He looked surprised.

“Look,” Micah said, making sure to sound appropriately scornful, “I don’t need your charity.”

The man frowned. “I’d hardly call a couple of tacos charity.”

A second later he was pulling Micah into the establishment he’d inadvertently stopped them in front of. It was official – Tessa was going to kill him. (The cursing in his ear was proof enough of that.)

But Micah forced himself to put his friend and handler out of his mind when the man dragged him to one of the many booths lining the front of the restaurant. The good news was there were plenty of windows. “Sit,” the man demanded, and Micah complied – if only because he was fairly certain Tessa would be able to see him from the booth he’d chosen.

He must have been right because the “f-bombs” going off in his ear were greatly reduced once he sat.

Still, he might not have agreed to sit if he had realized the man was going to slide into the same side of the booth as him, effectively trapping him against the wall. He reached over Micah to grab a laminated menu and Micah caught a whiff of his cologne. Or maybe it was just him. Either way, Micah was pretty sure it was illegal for someone to go around smelling so good – like Christmas trees and cedar wood, and something spicier – something distinctly man – wrapped up in a six-foot, three-inch, musclebound package.

“I know I said that their tacos are the best, but order whatever you want,” the man instructed as he set down the menu in front of Micah.

Micah pursed his lips. “I’m fine,” he insisted.

The guy glowered. “I didn’t ask if you were fine. I asked you to open the menu and pick out something to eat.”

Micah gritted his teeth together, not sure if he was more concerned by the man’s bossiness or how his body was reacting to said bossiness. He squirmed in his seat, resisting the urge to adjust himself in his pants. “Look, I don’t accept food for my… services,” he decided on finally. “It’s a cash only deal so-”

“Jesus!” the man exclaimed, and Micah couldn’t help the pang of satisfaction that shot through him when he caught sight of the sudden red tinge on the man’s cheeks. “I’m not trying to purchase your- your services. You’re what? Sixteen? I’m just trying to buy you dinner. You’re skin and bones.”

Sixteen? Really? Micah knew he’d been chosen for this job because of his “sweet baby face” as Tessa liked to put it, but… sixteen? He supposed it explained the man’s extreme reaction to him being accosted outside. Ignoring the relief (there wasn’t an ounce of disappointment in him, really) that the guy wasn’t trying to purchase his “services”, Micah settled into his seat and reluctantly picked up the menu, pretending to look it over. “I’m twenty-three,” Micah pointed out grumpily, telling the truth. “And I have plenty of muscle on these bones. I could even kick your ass if I wanted to.”