Micah Johnson Goes West (Get Out, #2)(44)

“Yeah, but my dad’s not a Dick.” Even plastered, Micah found the double entendre hilarious.

“Maybe not, but you’re acting like one.”

Ignoring what Kyle had just said, Micah bobbed up like a meerkat on the plain as he scanned the crowd. “Dick! Dick! I’m looking for dick!”

The guys around him cheered and raised their glasses.

Micah tottered, and almost fell into the garden. But Kyle, good old reliable Kyle—unless of course you were his ex and wanted to get back with him—held him steady. “So where is he? Doesn’t he think it’s strange you’re here with your ex?”

“I’m not here with you,” Kyle said, and Micah felt the burn. “He thought you looked worse for wear too.”

“How nice of him. He must be a really nice guy.”

“He is. Micah, you can act like a prick, but I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to call you a taxi.”

“Nope, I’m staying here.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You can’t tell me what to do. You’re not my boyfriend anymore.”

Instead of looking angry, Kyle now looked bemused. “I couldn’t even tell you what to do when I was.”

“Damn straight,” Micah said. “Or, should I say, damn fag. Speaking of fags, I think I’d like a cigarette.”

“Your coach would love that.”

“What he doesn’t know….” Micah couldn’t even finish the sentence.

Kyle crouched down before him, and Micah almost wanted to cry at the look of concern on his face. Either that or hit him. “Micah, everybody here knows who you are. Do you really want all this over the web? Do you want to become the gay Brendan Fevola, having a great footy career wrecked by being a mess off the field?”

“I don’t need your analysis, Dr. Kyle.”

“You either get in the taxi or I call Declan.”

Even in his drunken state, Micah recognised the threat for what it was. Kyle knew him that well. He knew Dec would be the one thing to make Micah see sense. He couldn’t handle the thought of Dec being dragged out of bed to come and rescue his sorry arse again.

“Okay,” he told Kyle. “Okay. Get the taxi.”

Kyle gave him a long hard look, then nodded. “Stay here.”

“I’m staying here,” Micah nodded.

As soon as Kyle melted away in the crowd, Micah got to his feet and ran through the back exit onto the street. He was humiliated and heartsore. Kyle had seen him in this state, and felt sorry for him. He probably finally saw Micah for the pathetic tool he was— “Hey, are you okay?”

It was a guy standing beside his car, just about to get into it. He looked normal enough, but what was normal?

“Who are you?” Micah asked.

“Paul.”

“Are you a Jeffrey Dahmer, Paul?”

The guy looked confused.

“Jeffrey Dahmer, the gay serial killer who fucked and then ate his one night stands.”

“That’s not a question I get asked that often. But I’m not a serial killer.”

“Good,” Micah said. “Then you can give me a ride.”




THEY CRASHED through the front door of Paul’s house, leaning up against the wall as they continued to kiss, Micah’s hands already unbuckling Paul’s belt.

“Wait,” Paul breathed, “let’s just calm down a minute.”

“I thought you wanted this.” Micah’s hands were so tantalisingly close to the goal of the evening, and by the state of Paul’s pants he could tell he was ready.

“I do, let’s just have a drink first.”

“So you are going to fuck me and eat me, Mr. Dahmer?”

Paul grinned. “I’m going to eat you out and then fuck you.”

“Then forget about the drink.” Micah heard himself saying these things, and it wasn’t even registering with him properly. It was like he was some kind of acting robot with a porny artificial intelligence adhering to some pre-prepared script he had watched play across his laptop screen a hundred times.

The thought of another drink actually made Micah feel ill. He was already woozy and pretty uncoordinated on his feet. As Paul busied himself in the kitchen Micah sank onto the couch in relief. Sweat was running down his back, so he pulled his shirt off and let the cool of the leather soothe his skin.

“You’re eager,” Paul said as he threw ice into the blender.

“Maybe you should start stripping off too.”

Paul hesitated, then shrugged and pulled off his shirt as well. Micah liked what he saw.

“You approve?” Paul asked.

“Fuck yeah.”

Paul poured a healthy amount of vodka over the ice. “You know I know who you are, don’t you?”

“Who am I?” Micah asked, still trying to sound flirty.

“Micah Johnson, the only gay football player in Australia.”

“The only one you know of,” Micah reminded him.

Paul grinned. “True. Any hot change room moments you want to share?”

“Unfortunately I’ve never found another gay in one of my change rooms,” Micah said. “Well… in high school, yeah. But finding one got me moved to another school, and the other one punched me out.” Thinking of Will made tears rise, and Micah blinked them away.