“Seriously?” Tessa just looked annoyed now. “I repeat: what the hell, Micah?”

“It’s… hard to explain.”

“Try me,” Tessa ordered. “I promise I’ll do my best to keep up.”

Micah groaned. “You did this on purpose,” he accused. “Inviting me to lunch under the guise of being concerned so you could ambush me about this.”

“I am concerned,” Tessa protested, “just about more than one thing. I’ve held back for over a week now. First because you threw yourself so wholeheartedly into Nico’s case, and then because Jensen was bogging you down with extra work besides. But you’ve been acting off long before today. I mean, you were as white as a sheet last Monday, and walking around with these big, sad eyes – like a kicked puppy. And then, towards the end of the week, you were all smiley and daydreamy. It was weird. You’ve been weird. So, please, for the love of God, just tell me what’s going on.”

Micah would like to claim he’d held out a little longer, but the fact of the matter was, he broke pretty much immediately.

He had bottled up all his strange, little interactions with Damon – and the feelings that went along with them – and had corked them somewhere inside him. They’d been festering there with no one to unload them on. So it was almost a relief when it all came pouring out, like an actual broken dam this time.

Micah told Tessa about the blowjob that wasn’t in the back of Damon’s car, about the man’s ridiculous penthouse, about the crepes, and the fucked up deal they’d made. The shopping trip, and the phone, and the game of twenty questions they’d been playing – the reason for all his smiling late last week. He even told her about the unsolicited photo he’d sent Damon of himself in women’s panties. (Tessa had nearly choked on her sandwich, she was laughing so hard – especially when Micah had told her the photo had featured a pair of underwear that she had bought him. Tessa had demanded to see the picture, but luckily, he’d had the good sense to delete it after sending it.)

All in all, Micah thought his friend had taken everything pretty well. (“I told you when you two first met that this had Pretty Woman written all over it.”)

There was just one thing she couldn’t seem to wrap her mind around. Well, two things.

“It makes no sense. I mean, why would a man like that – filthy rich, and with a face and ass of a god – need to pay someone to pretend to date him?” She dragged the last of her fries through the puddle of ketchup on the side of her plate. “I mean, no offense, babe, because you’re gorgeous – you can join Jasper and I in the sack any time, it’s an open invitation-”