Just not the way Micah wanted him to want him, as fucking idiotic as it was. He said nothing.

“There’s leftover cannoli in kitchen,” Damon coaxed.

Micah frowned, finally allowing himself to glance up and look Damon in the eyes. “Are you seriously bribing me with more dessert right now?”

“Well, you already said no to the extra money,” Damon pointed out seriously, but with a hint of a grin pulling at his mouth. (Probably because Micah hadn’t outright refused him.) “I also have ice cream in my freezer.”

Micah wrinkled his nose. “Let me guess, it’s pistachio.”

Damon actually laughed at that, though Micah wished he hadn’t – because the sound reignited that stupid, self-satisfied warmth in his belly. “There’s strawberry, too.

Micah bit his lip. “Will you make me some more crepes?” he asked hesitantly, having learned the significance of Damon making them only an hour ago.

Damon tilted his head to the side and examined Micah carefully, likely trying to decide if he was serious. “Will you agree to attend another event with me?” he asked.

Say no, his brain screamed.

“Yes,” Micah agreed immediately, his relationship with his brain well-established by now, “but I demand crepes and ice cream.”

Damon smiled, and for the first time that night, Micah didn’t think there was any tension in his shoulders. “Crepes and ice cream, it is.” The man pivoted to go back inside, but he kept one hand on Micah’s arm to pull him along with him.

But Micah locked his legs and stayed in place. Before he went back inside, he had to ask. “Damon?”

The man, who was already frowning at Micah’s refusal to budge, turned around. “Yes?”

Micah took a deep breath. “If I said no – to another event, to another deal, to you – would you have let it go? Let me go?”

Damon’s grip tightened almost imperceptibly around his arm, and for a long moment, he didn’t answer. But eventually… “Let’s just be glad we don’t have to find out.”

* * *

Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do-

Micah woke to the blaring of his ringtone. The blasting of that particular song meant it could only be work calling. (Tessa had chosen it for him, okay?) It was probably the only reason he was able to muster up the energy to push himself up onto his elbows and answer the call.

“Hello,” he said, voice groggy with sleep. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Hello, this is Detective Hart.”

“Micah,” Jensen said, his voice loud and jarring in his ear, “I’m going to need you to come down to the station.”