Judging by Damon’s expression, he hadn’t forgotten, but he’d hoped that Micah had. “I’ll do better next time,” he said, taking another step forward so that there were only inches between them. Their proximity only made the man’s eyes more blue, more penetrating. “You don’t have to see Caprice or Marco again if you don’t want to. I’ll even give you a raise. You can have Caprice’s weekly allowance in addition to-”

“It’s not about the money,” Micah cut in before Damon could add even more ridiculous terms to their agreement. “Or your family,” he said when Damon opened his mouth to continue arguing.

But the wrinkles in the man’s brow only grew more pronounced. “Then why?” he demanded.

Because you’re a mafia don and I’m a police detective.

Because our pseudo-relationship isn’t real, but my feelings – and dick – don’t seem to understand that, and I have to protect my heart from what is almost certainly inevitable devastation.

But Micah couldn’t admit to the first, and he didn’t know how to verbalize the second. So…

“It’s a big time commitment,” he said, keenly aware of how lame the excuse was, especially considering Damon had made him quit his “job”. “And I feel weird lying all the time. Not only to your family, but to my friends, too. I mean, how do you expect me to explain where I got all these clothes?” He hadn’t worn any of his new wardrobe to work for this reason. He was lucky Tessa had left him alone for as long as she had about the Damon situation as it was. “And what about the fact that I’m not… selling myself anymore?”

Damon scowled. “Just tell them you got a new job,” he suggested after a moment. “It’s the truth, after all.”

Micah rolled his eyes. “Yes, because a cashier or a waiter could afford these.” He gestured at the pressed slacks and fancy cashmere sweater he was wearing.

“Tell them you got a new boyfriend then, and that he’s rich. It’s close enough to reality. Just don’t tell them my name, and be vague when you describe our dates.”

Damon had no idea the irony of him explaining to Micah how to muddy the truth to deliberately mislead someone.

“I don’t know,” Micah hedged.

“Please, Micah.” Damon reached forward and took him carefully by the shoulders, pulling him into what could be construed as a hug. Micah’s nose brushed Damon’s chin, and he stared stubbornly at the man’s mouth.

Fuck.

“You can have anyone you want,” Micah protested weakly, but he could already feel his resistance crumbling. (Why did Damon’s lips have to look so soft and inviting? Micah had been outside for all of thirty minutes and his were already chapped.)

“But I want you.”