So there it was. The rat-crap ending to an otherwise rat-crap day. And more. The end of a dream. How long had he known or at least suspected that Dharmaram was cheating? Months? Hell, they’d only been together a year. When they’d met at that health-food convention, Dharmaram had said all the right things. Change the world by changing consciousness. Find the union of body, mind, and spirit. Dharmaram could change people’s minds while Micah transformed their bodies. Together they would create the new generation of more perfect humans. But only a few weeks later, Micah had noticed Dharmaram’s very perfect eyesight when it came to ogling the surfers who walked past the house to get to the beach in the morning. Micah made excuses for him. After all, they weren’t dead. Looking didn’t hurt anything. Yeah, right.
And here he sat. Alone. Dharmaram didn’t want him. His customers didn’t want him.
He let his head drop forward. That was okay. He’d taken care of himself all his life and he could keep on doing it. His chest hurt, he breathed so deeply.
He stood and walked to the kitchen, turned on the juicer, and piled in some spinach, kale, and parsley.
“Merwaor.”
Micah looked at Furtwangler, who’d jumped onto the counter. Still flexible after all these years. The old cat bumped his head against Micah’s hand to get a scratch.
Maybe someone needed Micah after all. Tears ran down his face.
Chapter Two
“MMMMPF.”
“Merwaor.”
Micah slid a hand from under the covers toward the ringing phone and got a furry head instead. He raised his face. Shit. Ten o’clock. The middle of the fucking day. Of course, he hadn’t been able to sleep until the middle of the fucking night. Too busy shoving Dharmaram’s crap onto the porch.
He patted the cat and grabbed the phone. “Yeah.”
“Hey, boss man. Where’s my juicer?”
Shoot. “Hi. Sorry. I’ve got it in the car, but I overslept.”
“We’re really busy this morning. We could use two juicers. You okay?”
“Yeah. Kind of. Dharmaram and I split up.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“I know, I know.” Kathy hated the yoga teacher. Called him a user. A failing everyone had seemed to see except Micah.
“I’m sorry you have to go through this, sweetheart. Don’t worry about the juicer. Take your time. We’ll be fine.”
“Thanks. But I’ll get my shit together and bring it over there within the hour.”
“Okeydokey. Take a deep breath.”
“You mean like a yoga breath?” He barked a laugh.
“Anything but. See you in a bit.”
He hung up, got up, and padded into the kitchen. Furtwangler followed on his little cat feet. Micah gave the cat some great homemade food he’d concocted on the weekend, and the fuzzbucket fell to it. Of course, he gave the cat meat. That was felines’ natural food, unlike humans. Micah was sure he could keep the old guy around until he passed twenty with enough good nutrition and love.
Yeah, love keeps us alive. Tears filled his eyes again. Damn. No blubbering.
He showered, threw on some ratty jeans and a T-shirt, and let Furtwangler into his enclosed space in the backyard. It gave him lots of sunlight and butterflies to chase while keeping the coyotes away.
He started toward the front door and paused. Hell, there he was. Through the window Micah saw Dharmaram carrying some of his crap across the yard to a big, honking, gas guzzler of a truck. An attractive woman, probably in her midforties, followed him, hauling another armload. Micah recognized her. One of Dharmaram’s most devoted students. The woman took three or four classes a week. Maybe she was helping Dharmaram out? Giving him a ride?
Micah peeked through the curtain. Dharmaram went back for one last load, pushed it into the back of the truck, then walked to the driver’s side, gave the woman a big kiss, and took the keys. She smiled, crossed to the passenger door, and got in. So the bastard had switched to women in his quest to get someone to take him in. Micah hoped he couldn’t get it up. Of course, Dharmaram’s cock got hard at the thought of money, and this woman probably had a bundle from the look of that vehicle.
Micah dropped the curtain. Done. Over. So much for fucking true love. His phone rang and vibrated in his pocket. He should enjoy it. That might be the most action his cock got from now on. He took it out and looked at the phone screen. Yancy. He clicked. “Hey, buddy. What’s up?”
“I just heard a rumor from Kathy. Is it true? Is it splitsville with you and Fuckface?”
Yancy didn’t like Dharmaram either. Why hadn’t Micah listened to his friends?
“Yeah. Done. He just pulled the last of his shit off my porch.”
“Good. Then you’re ready for anti-Valentine’s Day.”
“Oh hell no.”
“C’mon. You can’t be clinging to that happily-ever-after crap now. You just devoted a year of your life to a using loser who never appreciated what he had.”
“Thanks for the reminder.”
“Just the truth, buddy. Come on. Come to the party tonight. I’ve got a boatload of talent waiting to suck your cock.”
Whoa. Micah’s cock leaped at the suggestion. Even when he’d had a boyfriend, nobody had sucked Micah’s cock in months. Dharmaram had just hammered his ass once a week and called it a sex life. “I don’t know.”
“I do. A night of meaningless sex in the name of anti-Valentine’s Day, right? Screw Cupid and all manufactured holidays. Let’s prove that fucking makes the world go round.”
Micah stared at the coffee table where there had sat a beautiful piece of Murano glass a wealthy friend had brought him from Italy. It was one of the few expensive things Micah owned that didn’t involve food or nutrition. No one could have taken it except Dharmaram. Maybe the bastard had sold it weeks ago and Micah hadn’t noticed. “Sure, I’ll come. What time shall I be there?”
HE COULD still back out.
Micah walked his bike up onto the lawn of the big home on the top of the
