Why was this Monday so goddamn miserable, you ask?

Well, for one, Micah had accidentally muted his alarm when it had blared to life instead of pressing snooze.

For two, when he had catapulted out of bed and into the shower after realizing he’d overslept, Micah quickly discovered that the building’s water heater was out of hot water – again.

One cold shower and an uncomfortable dash down the hallway in nothing but a towel later, Micah quickly uncovered the third mini-disaster of the morning – the trifecta of Monday suckage, if you will. Some asshole had pulled his clothes out of the dryer still half-wet in the communal laundry room.

All of this resulted in Micah rushing into work fifteen minutes late in a wrinkled, damp Henley and two-day old jeans without his favorite Starbucks drink. Or Tessa’s, for that matter.

Micah had planned to buy her some peppermint hot chocolate – she’d been torturing herself trying to cut down on caffeine since finding out she was pregnant, otherwise he’d have gotten her her standard caramel macchiato. It was meant to be a peace offering, an attempt at buttering her up, after having ditched her at Club Trinity on Friday night and then ghosting her the rest of the weekend.

Alas, he’d come into work empty-handed, and pointedly avoided eye contact with the woman as he settled at his desk – quite the feat considering his cubicle was directly across from hers.

It was only half guilt that caused him to avoid looking in Tessa’s direction, however. The rest was pure nerves. Micah was unduly paranoid Tessa would somehow figure out the outrageous deal he’d made with Damon just by looking into his eyes.

Regardless, he could feel her gaze burning a hole into his forehead. “How was your weekend?” she asked nonchalantly after a few tension-filled minutes, like he hadn’t avoided roughly a dozen texts messages from her over the past two days.

“Oh, you know,” Micah answered vaguely, pretending to work, “the usual.” He bit back the urge to blather on about the true crime documentary he’d binged on Netflix, which he’d watched while spooning double-fudge brownie ice cream into his mouth and questioning his life choices. (Tessa knew he had a propensity to ramble when he was nervous.)

Tessa leaned back into her chair. “Huh. That’s interesting. I didn’t think you usually had one-night stands with the offspring of Greek gods, assuming the Damon in your message is the one I think it is, anyway. You know, the one who thinks you’re a prostitute.”

Micah winced.

“I guess I wouldn’t know for sure, though, considering you haven’t answered a single one of my messages.”

Micah forced himself to look up and meet Tessa’s judgmental stare. Despite her narrowed eyes and pinched frown, he could tell by the stiffness in her shoulders that she was mostly just worried.

He felt like a jerk – he was a jerk. “I’m an asshole, I know,” Micah admitted, “and I’m sorry. I should have answered your texts.”