It was a reminder that the man hadn’t forgotten his vague explanation for why he hadn’t been home when he’d gotten there.

“Yes,” Micah said airily, making it clear he didn’t plan on elaborating.

Damon seemed to understand that judging by the way he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. After a moment, he merely sighed and pulled a phone out of his pocket, typing a quick message. “That’s ok. Geoffrey’s downstairs. I can have him pick up a few things and bring them here.”

Micah frowned. “Geoffrey’s here? I didn’t see your car when I came up,” he pointed out. Damon’s Rolls-Royce would have been hard to miss in his neighborhood.

“I took a different vehicle.” Of course, the man had multiple cars. “And I had him park a couple blocks down so as not to attract attention.”

Micah narrowed his eyes. “Just admit you wanted to scare the shit out of me,” he accused.

Damon threw his hands up, but he didn’t deny it. “I thought you were ghosting me, like a little brat.”

The pang that snarly word – “brat” – sent through his dick made zero sense. Micah clenched his thighs, fighting to ignore the inappropriate reaction. “Excuse me? For all you knew, I could have been dead under a bridge somewhere.”

“Well, I’d hoped not,” Damon said, “because then I would have had to burn the entire city to the ground.”

It was said nonchalantly enough, but the fire in Damon’s eyes made Micah suspect there was more than a grain of truth to the threat… and fuck, did the man not realize that statements like that messed with Micah’s head?

You didn’t say things like that unless you genuinely cared about someone.

Yet Damon had made it clear it was purely a business relationship between them. It was confusing, and Micah’s dick was already confused enough about the situation without his brain starting to question things as well.

Micah cleared his throat to break the somewhat awkward tension that had fallen after Damon’s declaration. “So,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Since you’ve already let yourself in, I might as well give you the tour.” He gestured vaguely at the oven and microwave. “We are standing in what I like to refer to as the kitchen.” He pointed at the card table surrounded by mismatched chairs he’d picked up from various thrift stores. “Dining room.” Finally, he waved in the direction of the bed Damon had been crouched atop of when he’d walked in. There was also a corduroy couch and a flat screen tv situated on top of a nearby dresser. “And lastly, what I affectionately call the bedroom/living room.”

“And the bathroom?” Damon asked, like he hadn’t inspected the entire space while Micah had been gone.