Before I can respond—or ask why Mom specifically requested Micah—he's gone, leaving me with the distinct feeling I've just been outmaneuvered in a game I didn't know we were playing.
Micah takes his seat at the table, looking at his now-cold omelet. "Everything okay? Jason seemed...I don't know, weird."
"He's always weird," I say, bringing my own breakfast over. "It's his default setting."
Micah laughs, and the sound sends a warmth through me that I'm trying very hard not to analyze. We fall back into our comfortable rhythm, eating breakfast and planning the day ahead. Saturday is usually our errand day: grocery shopping,laundry, whatever mundane tasks are easier to face together than alone.
But as we talk, I find myself noticing things. The way Micah gestures with his fork when he's making a point. How he unconsciously pushes his damp hair back from his forehead. The fact that he's wearing my shirt and it somehow looks better on him than it ever has on me.
And his scent—that's definitely different today. Stronger. Sweeter. I've always been able to pick Micah out of a crowd by scent alone, an alpha thing I never questioned. But today, it's like I'm way more in tune to it than usual.
"So I was thinking," Micah says, pulling me from thoughts I shouldn't be having, "I might meet up with Alex for coffee this afternoon. He's been asking to catch up for weeks."
Possessive heat flares in my chest. Alex. Micah's friend from nursing school. The beta who made it very clear he was interested in more than 'friendship' the last time I met him. The guy who spent an entire dinner party finding excuses to touch Micah's arm, laughing too loud at his jokes.
"Sure," I say, trying to sound casual. "We can do groceries tomorrow instead."
Micah gives me a strange look, probably because I hate grocery shopping on Sundays and he knows it. "You okay with that? You usually hate—"
"It's fine," I say, even as I'm fighting the bizarre urge to suggest alternative plans. Why do I suddenly want to remind Micah that Alex spent most of their last coffee date hitting on him?
"Actually," Micah says, "maybe I'll reschedule with Alex. I'm feeling a little off today."
Relief washes through me, so intense it's almost embarrassing. "You sure? I don't want to mess up your plans."
"It's fine. To be honest, I'm not really in the mood for Alex's twenty questions about my love life anyway." Micah smiles, butthere's something strained about it. "Besides, I'd rather just hang out here. If that's okay?"
"Of course it's okay," I say, probably with more enthusiasm than the situation warrants. "Movie marathon? Or we could hit the gym if you're up for it."
"Movie marathon sounds perfect," Micah says. "I'm still kind of tired."
As we clean up breakfast, Jason's words keep echoing in my head. The way you two finish each other's sentences. How he automatically makes your coffee exactly how you like it. It's ridiculous. We're friends. Best friends. The fact that I'm more comfortable with him than anyone else is just because we've known each other so long.
But then why did the thought of him spending the afternoon with Alex make me want to growl like some territorial alpha asshole?
When Micah brushes past me to put away the last of the dishes, our arms touching briefly, I catch another wave of that sweetened scent. This time, alpha instincts stir in response, an awareness I've never felt around Micah before.
I step back, putting distance between us.
"You pick the first movie," I say, my voice sounding strained to my own ears. "I'll make more coffee."
Micah nods, seemingly oblivious to my internal crisis, and heads for the living room. I lean against the counter, taking a deep breath that only fills my lungs with more of that intoxicating scent.
How am I just now noticing that Micah smells like everything I've ever wanted? That the thought of him with someone else makes me want to do something stupid and possessive?
Jason's right. I've been going through the motions with every woman I've dated, comparing them all to something I didn't even realize I wanted.
But the alternative—that I might be feeling something more than friendship for Micah—would change everything between us. And what if I'm wrong? What if this is just some weird alpha thing, some misplaced protective instinct?
What if I'm not wrong?
The thought terrifies and thrills me in equal measure.
From the living room, I hear Micah settling onto the couch, probably curling up in that spot that's basically become his over the years. In a minute, I'll join him, and we'll spend the day like we always do; comfortable, easy, pretending there isn't this new awareness.
At least, I'll be pretending. I'm starting to wonder what else I haven't been paying attention to.
Micah