Clyde's body moved before his mouth did. He reached forward, his large, steady hand closing firmly around Micah's wrist. The grip wasn't harsh, just enough to stop him from storming away.
Meanwhile, the other three men practically jumped in place.
"No…"
"Wait!"
"It's not like that!"
Their voices overlapped in a rush of panic, the kind of scramble you only heard when someone knew they had messed up badly.
Clyde's fingers tightened slightly, as if afraid Micah would slip away if he loosened them even a fraction. His voice was low, steady, almost coaxing. "Micah."
Micah turned his head slowly, his expression sharp and unreadable. "What? You want to say I'm wrong? I clearly heard my name and their snickering! Very smooth indeed... after everything earlier, you actually gathered them here for what? Mocking me?"
