Josie Guerrero is focused on one thing: getting accepted into the prestigious art studies program within the Art School at the University of Southern Washington. With thirteen weeks to create her sophomore portfolio, she knows she can't afford any d...
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I'm not sure what's more surprising: the sight of Micah Costa standing on the other side of the living room, the shocking amount of blood — both dried and new — running down his face, or that despite all of that, his eyes are locked on mine as his lips pull up in a lazy grin.
My cheeks warm instantly as his eyes coast down my body, lingering on the hem of my white sundress, before flicking back up and pooling with confused amusement, as if he can't figure out why I'm sitting on his couch. I finally blink away my shock and catch Luke eyeing us both suspiciously, but the thud of Micah's backpack hitting the floor pulls both of our attention as he steps further into the light, illuminating the ghastly gash on his right cheekbone.
"What the actual fuck happened to your face?"
The gash looks much worse in the light, and even through the thick layer of blood, I can already see the painful bruise blooming under his skin, coloring him an almost beautiful collage of pinks and reds against his bronzed skin.
He shakes his head and runs his fingers through his bloody, sweat-matted hair, and that's when I realize how pale he looks. He's clearly lost a good amount of blood already, and when his eyes glaze over slightly like he's starting to lose focus, I know he needs to sit down before he passes out.
"Bar fight." He shrugs, pulling the collar of his shirt away from his neck to wipe some of the blood from his cheek, but it doesn't do much aside from smear it more.
Luke's eyes narrow. "A bar fight," he repeats, unconvinced.
I'm not sure why. If you told me Micah Costa got into a bar fight, I wouldn't think twice about it. It seems pretty on-brand for him. Motorcycles, tattoos, magnetic gray eyes dark enough to get lost in. Yeah, it checks out.
"You got into a bar fight and someone actually landed a hit on you?" Luke isn't buying it. Looking back up at Micah, I catch the annoyed twitch of his jaw, like he doesn't want to talk about it.
"It was a cheap shot. I wasn't looking." He shrugs, running his hand through his hair again when the matted pieces fall into his eyes.
Luke looks like he wants to push the subject, but he pauses and considers his friend for a few seconds before he just shakes his head. When Micah's eyes flick back to me, I look down at the notebook in my lap.
"So, what are you doing here, Melons? Come to tell me your name?" He smiles a little broader, and I can practically see his gash reopen as he does. But even with the current of blood running down his cheek, his eyes brighten when I smile back at him.
"Nope." I try to hide my smile as I lean back into the couch and lift the notebook in my lap for him to see. "Contrary to popular belief, the world doesn't revolve around you, Micah Costa. I'm here for a project."
His eyes widen playfully, and I lose all restraint on keeping my smile from breaking through.
"A project about sexual fetishes." He laughs, his eyes flicking between us quickly before settling back on me. "I'd be happy to help with any research you might need to conduct."
