Page 89 of A Crazy Kind of Love
He shifted in his seat slightly but didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
I’d intended to question him about all the girls straightaway, but after seeing what that article was doing to him—and all because of me—I knew I couldn’t grill him until I’d set the record straight about why that article had even published. I needed his absolution before I could even consider giving him mine.
“First, that picture of you on your sofa. I swear I didn’t know I’d taken that on my work camera. Zion accidentally sent it in with all my other pictures on Friday.”
His expression remained inscrutable. Did he hate me? I pressed on.
“And I had no idea Andy was writingthisarticle. I did tell him we were dating—he already knew it anyway—and I knew he’d write something about it, but I didn’t know it would be so bad. I promise you, no matter what it looks like, I didnotstart seeing you with the intention to get some kind of inside story.”
He blinked twice. “Really? This article comes out, and you’re worried that I’m going to be mad at you?”
A weight lifted from my shoulders. “You’re not mad?”
He put his hand out, and I took it. “Josie, it was only a matter of time before the media figured this out. And you had to know when the story broke, it wasn’t going to flatter either of us.”
“Micah, even the reporters from other newspapers assume I infiltrated your family to exploit you from the inside.”
“Eden thought the same thing at first. You might hit a rough patch with her after all this, to be honest. But if you were going to exploit me or my friends, you’d think you’d go for juicy secrets. Why would you start a relationship and then report on that relationship? When you start printing things about my secret basement gym, we’ll have words.” He winked.
“Eden thought I was a spy?” I felt sick. The impending article about her pregnancy would only confirm her suspicions and fuel her hatred of me. For a heartbeat, I considered telling Micah everything, but then I remembered the whole reason Eden wanted to keep the secret was so she could be the first to tell her family. I’d only be making things worse if I blew her moment with her big brother. Plus, I had time to warn her still. Adam would be home soon, and Andy promised me a week.
Micah shrugged, completely oblivious to the land mines I was navigating. “You have to know how much she hates your boss and by extension everyone in your profession. But you must have done something to win her over. She thinks you’re great.”
“Not after this, I’m sure.”
“Josie, you didn’t share anything I wouldn’t have told them myself if they’d only asked me. But obviously, it wasn’t even interesting enough to them as a story on its own. Though I wish it had been.”
“Yeah.”
He retracted his hand and sat up like a schoolboy. “I suppose you have some questions for me.”
I sipped my tea, parsing through the long litany of questions I’d intended to press him with, but sitting here face-to-face with him, everything Zion had said echoed in my mind. I settled on something simple but important. “Did you ever tell any of those girls you were in love with them?”
He leaned toward me, elbows on the table. “No. And I wasn’t.”
“They all sounded like they believed you were. Or at least as though they thought you cared more than you did.”
“They’re romanticizing the past, Jo. They may believe what they’re saying, but none of it is exactly true.”
I pulled the article up on my phone and asked, “Did you abandon Annie in France?”
“No. I abandoned her in Spain.”
I flinched.
He frowned. “Sorry. Bad time to joke.” He shifted and threw a glance at the cameramen outside, but he didn’t seem to register they were there. He could have been watching the waitress pouring coffee a table over.
His eyes never lost that intense faraway look as he thought back. “I met Annie when I toured with Adam’s band. She wanted to ride with us for a few days. I wasn’t seeing anyone else at the time, and I’d grown bored of traveling with those guys, stir-crazy.” He scratched the scruff on his chin. “She was really nice—and there. And I really like sex. Okay?”
I winced even though none of this was new information. I’d always known his reputation, but there’d never been so many faces bringing his cartoon-like promiscuity to life. And Micah didn’t cast his eyes down or blush or show any signs of shame. His eyes locked on mine. “Look, I was twenty-nine, playing huge stadiums for the first time in my life, and I didn’t tell her not to follow us across the South of France to Barcelona. I wasn’t in love with her, and I never promised her anything.”
“So you left her there?”
He sipped his coffee as a couple passed by our table on their way to the door. Then he resumed. “Actually, I asked her to come with us to New York, but she had family in France. She chose to stay behind. We emailed for a little while, but we had nothing at all to talk about. We were never really together. If she says I was using her, I could say the same about her. It might not be a storybook romance to write home about, but she wasn’t upset when it ended.”
I processed that and accepted it. If I was going to judge anyone for a series of meaningless physical relationships, I’d need to sit Zion down and have a talk. I’d never judged anyone else for separating sex from romance, so I needed to grant the same forgiveness to Micah, no matter how it felt. “So what happened with . . . Martina? She said you were together for three months before you told her to stop calling.”
He pressed his lips together. “Yeah. So, not so much.”
