A man threatening to castrate another man – even if it was in some weird defense of his honor – should not have been a turn on.

Apparently, the prospect of losing his bits was enough to finally get the man on the ground scrambling to his feet. Shoulders hunched and one arm curled protectively around his stomach, he booked it out of the alley as fast as he could hobble, hurrying back onto the street it was connected to.

Mr. Dreamboat took a threatening step forward, clearly intending to give chase, but Micah tightened the grip he had on the man’s arm. “Hey, no! What are you doing? Stop! Just let him go!”

The man could have probably shaken Micah off of him if he really wanted to, but he didn’t. Instead, he just glared. “He was hurting you,” he repeated himself, like Micah hadn’t heard him the first time – like he was crazy for not wanting retribution.

“I’m fine,” he hastily assured the man. “Just a bump on the head is all.”

After all, it wasn’t like Micah could tell him that Tessa already had a cruiser en route to pick the guy up and arrest him for solicitation and assault.

The man eyed him like he didn’t believe he was “fine” at all, which (unfortunately) prompted Micah to keep talking. “I’m good, honestly. Completely unblemished. Peachy keen. Hunky-dory.”

Hunky-dory? What the hell was wrong with him? He sounded like some wannabe cowboy from those western dramas his father used to make him watch as a kid. This was New York City, for Christ’s sake.

Thankfully, the man didn’t address his odd choice of phrase. Although he did keep staring. On the plus side, his expression had lost most of the anger it’d contained when Micah had first grabbed him. (Though the bicep he was holding was as tense as ever.)

Abruptly realizing he was still touching the man, Micah hastily released his arm. He cleared his throat. “Sorry about that.”

The man’s brow screwed in consternation as his eyes continued to drink Micah in. “You’re sorry?”

Micah didn’t know how to respond to that. “Um…” he floundered.

Luckily, it didn’t seem like the man actually expected an answer. “What are you wearing?”

Micah blinked at the sudden change of subject, glancing down at his current ensemble. The tight leather pants and revealing crop top were essentially a costume, and Micah hadn’t been particularly bashful when it had come to putting them on – it was his job, after all. But, somehow, under this man’s critical gaze, he found his face heating up in embarrassment. “Uh… c-clothes?” he eventually managed to stutter out.

The wrinkle in the man’s brow told Micah what he thought of that answer. “Where’s your coat?” he demanded.

Micah felt his jaw loosen of its own accord. Was this guy serious? “Well…”

(He was so eloquent this evening.)

“It’s November,” the man interrupted sharply – before Micah was even able to begin mustering up an explanation. “It’s supposed to get to below freezing tonight.” Almost as if in agreement, the wind decided to gust through the dingy alley they were standing in, goosebumps immediately erupting over Micah’s bare arms.