Miraculously, there wasn’t a line, so Micah managed to empty his bladder with little fanfare before shuffling towards the line of sinks. He examined his reflection as he washed his hands. He was wearing a dark green shirt along with a pair of black jeans that felt a size too small, but that Tessa insisted made his butt look “scrumptious” – whatever that meant. His mussed hair was also Tessa’s doing, but the flushed cheeks and bloodshot eyes were definitely the alcohol’s fault.

He couldn’t help but wonder what Damon would think of the casual outfit he had on versus the more… liberal clothes he’d been forced to wear on the job. He remembered the way the man had looked at his skirt-clad legs before forcing his gaze to settle elsewhere. Maybe Damon would have preferred the fishnet shirt Tessa had attempted to force on him over the green V-neck he had on. (As for why he had a fishnet shirt in his possession in the first place, he’d had questionable taste in college, okay?)

Distracted from thoughts of Damon by the sudden realization that his lips had turned as tingly as his fingers, Micah poked at them experimentally, stifling a giggle at the sensation.

The sound of one of the toilets flushing behind him had Micah quickly lowering his hands. Deciding he’d stalled in the bathroom long enough, he dried his hands before re-entering the loud club.

There was no way he was returning to the booth he’d abandoned, and he didn’t particularly feel like dancing, so he made his way to the bar. The closer he got, the louder the music became, and the bass felt like it was a physical force, pounding against his ear drums, by the time he reached the counter. Too inebriated to really care about personal space, he squeezed between two of the bodies crowded around the bar and waited for one of the bartenders to make eye contact with him.

Unfortunately, before the pretty brown woman with the frankly impressive chest or the tall man with the green mohawk – the two closest to Micah – could notice him, one of the people he’d inadvertently wedged himself between was leaning into his space. “Got your license?”

Micah shot him a confused look. “Pretty sure it’s her job to ask that,” he said, gesturing at the nearest bartender, “not yours.”

The man grinned, and Micah was distracted for a moment by the whiteness of his teeth. “Sorry, I guess I was just wondering how it hasn’t been suspended yet. You know, for driving all the guys around you crazy.”

It took Micah longer than it should have for him to make sense of the man’s words. But when he did, he huffed a laugh at the ridiculousness of them. “That line usually work for you?”

The man lost none of his swagger, his smile only growing wider at Micah’s obvious amusement. “Usually, yeah. If the person I’m using it on is drunk enough.”