Chapter 18: Micah

After we finish our late-night dinner, Robyn helps me clear the table. I wash the dishes, and she dries them and puts them back in the cupboard. I learned a long time ago that living in a small place requires constant clean up and tidying, or else the place deteriorates quickly. I didn’t ask Robyn to pitch in. She did it automatically. It’s nice having someone to share the chores with.

Once the kitchen is cleaned up, Robyn disappears into the bathroom, I assume to get ready for bed. She reemerges with her hair freshly brushed and up in a messy bun, and she smells like peppermint toothpaste.

“Ready for bed?” I ask. I suspect she’s tired. She’s had a long week and more than her fair share of stress.

She climbs into bed with her mini iPad. “I’m tired, but I’m not sleepy, if that makes any sense. I think I’m still wired from the helicopter flight. Do you mind if I read a while?”

“Of course not,” I say as I turn off all the lights and set the alarm system. “In fact, I’ll join you.”

I hit the john myself to get ready for bed. Then I grab the hardcover I’m currently reading and stretch out on the bed beside her.

“What’s that?” she asks.

“It’s a military special ops thriller. One of Hannah’s brothers is an author. He’s a former Navy SEAL, so he knows what he’s talking about.”

She peers over at my book. “Is it good?”

“Yes. What about you? What are you reading?”

She chuckles. “It’s a romance novel. Ironically, it’s about a Navy SEAL. So, basically, we’re reading the same thing, only my characters have sex. Do yours?”

Now it’s my turn to chuckle. “My guy is currently at risk of bleeding out in the desert, so he’s kinda too busy to think about sex.”

“Makes sense,” she says. “Maybe he’ll get lucky later.”

“For his sake, I hope you’re right.”

I catch her smiling at me, that is until her phone rings. She picks it up, glances at the screen, and frowns as she silences the ringer. I think this is the third time I’ve seen her do that in the past two days.

She glances at me briefly, then looks back at her iPad.

“Who keeps calling you?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Ricky.”

“You don’t want to talk to him?”

“No. He’s pressuring me to return to Denver.”

“Oh, hell no. Then don’t answer.”

Her lips flatten, tightening, but she keeps her gaze on her tablet. “It’s just hard for me to accept the fact he betrayed me this way. He knew I’d never want any part of drug dealing. He was the only friend I had growing up, and now—he’s, well, there’s no coming back from this.”

“I’m sorry. But, Robyn?”

“Yeah?”

“You have friends now, people who care about you. People who will protect you. I’m at the top of that list.”

She stills, swallowing hard, and I get the feeling she’s trying not to cry. She’s tough, I’ll give her that. She’s strong. Fiercely independent. These are admirable traits. But still, if she’s hurting, I want to be there for her.

Her blue eyes flash over at me, and for a split second I see uncertainty in their depths. I take in her face, her broad pale cheeks, the light dusting of cinnamon-colored freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her lips, wide and dusky pink, are currently pressed together. Her hair, such a deep, dark red with highlights of gold, contrasts starkly with the white pillowcase.

An image flashes in my mind, of Robyn last night in bed, her hair down, as she sat astride me, rolling her hips as she chased her pleasure. I reach over to gently brush her cheek. “Robyn, I—”

“It’s late, and I’m tired. I really don’t want to talk about it.” She closes her iPad case and sets in on the nightstand. “Can we just go to sleep?”

“Of course. Do you want me to sleep on the sofa?” Maybe I’ve pushed her too far.

“No.” She grabs my arm. “Stay with me. Please.” She rolls to face me and presses a kiss to my lips. “Thank you for asking, and thank you for caring.”

I thread my fingers into her hair. “You don’t need to thank me. But since you did, you’re welcome.”