose for him. Even simply enjoying their beauty and the gesture.

Brian didn’t care about flowers—he’d looked almost offended when Micah had brought him a little bunch of daisies once—so he assumed no other man did, either. Even after Brian had learned that was not the case with Micah, he never used that knowledge. “The fun of dating other guys is not having to worry about things like flowers, compliments, all that,” he’d claimed. The one time he had brought flowers—sad, half-wilted red roses in a too-tight cellophane wrapping—it was only because he had something to apologize for.

So now, this perfect, vibrantly colorful bouquet in Micah’s hands was like a callback to the first date he’d imagined but never had, the one he’d dreamed of.

“Hey,” Angel said, standing in the doorway, and Micah almost dropped the vase. “I would like to establish one simple rule for tonight, before we leave.”

Micah put the vase in the sink and turned on the water. “Okay?” he said cautiously.

“Tonight is for you. I said that already, but I want it to really sink in. This is supposed to be all you ever wanted, and I need you to be honest and open about what that is. I am here to fulfill
your
fantasy, every little bit of it, and I want you to be selfish, to be greedy, to take what you need.”

“Oh,” Micah said, pausing with the vase in his hands. He frowned and set it on the table, put the flowers in. “What about you, though?”

“I’m not important here. To put it bluntly, I’m a tool for your satisfaction. I have a few scenarios prepared, but if anything I propose or do doesn’t suit you one hundred percent, I need you to tell me. That’s all I ask, other than that your job is just to enjoy yourself.”

“Okay.” Some of the nerves made a comeback, worming their way through Micah’s stomach. Expectations, even as simple as this, always felt like pressure. “I can promise to try.”

“Thank you.” Angel smiled brightly. “So, Italian trattoria or a fancy French restaurant?”

“Definitely Italian,” Micah answered immediately. This one was easy. “Am I dressed okay?”

“Absolutely. You look fantastic.” The earnestness in Angel’s voice made warmth spread through Micah’s body. Either he truly thought Micah looked fantastic, or he was a really good actor. The fact that Micah couldn’t tell which filled him with a thrill of happy anticipation.

“Thank you.” He smiled over the bouquet he just finished arranging. “I think we’re good to go then.”

A red Mini Cooper convertible was waiting in the parking lot, its roof down. Angel opened the passenger door for Micah, waiting until he settled and fastened his seat belt before closing it and moving to his side of the car.

“I hope you don’t mind a bit of wind?” he asked before he started the engine.

“On a beautiful evening like this? Definitely not.”

Soon, they were pulling out of the parking lot and into the evening traffic, and before long, the busy streets gave way to a picturesque road along the lake. The wind in their hair was nothing more than a gentle caress, but it was nice to breathe the warm air, suffused with the heady scent of lilac bushes that blossomed in gorgeous spreads of white and purple. The sun was slowly sinking over the lake. Micah took the opportunity to discreetly watch Angel’s profile.

His fears about porn star looks seemed laughable now. Angel was certainly handsome, but in a natural, surfer-boy kind of way. His smile was sweet and boyish on his lightly sun-kissed face, and his body, as much as Micah could see in the lightweight linen suit, bore no evidence of obsessive bodybuilding. Even his hands were beautiful, with long fingers and neatly manicured nails. A braided leather bracelet with some kind of silver charm circled his right wrist.

Angel turned to look at him in time to catch him staring.

“See, no mustache,” he teased with a mischievous smile. “No beer breath either, I promise. Do I pass the inspection?” He winked, and Micah felt heat rising in his cheeks.

“Um, yes. You’re a very attractive man,” he stuttered, cringing internally at his own awkwardness. Jeez, he was so bad at this.

“Well, thank you.” Angel beamed. “I’m glad you approve. Do you have a type when it comes to men?”

“Not really, no. My last boyfriend was a tall, skinny brunet, but I don’t really… I don’t have a type. Well, unless you count Johnny Depp.”

“Johnny Depp is everyone’s type. It doesn’t count.” Angel laughed. “So are you a musician? I noticed the piano in your apartment.”

“Oh, no. The piano was already there when I rented the place. The owner offered to have it removed, but I decided since it was there, I might as well remember what little my mom taught me to play when I was a kid. Turns out it’s much more fun when no one makes you do it, you know? I’ve been getting better and it’s really relaxing, but I mostly don’t have time to practice much. Do you play?”

Angel shook his head. “I tried, when I was a teen, but I never really took to it and gave it up after a few months.” He parked at the curb and turned off the engine. “Okay, here we are.”

The trattoria was located between
a hardware store and a hairdresser’s in a narrow, quiet street that Micah had never seen; he didn’t know this part of the city very well. Its small windows were filled with a tasteful display of various types of uncooked pasta and dusty bottles of wine, and there was a simple wooden sign above the door. The hand-painted letters spelling the name—
Trattoria Mamma Mia—
were faded with age. It looked like a cheap, out-of-the-way place that catered to a handful of regulars.

Angel noticed Micah falter as they approached the door.

“I know it doesn’t look like much, but I honestly believe this is the best Italian restaurant in the Cities,” he said. “Come on, trust me.”

Micah hesitated. He promised he would be honest, and right now, a fancy French restaurant suddenly sounded much better than whatever was beyond that door. Angel put a hand on his shoulder, making Micah startle a little.

“If you don’t like it, I promise we can leave and go to the other place, but give me a chance to show it to you first.” He looked so earnest and confident that Micah nodded.

“Okay. Lead the way.”

Inside, they were immediately wrapped in warm air filled with mouthwatering smells and quiet chatter. The space was small; the dozen tables were all occupied, with linen tablecloths and slim vases of daffodils on each. Combined with the dimmed light, the atmosphere was cozy and welcoming. The nervous tension in Micah’s muscles started to ease.

A waiter approached them, young and Italian-looking, and Angel smiled at him. He was smiling a lot, Micah reflected.

“Hello. We have reservations for eight thirty. I asked for a table outside.”

“Of course. Follow me, please.”

They were led through a side doorway Micah hadn’t noticed before, and he gasped quietly as he stepped out and looked around. It was a tiny square courtyard, like many he’d seen before, and yet so very different. All around the perimeter, lush ivy climbed, covering the iron trellis with its bright green leaves and crawling along the wires spread ten feet above. The result was a private alcove with a green, rustling ceiling that let in the gentle gusts of breeze and enough of the setting sun to bathe the whole space in a warm glow. Quiet instrumental music was seeping from hidden speakers. Candles graced the four small tables, along with red roses in little glass vases. The tables themselves were generously spaced, each just big enough for two.

Only one table was occupied, in the far corner, where an elderly couple drank red wine, holding hands over the table. The waiter led Micah and Angel to the table farthest away from them.

They spent a few minutes studying the menus and discussing the choice of wine, and it was easy, the familiar ritual of so many business dinners calming Micah’s nerves. When the waiter appeared to take their order, Angel disarmed Micah completely, asking the man to please make sure there was not a trace of shellfish anywhere near Micah’s food.

But then the wine was served and the waiter was gone. The reality of the situation slowly seeped back into Micah’s consciousness, making him tense again.

“Tell me about yourself,” Angel said; his easy smile was reassuring.

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything you feel like telling me. I’d like to get to know you better.”

Micah fumbled for something to say, straightening the utensils to occupy his restless hands. “Um, I grew up in Marshall, about three hours west of the Cities. I came here for college nine years ago, and I’ve never wanted to leave. I majored in business and started my own company in my junior year. I’m an information security consultant and trainer. I like to cook and play the piano and I’m great at jigsaw puzzles, but I never have time to do them anymore.”

“Wait, you majored in business, but you work in information security? Isn’t that an IT thing?” Angel asked, seeming intrigued.

“Well, I kind of spent a lot of time around computers back in high school—learning to code in several languages, writing programs, getting involved in online communities.” Like the hacker community, but he wasn’t going to share that part with a man he’d barely met. “I started out of curiosity and to have something to fill the time—you know how high school can be.”

“I do.”

“But it turned out I was really good at it. I just felt it, the natural flow of it, the way some people feel music, or poetry, and put it on paper.” Micah smiled at his memories, the safety of that computer screen with miles of code on it, the elation of learning something new, getting a program to run, breaking the defenses of another system.

“So why didn’t you go on to study IT?” Angel asked.

Micah shrugged. “I had it all planned back then. Being the nerd in high school was fine, but I didn’t want to sit alone hunched over the keyboard my whole life. I figured studying business was good—I would be among people, learn interesting things, have some social life and go on to work for some stable company somewhere. I would earn decent money at some middle-level job and still have time for family and stuff.” He looked away, blushing. It seemed so silly now, having his whole life planned ahead like that at eighteen.

“So what changed?”

“It didn’t really work out like that,” Micah said, playing with his wine glass. “Turns out I’m not corporate material, as I learned during my first internship. I honestly thought it would kill me, the monotony of being glued to my desk, in my tiny cubicle, doing the same repetitive things every day, just because someone else told me to do them. By the end of the first month I was ready to scream every time I saw that building.”

“Ah.” Angel took a sip of wine. “I understand the sentiment. It must have been hard to realize that when you had your goals set out like that. Didn’t you think of changing your major? It must have still been early enough.”

Micah nodded. “I did. But I actually liked business, really. I found it fascinating. It was being the office drone that I couldn’t stand, so I decided I had to find a different path—or make it, if needed. Then I heard something that stayed with me: that the most successful companies are born when genuine passion meets business skills. I realized that I had the passion—I never really managed to give up the inner nerd—and I was studying to have the skills. So I decided to try. The beginnings were slow and clumsy, but we’ve been steadily growing ever since.”

Their waiter returned, carrying beautifully garnished, steaming plates, and followed by a short, portly man in a sauce-spattered white apron.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” the man said with a barely noticeable accent. “My name is Antonio. I’m the chef and owner of this trattoria. My nephew here told me about your special requirements, so I wanted to personally assure you that everything you are served is perfectly safe to eat. I made sure of it myself; there was not a trace of shellfish anywhere near your food. I hope you enjoy your meal.”

Micah’s eyebrows shot up. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you.”

Antonio grinned. “We generally try to avoid killing our customers.” He winked and left with a cheerful “Buon appétito.”

Micah turned to Angel. “Okay, I get why you love this place. But I’m still withholding my verdict until I try the food.”

Angel beamed and motioned to his plate, watching as Micah took the first bite before starting on his own. The food was delicious.

The conversation stalled as they satisfied the first hunger, but then Angel asked, “So what is it that you do, in layman’s terms?”

Micah swallowed one of his gnocchi. “Well, I started as a one-man business, offering penetrative tests and network vulnerability assessments to small companies. Basically, I simulated attacks on their networks to look for weak points so that they could fix them before anyone got in and did any harm. Sometimes, I also helped track ways in which information was leaking from companies. That was fine for the first year or two, but I soon realized that what does the most damage, even in well-secured networks, is the human factor. Social engineering remains the part that is hardest to control—people are naïve, often believe lies if they are told in an authoritative manner. They reveal sensitive information because of thoughtlessness or ignorance and make all kinds of mistakes that threaten a company’s security. So I decided to offer help with that, too.”