Making sure to give his Uber driver a generous tip, Micah left the clothes with a young volunteer, whose eyes had nearly bulged out of his skull when he’d started digging into the first bag. He held up one of Bianchi’s suits. “Are you sure you want to get rid of these?”

Micah had been sure – until that exact moment.

Seeing someone else, even a pockmarked volunteer, who was probably fresh out of high school, holding something Damon had given him… an unexpected bout of possessiveness twisted his insides, and Micah had to fight the urge to march up to the guy and snatch the suit away.

But that was silly. Micah had no need for such fancy clothes anymore. It’s not like he’d be attending any more galas or other white-tie events now that Damon was through with him.

Still, the feeling persisted. Not trusting himself to say anything, Micah offered a quick, jerky nod before hurrying out the door.

Burying his hands in his sweatshirt pockets, he sped mindlessly down one block – and then another and another – before he could change his mind. Micah didn’t know where his feet were taking him, and he didn’t care either. He wasn’t sure when he wound up in vaguely familiar territory, but when he finally looked up from the sidewalk, he hadn’t expected his body to have subconsciously taken him to El Taco Rosa.

It was where Jason Vitali had picked him up nearly a week ago, but more importantly, it was where Micah and Damon had first met. (Not counting the decrepit alleyway, anyway.)

Micah went inside.

It was only 4:00 – too early for the dinner rush, so the place wasn’t very full. The booth Damon had all but frog-marched him to all that time ago was empty, so Micah sat.

It wasn’t until he spotted Adella enter from the kitchen – not donning a waitress’s apron this time, rather a black-and-white pinstripe jumpsuit that hugged her curves in all the right places – that he realized how stupid it was.

He didn’t know what had possessed him to come in here – only that he wanted to feel connected to Damon somehow after he’d done something so… so wrong in getting rid of the clothes the man had given him.

Despite the fact he was dressed in jeans and a simple Mets sweatshirt – and not full on hooker gear – Adella’s brown eyes lit up in recognition, and Micah stiffened, trying to mentally prepare himself to face the consequences of his brainless actions.

After all, there was no way she hadn’t heard about his betrayal. Even if Damon hadn’t told her, Joelle – loudmouth that she was – certainly must have. He figured the woman would cuss him out, and maybe even slap him, before chasing him out of her restaurant, probably instilling a lifelong ban.

But none of that happened.

“Mi precioso!”