SIX

Two Riedel glasses of barbera and I'm still nowhere near composed. Dear Lord! This isn't going as planned.

Meeting up with Micah shouldn't be a problem-for fuck's sake we've done this before-but it is now.

Notre Maison is a Parisian brasserie popular for its exquisite salads and their small, budget-friendly charcuterie boards. It is a family-oriented place rather than an internet binging spot for millennials and Gen Z. A much better place to talk and hide from fucking paparazzi. Way better than Micah's proposal to dine at some exclusive steakhouse in Calabasas.

Good Lord!

I had to oppose the idea because somehow, I just knew that it would require an entire afternoon of me shop-hopping in nearly every fashion house there is in California for a couture dress, possibly for only one night there. Darn the pressure that comes with Calabasas. And there's also the fact that the last time that I tried that sort of stunt...

Well.

You know how that went.

A story for another day.

It's twenty minutes past seven, the agreed time for dinner, but still no Micah. Apprehension sidles up my body as I impatiently watch the entrance. A man, who seems to be a bellhop if I'm to judge by the spurious smile on his face, is giving the direction to the washroom to a pregnant lady. All in French.

I sigh and drag one long sip of the red wine.

Word on the street is that Micah is never late to anything involving a skirt in the mix-and incredulously, soccer-which is why my worry turns into dread. Could Micah have double-booked me or forgot about our meeting tonight and fled to warm another woman's bed in some part of the world? I don't know... Barcelona? Melbourne? Calabasas?! 

Or maybe he could have lost his way here even though I pinned my location on his WhatsApp. But then again, some other lady friend, as he calls them, may have also pinned her location and the offers proffered just seemed too luscious to pass. Probably, a night where he gets to put her into seven positions for seventy minutes with short breaks for the finest Cabernet Sauvignon, darn it!

Who knows how many minutes they'll be spending or even how many positions Micah has in mind?

Liquid jealousy-deep scarlet-and barbera pool in my stomach and at this point, I'd rather if he loses his way here than be on one of his sexcapades.

Good grief! I must really have gone crazy if Micah's sprees get to me that much. It's not like I don't know about them. I do and that's the real problem. I'm his girlfriend now.

As if on cue, my phone trills on the table and my fingers race all too eagerly, given that I know who it is. A quick assessment of my screen and relief washes over me as cool soft waves over a dry land. It's a text from Micah complaining about poor network and skipping WiFi in the area.

Cheap thrills!

I look up with spirited energy and satisfaction that Micah is headed here and not in some other place, only to find Carol, a waitress at the brasserie, glaring at me. She taps on her bare wrist letting me know that she's counting the twenty minutes I'd asked for earlier.

Carol has already approached me three times with a menu in hand asking if I was ready to order. The fourth time she came, she explained a mastered policy the brasserie has against lingering customers. She further explained that the time I have spent waiting for Micah, is ruled as me crossing to pity party territory and I'd have to pay more.

I acknowledge her with a tip of the glass while looking straight into her eyes to which she answers with a dramatic eye roll.

What is that they say about women being their own enemies?

Micah arrives slightly after five minutes briskly walking past the few tables to get to ours in a dark dapper suit hugging his lean form. A white dress shirt underneath with the first two buttons undone. Obviously. His raven hair is neatly slicked back with what seems to be a whole tub of gel.

Frivolous, I find myself saying.

With the dark Ray-Bans covering his eyes and the panty-dropping smile he's giving me, Micah Cullen downright looks like a Giorgio Armani model walking out the Louvre.

His sandalwood deodorant fills my space and caressing my senses in a way that-I like-is not unpleasant. With a reputation like his, you would think that he is a repulsive and callous man in all the possible ways, all enough to make you want to stay away. Lethal and hideous perfumes, tobacco-stained teeth, bald-headed...why can't Micah be all that?

My gaze travels up to his face to find a cocky grin plastered across his face. I didn't even realize I was staring that long-at Micah? No way! I've got to be tripping. I'm still on Jax. My hand makes a short stretch to reach the wine on the table but then I gain rationality and set it down again. It's got to be the wine making me see Micah in a light that shouldn't even be.

He tucks his hands away into his pockets. "Oh Arnold, if I'd known this would be a booty call, I swear I would have cleared up my whole schedule for the day just for you," he rounds the table to the chair opposite me.

I choke on saliva. "What?"

"Yeah, it is so unfortunate. I've been so bummed up with Lynda and my agent, and you know and ...things... I just want to crash into my bed right now."

"What?" I repeat.

"I mean you do understand, right? But I promise you an exclusive once the deal with Liverpool is done," he says with his face all solemn looking up from the decrepit menu I'd asked Carol to place for him.

If I didn't know any better, I would have believed that he was actually sorry for not being able to respond aptly to my said "booty call". He looks so sincere especially with the frown forming between his brows but I do know better. I do know that Micah is acutely infamous for getting into people's nerves with such skill. He revels in annoying people-especially my ex slash #LOML-and that's why I know what he is trying to do.

"You think this is a booty call?" I ask, my voice lower than a normal whisper would be afraid that people will hear such an obscene word leave my mouth given the environment.

"Is it not?" He feigns oblivion but there's a hint of mischief laced in his voice.

"Oh shut up Cullen!" I throw him a folded napkin. "You wish."

He chortles but does not, mercifully, drop any other sarcastic comment. "how have you been Arnold? After Sunday? After Rivers?" Micah surprises, "how are you holding up?"

Micah is nothing close to caring not concerned-from what I know about him from Jaxon and tabloids-but for once I let myself believe that he is genuinely concerned about everything that has been happening with me since Sunday.

"Not drowning in Pinot."

A hearty snicker escapes his lips causing a giggle to leave my own and soon we are full-blown laughing.

"That has got to be the worst meh review anyone has ever left after a night with Micah Cullen let alone kissing Micah Cullen."

"I told you you were not everyone's cup of tea."

"But I am your glass of Pinot," he counters.

Glint of raw desire flashes across his eyes as his teeth snag on his full lip. My skin somehow burns in the middle of our staring competition and a thousand comebacks that I could tell him just so we can keep on with sexual innuendos parade themselves in my mind but I stick to one.

"You are my nothing Micah."

In one quick blink, the sexual tension evaporates and there's only two ratty menus and a wine glass of Bruno Giacosa's Barbera between us. As if it was a hallucination.

He clears his throat awkwardly and that's how I know I'm not the only one that felt it. "Shall we order?"

"Yes. Picked out anything for you?" I ask him while I summon up Carol to our table. She comes forth with a notepad and pen in hand and surprisingly, a smile. A genuine smile.

Micah rubs his temple with an index finger before tossing the menu on the table. "Nah. I'll get what you are having."

"You sure?"

He pulls in his chair once again. "I don't know what tastes good. I trust you."

"Okay."

So when Carol comes to the table, she apologizes for thinking it's a pity party and actually recognizes Micah, gushes over him and asks for an autograph before she allows me to order. I point to the meals I want brought to our table, afraid that my horrible French accent and pronunciation might entertain the soccer player seated across me. Micah has been to Ferdi, the restaurant in France where a burger costs nothing less than nineteen dollars-information that I obviously did not obtain out of sleuthing his Instagram over pinot last night-so I'm sure his French is perfect.

"Well, I tried to avoid that," I say folding a napkin on my lap adding a pinch of exasperation to my tone referring to Carol. When I look over, He is folding his too.

"Right. How's that coming along for you?" His tone heavily depicted with ragger.

I look around the restaurant and several heads have turned to stare at our table with some even stealing snaps of him when we aren't looking.

"Wonderful!"

Micah only responds with a hum and a firm nod.

"At least they aren't asking for selfies for Facebook. That would be disastrous dinner."

When dinner gets to the table, Micah is petrified.

Who knew a salad charcuterie board of spinach, Brussels sprouts, mushrooms, apples and broccoli would have LAFC's forward's eyebrows shooting up to touch his hairline? At first, I'm thinking it's the amount of food on the board that amuses him, but when he brings forth his complaints, it has nothing to with a girl with good appetite.

"Are you serious? There isn't an ounce of flesh in this salad?" he inquires forking through spinach leaves and small broccoli bulbs. The scowl on his face is laughable.

He looks defeated and mumbles an, "What might have I have done in my past life to end up with another Adams for a girlfriend?"

A lot, I want to say.

We spend the next minutes stabbing into the veggies on the board over small talk. I somehow end up eating all the tiny broccoli bulbs and Micah all the apples.

It is weird just how this doesn't feel so out of place but so fun and normal. Almost bearing the #goals feel to it. Like it felt with Jax or a little more because Micah isn't across me asking me not to speak or laugh too loud because we are in public. He isn't telling me how unhealthy it is to eat together from a plate or asking how many times I sanitized my hands after being in contact with animals at the clinic before dinner. The atmosphere isn't gloomy and pregnant with apprehension. All caution is thrown to the floor with Micah-

No, no, no. Am I seriously comparing Micah to Jax? Micah the callous womanizer Cullen and Jaxon angel fallen to earth Rivers? No way. Jaxon obviously had more pros than cons compared to Micah.

For example, Jaxon would never let me pour my own wine out of proportion unlike Micah and his eat all you can attitude. He wouldn't dare forget to remind me to wipe red wine vinaigrette at the corner of my mouth just in case paparazzi was lurking by. Most important of all, Jaxon made categorically sure not to talk about his female fans gushing over him-not because I asked him to, but because he is a true gentleman-and that's how I'm sure he wouldn't be seated here with me telling me of how weird it felt to be signing on boobs.

Why am I even laughing?

"Micah?" I cut into his joke which surprises him.

"Arnold?" he wipes his mouth with the napkin. "Is there a problem?"

I try to compose myself but when I take a while to speak, Micah does.

"I overdid it again, didn't I?"

I set my fork down and wipe my own mouth. "Overdid what?"

"The jokes? They were...I'm so sorry Arnold. I thought we could make small talk before we broach the matter."

His large hand wraps the glass of water on the table taking one swig before looking at me dead in the eye and I'm thinking that perhaps, this would have gone better via texts.

"This is about last weekend, ain't it? About our relationship...no strings-"

"What? No! I mean yes...What I really mean to say is, not entirely."

Micah's brow quirks up as he leans further into the chair. At this point, I don't think either of us is interested in the food so I push it to one side of the table. My elbows are planted firm on the table, something for my mum to scowl at, ready to use my doctor voice. The your pet needs a surgery ASAP voice.

"Since our lie has led to the point of no return, I think we should play it coolly along the lines of platonic. You know, forget about what I said on Sunday evening and keep our hands to ourselves. Do you agree Cullen?"

His fingers fiddle with the ring on his other hand. "Why, of course Ryza. Adding you to my very small circle of close and platonic friends surely won't kill me... and don't worry. That night was," he thinks of the word to use, "...purely alcohol," he says with such nonchalance like he expected me to say that and somewhere within me, is a traitorous part that doesn't like that he understands quite easily.

Is it all a part of being an infamous and apathetic womanizer? Being mirthful and straightforward even at rejection?

Rejection? my mind mocks, he wasn't even chasing after you in the first place.

"A mistake," I decide to crown it with the most used cliché term in this situation.

He snorts, "Would you look at that. You just spoke my mind."

I'm in the process of folding my napkin into it's tiniest form with such force but my face conveys feigned positivity and elation. "Lovebirds to the public and very platonic friends to ourselves. Looks like we can agree on something amicably. "

"Hallelujah," he adds in an attempt of being merry. "Well said, Arnold."

"Good. So in the light of this new development, I also think that we should have some sort of motivation to be better actors for the public."

Micah's face pinches so I elaborate further. "What I mean Cullen is that," I lean into the table lest my words get whisked away by the wind into a meddling ear and flat onto tomorrow's paper, "I've been thinking a lot and while a relationship with you might be the last thing that could ever cross my mind, I could humble myself enough to stand you for a few months while I still can't get back together with Jaxon."

Micah scoffs, surprised. "Am I getting that you want to use me to get that douche back?"

I scowl.

"How? And why?"

"Don't ask me why. That's my motivation and you've got to respect that. As for how, let's get him jealous."

He looks at me like I don't know what I'm saying before saying, "You are screwed in the head Arnold. You need to get some sleep."

Before I know it, Micah is already standing up ready to leave. I should have known he'll get riled up at the mention of Jaxon's name. I grab his hand fast enough to stop him.

"Micah, please sit down. Please."

"It's late Arnold. I've been on my feet for most part of the day and I've got practice tomorrow. If I get there looking like a troll, Klaus and your ex," with much emphasis, "will be chewing my ass the whole time."

I must be looking like a girlfriend begging for a second chance, which I am, only that I'm even more desperate.

"It won't take up much of your time please. I'll take the blame if at all you show up at practice looking like a troll. Please, sit down."

Maybe it's the theatrics of my puppy eyes or fear of public mortification but nonetheless, Micah sits down with his face turned away from mine.

"Thank you. I know you don't like Jax and you can't stand him but neither can he. If I keep popping up with you in public and doing things I never did with him surely he'll get jealous. You have a way of getting to him."

"It has to be your dickhead of an ex?" Micah asks and all I can do is nod. "You must be really desperate for you to want to ask help from me.I really don't understand women."

Such irony. Before now I would bet my apartment, which I so dearly love, that he was such an expatriate with women.

Carol comes and clears the table and offers us dessert which Micah kindly refuses and informs us that she would bring our bill a little later.

"What do I gain from this? My publicist and agent already thinks that this is a bad move risking my chances of getting signed into a new team."

"Liverpool?"

He looks at me alerted. "You were listening."

"Well...yeah. I had a client at the clinic the other day who knew about Sunday and all she kept talking about was you. She mentioned you were being scouted for Liverpool."

"I see. She asked for something? A sweaty sweatshirt?"

My eyes light up at his accurate guess. "How did you know?"

He laughs with his hand on his mouth. "It's all they ever ask for."

My phone trills on the table and it's a message from Tammy asking how it went with Micah and if at all i'm coming home tonight. Nine twenty eight. Really late. "It's late. Do you wanna get out of here?"

Mischief is written all over his face and I know he's about to say something dirty. "Your place or-"

"Don't you dare finish that statement if you still wanna get to CSU in one piece tomorrow."

Bubbles of laughter roar out Micah and he has to pull out a kerchief to dab at the small rivers of tears leaving his eyes. "Relax Arnold. I was gonna say your place or the clinic."

"Of course you were."

He foots the bill a little later with a promise to come back again. When we leave, he shakes hands and takes selfies for Facebook with his fans who undoubtedly waited until they could get a chance to talk to him the whole time we were there. It definitely feels different walking alongside Micah who actually takes his time to interact with his fans.

"I love this place," he says when he meets me at the exit of the brasserie.

"I knew you would."

It's somewhat warm outside with notes of spices, tulips and happiness filling the air. Very soon it will be summer and California being a hub for tourists, will be less breathable and more congested.

"Earlier you said that your agent and publicist think that you being in a relationship with me is a bad idea? Why?" Somewhere at the back of my head, I know the answer. Social media is after us-especially him.

He kicks a stone idly. "Are you even asking that?

"Should I not?"

"I am dating my captain's girlfriend-"

"Ex," I supply.

He smiles. "I am dating my captain's ex and now everyone doesn't think that cuts me out as a "team player". Rivers' fans won't let my Instagram rest even though he himself fled you on live TV. It's just pure fuck."

"I read the comments they left on your posts," he mumbles a, Fuck, "And #RyMic is making a buzz on twitter for all the wrong reasons. Gossip sites speculating that we won't make it to the weekend."

"Oh God! Don't tell me you read all that."

"I did."

He buries his face into his hands out of regret?

His hands fold onto either of my shoulders, his eyes glassy with tears and desperation. Fuck. "So sorry Ryza. I didn't mean for this to happen. Please forgive me. Have they been after you? Tell me. Have they? I can file restraining orders against them," he suggests.

I want to say 24/7 but Micah looks so broken and guilty right now that all I can say is, "They don't bother me."

He doesn't seem to believe me so he presses further. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," he doesn't press further but encases me into a bear tight hug that I don't even bother fighting.

Pressed up against Micah's hard planes and edges in the middle of the street feels so good and right. Like this is it's where I'm meant to be. I'm not sure if this crosses the borders of platonic but I'm ready to cut him some slack. Not just for tonight. Micah's hugs are way too contagious to be a one-time thing.

"I'll help get yourself signed into Liverpool and an shape up into an all-round team player," I say against his body.

I feel him crouch a little to place his chin on my head. I'm already on my toes and he has to crouch? How short am I? Or how tall is he?

"It will take quite a lot of time but somehow I trust you will." He breaks the hug but holds me at arms length and smiles, "You are coming to Sunday's game? I'll book you a ticket since we are now exclusive and you have to show up."

"Yeah about that," his cold fingers mop down my cheek and I realize I've been crying too, "You might want to make that three tickets."

"Why? Bringing friends?"

"No. My parents are flying to LA for dinner. They want to meet you."

Micah morphs into a rock. "What?"