Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
Kitten
I was sort of bummed when I saw Fox’s message, but not surprised.
I didn’t shed any tears, which I was proud of.
I had mixed feelings about his whole “Don’t fuck the other guy on the same nights.
” Does he think I’m just going to sleep with Ryan because we’re going out to dinner?
I mean, I did let Fox spank me thirty minutes after we met, then I asked to come back the next night. So, I guess he’s not wrong.
And it wasn’t a “no one else touches you but me.” It was more like “go live your life and come back to me when you want to get railed.” And if Fox wants to keep it physical, that’s fine with me. It stings a little, but I’ve been through worse, and at least he’s being honest.
But the bitterness faded when Ryan texted about dinner tonight. He’s so freaking cute. Yes, he has baggage and complications, but so does everyone.
He meets me in the lobby of the building, both of us still in our work clothes. But his smile when he sees me is contagious. His eyes never waver as he watches me approach, and there’s something warm and inviting in his gaze.
“Thanks for agreeing.”
“Thanks for picking the place,” I say. “Deciding what to have for dinner is like the biggest hassle.” I sigh. “You have to eat, like, every day.”
He laughs and it warms my soul. “It’s a hole-in-the-wall pizza place and salad is not on the menu.”
“When you say things like that, I’m going to have to break up with my eighty-five-year-old boyfriend.
” He blinks, confused, so I fill him in.
“You know that old guy who was hanging out when you were in the middle of your little episode.” I freeze as the reality sucker-punches me.
“I’m not trying to belittle it, I just don’t want you to think it was a big deal. ”
He nods and smirks. “I get it.” Then he motions with his chin toward the front door.
The lobby is full of people, talking on their phones, rushing with purpose.
No one ever walks out of this building slowly.
But Ryan and I both take our time. Maybe it’s the shift from leaving something known to heading out into the street. Maybe it’s not that at all.
True to his word, it’s a hole-in-the-wall pizza place—the kind that’s been around since the 1970s with the same plastic tables and a faded outline where a Pac-Man arcade game used to be against the wall. We fill the time with small talk, mostly innocuous questions about our days.
But I notice the tan line on his finger and look away. It’s our history that shapes who we are. I’m not exactly one to judge.
While waiting for the pizza, I notice how comfortable it is to talk to him. It’s not like talking with Bo, where I had to watch every word not to make him mad. No eggshells to tiptoe around. Since being with Fox, I’ve been brave enough to be more honest. Ryan deserves to know the truth.
“So I’m kinda seeing someone,” I blurt out while he’s talking about how he got started at his company.
He pauses and blinks at me. “Um, is it serious?”
“No,” I say with a fresh wave of anxiety, dipping my head to count the scratches on the table.
“And this is the part when I’m going to talk for a few minutes and ramble, and fully expect to see a Ryan-shaped smoke cloud across from me.
I’ve been seeing this guy and it’s only sex.
But really fucking good sex. I don’t want to give that up because, quite frankly, you’re an unknown factor and logic stands to reason that I won’t meet—” I stop and take a breath.
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to try this with you.
I’d like to see where it goes, if you’re up for that. ”
I don’t know if I would meet anyone else who makes me feel the way Fox does. But there’s no future there.
The waitress comes with our pizza. It’s orange, has a puddle of grease in the middle, and smells like garlicky heaven.
Ryan smirks. “Well, I’m not running out, because my dinner just showed up.” He reaches for a slice, hisses, and puts it back down on the tray. “I always forget how hot it is.” Then his eyes burn into mine. “Why don’t you think your fuck buddy is serious about you?”
The tension in my chest loosens. He’s still here, the truth didn’t scare him away.
I’m relieved, but try to play it off as super casual.
I shrug and take a sip of my soda, trying to buy time to formulate my words.
“Oh, because he’s made it very clear he’s only interested in my body.
And I think he thinks I’m shallow.” That’s why he won’t take off the mask—he’s afraid he won’t live up to the expectation I’ve created.
Ryan winces like I’ve hurt him. “I don’t think it’s that. You don’t strike me as shallow.” He tries the pizza again—success! He pulls the cheesy goodness onto his plate. With the first one clearly safe, I grab my piece. He looks down at his slice and sighs. “Since we are being honest …”
I prepare myself for a slew of answers—I’m married, I’m in the mob, I’m secretly attracted to Bigfoot, one time I was abducted by aliens but they sent me back home because I was too weird.
“I have epilepsy.”
Oh. Did not expect that. “You don’t need to confess it like you committed murder.” I lean back in the seat and give him a smirk, trying to play that line between comforting and ‘dude, I think you’re overreacting.’
He shakes his head. “Yeah, it’s manageable when I’m on the right medication. But one bad seizure could kill me.”
“I’m assuming that’s the med no longer covered under your insurance, hence why you think you’re going to die. Got it.”
He squints. “I don’t think you’re taking this seriously.”
I wave my hands in front of my face. “No, I am. It’s very serious.” All the gears are clicking into place and I get it. “Is that why you had your friend ask me out for you?”
He dips his head. “Yeah.”
“So that means we can’t go to any raves. That’s not my scene anyway.” He doesn’t seem to be too impressed with my causal attitude about it. I’m just trying to assure him that it’s not a big deal. “Besides meds and avoiding bright lights, are there any other treatment options?”
He takes another bite of his pizza after saying, “Well there’s diet, which I am clearly not following, implants, and surgery.”
“All of that sounds expensive.”
“Yep.” He drinks his soda and leans back in the chair. A pizza crust remains behind on his plate. He’s not going to eat that? But the crust is the best part. It’s your reward for eating the whole slice.
I point to his finger. “I thought you were going to say you were married.”
He pulls his hands off the table and his expression changes—sadder, softer. “I’m no longer married. It happened about a year ago.” He blushes. “You’re the first date I’ve been on.”
“Fuuuuuuuuuuck,” I whisper. Mind blown. “Okay—crash course on dating: everyone sucks. Sometimes they’re cute, but they don’t show the right emotions when someone shares something deeply personal and they deflect with humor because it’s easier than being vulnerable again.”
He folds his pizza in half and points it at me, making a little circle with it but the tip flops over. “So that’s what this is?”
“Yep. Emotional detachment. It’s safer until trust can be earned. Oh and don’t worry about the tan line on your finger, I’ve seen guys on the dating scene have them.”
He takes a bite and chews for a few minutes. “Sounds like I’m not the only one with issues.”
“I have more baggage than an airport.” He doesn’t pry or ask follow-ups, which makes me want to give him all the gory details of my life. “Shitty ex, big, mean, always lying, taking my money, breaking promises, all that shit.”
I don’t mention the bruises or the time he choked me until I blacked out.
And that wasn’t enough for me to leave him.
There wasn’t one big pivot moment of self-confidence.
I saw an opportunity one day and took it.
I left him and most of my furniture, took my name off the lease, and started a new life on the other side of the city.
Hell, I even changed offices so it would be harder for him to find me.
But Ryan isn’t like that. He closes his eyes and says, “I’m sorry you went through that.”
I start eating and we both take a few bites in silence.
“Let’s talk about fun stuff.” And we do.
Movies, memes, music. The rest of the night is legit fun.
We walk around a park for a little while, the chilly air and the autumn leaves, with the ever-present smell of pumpkin spice.
This feels like it could be in a Hallmark movie. It’s kinda perfect.
Once we’re at my car, he pushes his light-brown hair out of the way and shifts nervously from side to side. I know this anxiety—Fox gives it to me all the time. It's oddly powerful but sort of mean to put Ryan through it. “Will you be eating dinner again, say, same time next week?” I ask.
He blushes. “I will be. Maybe we can go someplace with metal forks and a menu that isn’t sticky.”
I put my hand on my chest and toss my hair over my shoulder. “You spoil me, sir.”
Then I see it—the change. There’s a shift from carefree laughter to something darker, needier. I haven’t seen anything like that in so long. Fox might look at me like that, but the mask hides it. I know I like it.
Ryan steps closer into my space, placing his hand on the hood of the car—not really trapping me, but securing me in place.
He leans in and I meet him halfway. The kiss starts slow and light.
Not quite chaste, but not hot and passionate.
It’s permission, consent. Fox has never kissed me like this.
His kisses are hard and rough. They make me feel wanted and needed.
Ryan’s kiss is different—there’s longing and hope.
Then his fingers snake through my hair, keeping me locked in his embrace, and I want more.
But he loosens his grip and pulls away. His eyes are still closed and his cheeks have a dash of pink.
He’s the freaking cutest ever. “I’ll pick someplace nice.
” His hand drops to the car door and he opens it. “Get home safe, Amber.”
“You too.”
Once I’m strapped in and the car is on, he closes the door and steps back. I roll down the window for one last goodbye. “I’ll text you later.” I secretly wish for a time machine to make next week happen now, but I don’t want to push my luck.
By the time I’m walking through the front door of my apartment complex, there’s a text from Fox.
Fox: We good?
Me: Yeah.
We are. Ryan is different—kind and warm. But Fox is raw and primal.
Me: You wanna meet at the club soon?
Fox: Were you a good girl?
Me: I’m not seeing him for another week.
Me: You’re the only one who gets to fuck me.
Me: For now.
Fox: I'd better bring my A game.
Me: You always do.
I hop in the shower and try to wash the day away. Fifteen minutes later, I come back to my phone to check if there’re any more texts from Ryan or Fox.
One missed call. - unknown number.
An old dread claws out of my stomach and into my throat.
I thought this part of my life was over.
The next hour is spent trying to rationalize and affirm my safety.
Bo can’t find me. I changed my SIM card, deleted all social media, and moved to the opposite side of the city.
I am safe. Meathead, Bad Breath, and Small Dick found me by accident.
It was bad luck, not a coordinated track-down.
They aren’t smart enough. Bo moved on to someone else. He can’t find me. I’m safe.
But while I’m trying to figure out my future, my past haunts me.