Page 2 of His Best Friend’s Heat

Nick

I wake up with a crick in my neck and a warm weight pressed against my side.

For a disoriented moment, I can't quite place where I am or why my bed feels so uncomfortable.

Then I blink away the sleep and reality comes into focus: I'm on my couch, the TV screen dark, and the weight against me is Micah, fast asleep with his head tucked against my shoulder.

Sunlight streams through the half-closed blinds, painting stripes across his face. His breathing is deep and even, one hand curled loosely in the fabric of my shirt. I should probably wake him—my arm is starting to go numb where it's trapped beneath him—but I hesitate.

In sleep, all the tension Micah carries has melted away.

His light brown hair falls across his forehead, and I resist the strange urge to brush it back.

There's something different about the way he smells this morning.

Still that familiar clean, slightly sweet scent that's uniquely him, but with a warmer note underneath. Richer.

I inhale without thinking, then catch myself. What am I doing? This is Micah. My best friend since high school, my college roommate, the guy who's seen me at my absolute worst and still chooses to spend his weekends with me. And here I am sniffing him like some creep.

Yet I can't help comparing this moment to Wednesday night with Sophia.

Sitting across from her at dinner had been awkward.

Forced. A constant effort to maintain conversation and connection.

This, waking up with Micah pressed against me after falling asleep watching a movie, feels effortless. Natural.

Micah stirs, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks before he opens his eyes. For a second, he looks as disoriented as I feel, then awareness floods his face, followed immediately by embarrassment.

"Shit," he mumbles, pushing himself upright and away from me. "I fell asleep on you. Sorry."

"No big deal," I say, rolling my shoulder to get feeling back. "Not the first time, won't be the last."

He runs a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, making it stand up in endearing tufts. "What time is it?"

I check my phone. "Just after nine."

"God, we slept on the couch all night? Your back must be killing you."

I stretch, feeling the satisfying pop of my spine. "Worth it for that movie. What did we even watch?"

"Something with robots? I think? I was out before the first act ended."

I laugh, standing up. "Coffee?"

"Please," he groans, stretching his arms above his head. His t-shirt rides up slightly, revealing a sliver of pale skin above his sweatpants. I look away quickly, suddenly and inexplicably flustered.

In the kitchen, we fall into our Saturday morning routine like we have a hundred times before.

Micah shuffles in behind me, heading straight for the refrigerator while I measure coffee grounds.

He gets out plates and silverware without being asked, knows exactly where everything is, moves around my kitchen like he lives here.

Which, honestly, he basically does on weekends.

I'm cracking eggs into a bowl when the front door opens.

"Yo, Nick! You up?" My brother Jason's voice carries from the entryway.

"Kitchen," I call back, not bothering to ask why he's here so early on a Saturday. Jason operates on his own schedule, one of the perks of being a freelance graphic designer.

He appears in the doorway, a portfolio case slung over his shoulder, then stops, taking in the scene: Micah setting the table, me at the stove, both of us still in our clothes from yesterday.

A slow, knowing grin spreads across his face. "Well, well. Domestic bliss looks good on you two."

I roll my eyes. "What do you want, Jase?"

"Can't a guy visit his big brother without an interrogation?" He drops his portfolio on the counter and helps himself to a mug from the cabinet. "Morning, Micah. Didn't realize you'd be here."

"Friday movie night," Micah says, his cheeks slightly pink. "We fell asleep on the couch."

"Ah, the famous Friday night ritual," Jason says, filling his mug with coffee. "The highlight of Nick's social calendar."

"Did you need something specific, or are you just here to be annoying?" I ask, flipping the omelet I'm making.

Jason leans against the counter, clearly settling in for a longer visit than I'd hoped. "Mom wanted me to drop off those drawings for your classroom. The sports figure illustrations you asked for?"

"Right, thanks," I say, sliding the omelet onto a plate and handing it to Micah. "You want breakfast?"

"Nah, I already ate." Jason takes a sip of his coffee, watching us with that amused expression I've learned to distrust. "Don't let me interrupt your morning routine."

The way he says "routine" makes it sound like something else entirely.

Micah clears his throat. "I'm going to grab a quick shower, if that's okay?"

"Course," I nod. "Clean towels in the hall closet."

"I know," he says with a small smile, then disappears down the hallway.

As soon as we hear the bathroom door close, Jason turns to me with that infuriating smirk.

"So," he says, drawing out the word. "You and Micah, huh?"

"Me and Micah what?" I keep my voice neutral, cracking more eggs for my own breakfast.

"Come on, Nick. You can't seriously still be playing the 'just friends' card."

I put the whisk down harder than necessary. "We are just friends."

Jason raises an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Because nothing says 'just friends' like the way you two finish each other's sentences. Or how he automatically makes your coffee exactly how you like it."

"That's called knowing someone since college."

"Sure," Jason agrees easily. "But it doesn't explain the way you look at him when you think no one's watching."

Unease twists in my chest. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jason studies me for a long moment, like he's trying to decide how much to say. "You really don't see it, do you?"

"See what?"

"The way Micah looks at you like you hung the moon. The way you automatically reach for him when he's upset. The fact that you've been essentially dating each other for years without calling it that."

The sound of the shower turning off saves me from having to respond to that particular bombshell. Jason sighs, picking up his coffee again.

"Look, I'm not trying to give you shit," he says, his voice gentler. "I just think maybe it's time you asked yourself why none of these dates work out. Why you keep coming back to Friday nights on the couch with Micah instead of trying to build something with someone else."

Before I can process that fully, Micah returns, hair damp and wearing one of my t-shirts that's too big for him, something so normal I've never questioned until this exact moment.

Jason notices my stare and grins.

"Gotta run," he says, gathering his portfolio. "Got a client meeting at eleven." He pulls me into a quick hug, then does the same to Micah. "Always good to see you, Micah. Try to keep this one in line, yeah?"

"Fighting a losing battle there," Micah replies with a grin.

As Jason heads for the door, he turns back with that knowing smile. "Oh, Mom says to bring Micah to Sunday dinner next week. She's making that apple crumble he likes."

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, but there'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.