Page 17 of Robbin’ the Rich

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. God, he was charming. That felt dangerous.

“Well,” I said, stepping closer again, “Bless me father… I’m about to sin.”

Micah made a soft choking sound.

Tonight was going to be real fun.

The cold night air hit my flushed skin the second we stepped outside Trixie’s. Halloween crowds still spilled across the sidewalks laughing loudly beneath streetlights and fake spiderweb decorations while Micah led me toward a dark blue car parked near the back of the lot near the stage door.

I eyed him suspiciously as he unlocked it.

“So,” I said casually, “statistically speaking, what are the odds you murder me tonight?”

Micah opened the passenger door and looked genuinely thoughtful. “Low.”

“Comforting.”

“I mean, I’m a science teacher. We’re usually too tired for homicide.”

I snorted softly and climbed into the passenger seat.

The inside of the car smelled faintly like cedar, coffee, and whatever cologne he wore. Unexpectedly clean for a musician. And hanging from the rearview mirror was a tiny Starship Enterprise.

I blinked at it. Then looked at Micah. “…You’re a nerd.”

He gasped dramatically as he slid into the driver’s seat. “First of all, rude.”

“You have a spaceship hanging from your mirror.”

“It’s not a spaceship. It’s the Starship Enterprise.”

I stared at him for another second before laughing quietly under my breath. Something about it settled me instantly. Not because I cared about Star Trek particularly. I’d never really gotten into it outside of vaguely absorbing cultural references against my will. But there was something disarming about finding harmless nerd nonsense inside all the hot priest energy. It humanized him. Made him feel safe in a way I hadn’t fully expected. He seemed much less smooth bar guy, more dorky man who probably cried during sci-fi finales. It was very endearing.

Micah caught me looking at the spaceship and smiled slightly. “Still think I’m planning murder?”

“The odds have lowered significantly.”

“Excellent. I strive to give off approachable energy.”

His grin widened slowly. Yeah. That smile was a problem.

I gave him my address, and he pulled out of the parking lot while soft rock music hummed quietly through the speakers.

For a few minutes, neither of us talked much. The silence was charged. It was the kind where every tiny movement suddenly felt loaded.

Micah drove one-handed, relaxed beneath the glow of passing streetlights while his other hand rested loosely near the center console.

I became painfully aware of that hand, of his long fingers and the veins along his wrist. That tattoo disappearing beneath his rolled sleeve made me want more.

God, I wanted to know what the rest of it looked like.

As if sensing me staring, Micah glanced over briefly.

“You’re thinking very loudly right now.”

“That sounds fake.”

“It’s not. I can feel it.”