Luckily, the man seemed to take his social blunder in stride. If anything, his smile grew. “That’s okay. I may be a rich, successful asshole, but even I don’t deign to cheer for the Yankees.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Ashton, Ashton Albrecht.”

Fighting off a blush, Micah took his hand. “I’m Micah. I’m not a rich asshole, just a regular one. It’s my date who’s the hyper-successful, mega-rich, colossal ass.”

“And do I happen to know this colossal ass?”

Micah shrugged. “Maybe. His name’s Damon Romano.”

Ashton’s easy smile slid off his face. He seemed disbelieving. “You’re here with Romano?”

Micah blinked. “Er-”

Like he’d somehow heard his name, Damon was suddenly upon them. He swooped in, hands grasping Micah by the arms. “Micah, there you are. I’ve been looking all over for you,” he said, a borderline scolding quality to his voice.

“Sorry,” Micah said lightly, not sorry in the least. “I was just admiring the items up for auction. Look, a Mets jersey signed by Tom Seaver himself!” Micah gestured at the jersey, and Damon reluctantly turned to look. He also finally seemed to realize Micah had been talking to someone. He stiffened when he saw Ashton. “I also ran into another Mets fan, someone who actually understands baseball is about more than just salary cap.”

“Albrecht,” Damon greeted coolly.

“Romano,” the other man said succinctly in turn.

“Do… you two know each other?”

“We’re old schoolmates,” Damon said after a moment of tense silence. “It doesn’t surprise me at all you’re a Mets fan, Albrecht. Seems your tastes run the same way as they always have.”

Damon was calling him a loser, basically, from what Micah could gleam.

Albrecht snorted. “Mates is a strong word,” he said, referring to the first part of what Damon had said. “And I’d say the same for your tastes… except they’ve clearly improved since school.” His eyes pointedly scanned Micah. “It was lovely meeting you, Micah,” he said, voice noticeably softening before his eyes hardened again, offering Damon a terse nod before he took his leave.

“Good riddance,” Damon muttered. Placing a hand on the small of Micah’s back, he ushered him along, making a show of examining the remaining items up for auction as he spoke. “How do you manage to find trouble wherever you go?”

“Trouble?” Micah repeated incredulously. “Ashton was perfectly nice until you got there and insulted him for no reason.”

Damon just grunted, pretending to examine a basketball autographed by what looked like nearly the entire Knicks team.

Micah sighed, deliberately taking a step to the side so Damon’s hand was forced to fall off his back. Damon looked up, a frown etched on his face. “Besides, I didn’t think you’d miss me. You seemed occupied enough when I left.”

Damon’s frown deepened. “What are you talking about?”