“In the kitchen,” he calls out.
Cody comes loping down the hallway, so I crouch and open my arms. He jumps up, tail wagging so hard it’s shaking his whole body, and I keep my chin up just enough to prevent him from licking my face. That doesn’t stop him from trying, of course.
“Cody,” Michael says, chuckling. “Get a grip. You just saw him the other day.”
“Hey. Hey. He adores me. Don’t stand in his way.”
Michael just laughs, and when I look up at him, he’s standing at the end of the hall with that bright smile on his face, and…
And my mind goes blank.
Absolutely. One hundred percent. Blank.
I came here to talk to him, and I remember why, but the words, they’re all gone. Someone straight up unplugged the server, and now I’m staring at Michael like an idiot.
He’s staring back at me, his green eyes doing nothing to help me reboot my brain.
Smile fading, he cocks his head. “What?”
Of course he can read me like a book, even when there’s nothing on the pages. I gently nudge Cody back, pet him a little and stand up.
Michael’s gaze is fixed on me. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I absently brush a few strands of dog hair off my shirt. “I kind of wanted to talk about some things.”
His eyebrows lift slightly. “Okay.” He glances over his shoulder, then looks at me again. “Coffee?”
“Sure. Yeah. Thanks.” Maybe that’ll give me time to remember how to talk to him.
With Cody hot on my heels, I follow Michael into his kitchen.
While Michael pours coffee, I’m trying hard not to wring my hands, so I play with my wedding ring instead. Somewhere inside my skull are the words I rehearsed in the car, and I rack my brain, searching frantically, but…nothing.
And then there we are, standing on opposite sides of the narrow kitchen, coffee cups in hand. Cody sits between us, tail wagging as he looks at him, then me, then him again. Apparently we’re boring, though, because he finally gets up and trots out of the room, tags jingling and nails clicking on the linoleum.
Alone, Michael and I drink in silence. I know the coffee hasn’t made it into my system yet, but I’m jittery anyway. Placebo effect, nerves—who the fuck knows. My mental script is irretrievably gone, though, so apparently, if I’m going to give this performance, I get to wing it.
I set my coffee cup on the counter and face him. “So, I’ve been thinking about what we talked about yesterday. A lot.”
His cheeks darken and his gaze drops. “I’m sorry.” He plays with the handle on his coffee cup. “I was afraid it might upset you. I shouldn’t have unloaded it all on you like that.”
“No, no. It’s okay.” I gulp. “To get right to the point, I think maybe I can help.”
Michael’s eyes flick up. “Help? How?”
“Um…”
And now we all remember why Josh didn’t last very long in drama classes once they got to the improv part…
Michael sets his coffee down and faces me again. “What do you have in mind?”
I rest my hands on the counter’s edge, resisting the urge to drum my fingers.
“Josh?” Michael tilts his head.
The pressure’s on, and my heart pounds as my stomach threatens to crawl up my throat. The counter is getting damp from my sweaty palms. Come on, come on…
Finally, I blurt out, “Do you trust me?” The question startles me, and Michael stares wide-eyed at me.
“What?”
“Do—” I clear my throat. “Do you trust me?”
“With my life,” he whispers. “You know that.”
“I do. Yeah. I just…” Well, Josh? I scrub a clammy hand over my face and exhale. “I was asking because…” Because I’m an inarticulate idiot at the moment.
“Josh.” He inclines his head. “Whatever’s on your mind, just say it.” There’s a note of uncertainty in his voice, the faintest hint of fear, and I realize he probably has zero idea what I’m trying to say or how it relates to what we talked about yesterday. This must be unnerving him something fierce, and knowing that turns my stomach even harder.
I hesitate, then push myself away from the counter and step a little bit closer. Not quite enough to make him draw back, but enough I can almost reach him if I try. “You know I’d never hurt you, right?”
His gaze still locked on me, Michael nods.
“Then maybe…” The words refuse to come easily. “Maybe I can…” Staring into his eyes like this, certain he’ll duck away from me at any moment, I don’t know how to say this.
Abruptly, Michael’s spine straightens and his lips part. He raises his eyebrows. “Is this conversation going where I think it’s going?”
“That depends. Where do you think it’s going?”
His Adam’s apple bobs. “You first.”
Damn it.
I clear my throat again, this time to get the air moving. Not that it helps.
“Just say it,” he says. “Be blunt. You know I can handle it.”
Not this time, I don’t.
But I inhale slowly, hold his gaze and manage to say, “What if I can help you get more comfortable in bed with a man?”