Chapter 10 #3
I roll my eyes, but I’m giggling when I scoop some onto the wooden spoon and offer it to him. He accepts without hesitation, lips brushing the spoon. My stomach does a ridiculous little flip.
“So,” he says, casually. “How did practice go with Holt?”
The spoon freezes halfway to my mouth. “Oh, great. All ready.”
Arrow arches a brow. “You’re a terrible liar. That bad?”
“No!” I say quickly. “It actually went well. Just… me being awkward.”
“Hmm.” He tilts his head. “So, what’d you do last night?”
I glance sideways at him. “Why?”
“Just wondering if you were thinking about me.”
I scoff, blushing. “What were you doing last night?”
“Tearing out old floorboards.”
“What?”
“The dining room in our house had this horrible fake oak vinyl. We’re putting in reclaimed pine from a century-old schoolhouse.”
“Wow. That’s… intense.”
“You’ll see it soon.”
I blink. “I will?”
He shrugs. “You know. Maybe. Dinner. Something like that.”
I glance down to hide my smile, then look back up only to find him closer. Not touching me, but in my space. His nose dips slightly, his eyes on my neck.
“Did you just… did you just scent me?”
Arrow pulls back with a slow grin. “You caught me. Sneaky, huh?”
“What’s your deal?”
He takes a beat too long to answer, then says, “I think you’re my scent match.”
I stare. “You too, huh?”
“It’s not just me being a romantic. I know what I smell.”
“Well, like I told Holt, that discussion is on the back burner. I need to survive today before I can take on anything else.”
He lifts both hands in mock surrender. “Of course. I’m not going to push you. But I’m not going to let you get away either.”
And damn him, he says it with a smile that melts me straight through.
“Holt mentioned your brother,” I say, trying to change the subject. “Is he living in town?”
Arrow’s expression doesn’t flicker, but his answer is short. “He is temporarily.”
“You two close?”
“Used to be.”
I study him. “You don’t want to talk about him.”
He shrugs, noncommittal. “Some stories aren’t ready to be told.”
“I get that.” I hesitate. “I have a sister. Juliette. We don’t get along. She married some Alpha and moved to Northern Europe. She was happy to go, and I was happy to let her.”
He glances at me, then nods slowly. “Yeah. I get that.”
“If you’re finished, I’ll give you a lift home.”
That would be perfect.
I follow him to the lot heading for a lone motorbike. Sleek. Matte black. Parked at the far edge, near the bushland. Away from other cars.
“Wait. You want me to get on that?”
He grins. “You can.”
“I’ve never?—”
“You’ll be fine. I’ve got compartments for the groceries.”
He loads the food, then pulls a second helmet from a side pack.
“Trust me.” Something inside me shifts. Maybe I’m still high on the market buzz. Or it’s the way he looks at me. Perhaps it’s just me, tired of always playing it safe.
“You know what? I can. I’ve always wanted to try.”
His eyes darken slightly. “Love that.”
He holds out the helmet. I slide it on, adjusting the strap, then shrug my backpack through both arms. He climbs on and pats the back seat.
My heart hammers as I step closer, grab his shoulders, and swing my leg over. The seat is narrow, close. My thighs hug his. My chest presses into his back.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, one hand dropping to my thigh and squeezing. “Hold on.”
I do. I wrap my arms around his waist and feel the rumble of the engine as he starts the bike. And then we’re moving, the world blurring into wind and heat and thrill.
I laugh, loud, wild, free. “Oh my God, this is amazing!”
He pats my hands, steadying me. “I knew you’d love it.”
I lean with him into the corners, try not to melt into him entirely. But there’s no space. My breasts are flush against his back, and I feel every movement of his muscles as we ride.
And I never want it to stop.
“Hold on, sweetheart,” he says over his shoulder, voice muffled but unmistakably cocky. “I take corners like I mean it.”
We lean into a turn, and I can’t help but laugh, riding the wave of pure adrenaline. The world tilts with us, and I swear I feel the curve in my stomach, in my toes, in places I shouldn’t be feeling anything right now.
“You good back there?” he calls, and I swear he’s grinning. I can hear it.
“I’m amazing,” I shout. “This is insane!”
We weave through the last stretch toward my townhouse, the world blurring by in a rush of green trees, cracked pavement, and late-summer haze. His hand slides down, fingers brushing my thigh again for a moment. It’s so casual. So intimate. So maddeningly hot.
I have no idea what’s happening to me.
When we finally pull into the driveway, the bike jerks to a smooth stop. The engine cuts out, and suddenly everything is too quiet. Too still. The only thing louder than the silence is the rush in my head and the tingle between my legs.
I climb off the bike, wobbly, my legs barely functioning. My thighs are trembling. My knees weak.
Oh God.
Did I just orgasm from a motorcycle?
No. No, of course not.
Probably.
Definitely maybe. I take my helmet off.
Arrow swings off like he’s done this a thousand times, and let’s be honest, he probably has, but then he turns and takes my helmet from me. His blond hair is tangled at the nape of his neck.
He’s watching me, his helmet now in his other hand, his eyes hooded and hungry and way too knowing. I try not to stare at his mouth as he smirks.
“You all right?” he asks as he stashes the spare helmet in one of the compartments.
I clear my throat. “Yeah, for sure. I mean, except for the part where I now need cold water and a rest.”
He chuckles. “That bad, huh?”
“That good.”
And now I’ve said too much. I snap my mouth shut.
Arrow steps closer. Just a fraction. But it’s enough that I feel it.
“I’ll take you for a ride anytime,” he says, his tone low. “Even if you ever wanna ride me instead.”
My soul leaves my body.
I blink at him. “Did you just?—”
“Oh, yeah.”
I squeak out a laugh. My face is on fire. Literal flames.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
He winks, then reaches into the side compartment of the bike and starts pulling out the bag of fresh produce I bought at the market. He doesn’t even comment on how I’m standing there, completely frozen, heart doing an Olympic sprint in my chest while my thighs are plotting to betray me again.
He hands me a bag, his fingers graze mine, and I practically drop it.
“Butterfingers,” he teases.
“Bike fingers,” I mutter.
He grins widely. “You just say the sexiest things.”
“I doubt that.”
He’s leaning in close so his breath brushes my ear. “You smell like peaches.”
My knees buckle a little.
He pulls back slowly, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Well,” I say, voice too breathy, “I’d better get inside before I melt.”
“Want help with the door?”
“Nope,” I squeak. “I got it. Definitely got it.”
He watches me fumble for the keys like it’s the most entertaining thing he’s seen all week.
“I’ll see you soon, pretty girl,” he says as he straddles his bike again, voice smooth and heavy with implication. “Anytime you need a ride?—”
“Arrow!”
He revs the engine, helmet on. “Just call.”
And with that, he peels down the street, his long hair whipping in the wind, the roar of his bike echoing in my bones like a goddamn mating call.
I watch him go, biting my lip. Still breathless.
Who is this man?
Since when do I fall for bikers?
I stare after him until he vanishes around the bend. Only then do I tear my gaze away and hurry inside with my arms full, cheeks flushed, thighs still humming from the vibrations, and my heart completely out of sync with reality.
Dark past or no, I am so screwed.
I barely get the door closed before I hear the slosh.
Water?
I frown, bag still in my arms, and turn toward the kitchen.
There he is.
Perched like a furry king on my dining table, his massive black tail curled elegantly around his enormous paws, the big fluffy beast is casually sipping from my glass of water.
“Oh, for crying out loud, General Flufferton!”
He pauses mid-sip, blinks at me with those piercing green eyes, then chirps like an offended pigeon.
“Don’t you give me attitude,” I say, setting the grocery bags down and marching over. “How the hell did you get in here?”
He chirps again, clearly unbothered, then stretches, his full, lion-sized body arching with dramatic flair, and jumps down.
It’s not graceful. It’s a flop. But an elegant flop, as only a Maine Coon can manage.
He saunters over and immediately rubs himself against my leg like he hasn’t just been trespassing and stealing my beverages.
I sigh, crouch, and scoop him up. He’s so heavy that I grunt under the effort, but his fur is like warm silk, his purring thunderous against my chest.
“You are not a small creature,” I murmur, pressing my nose into the thick fluff around his neck. “You’re a sofa in cat form.”
He mrrrows in response, rubbing his cheek against mine like we’re lovers reunited after war.
“You charming little burglar.”
General Flufferton technically belongs to Mrs. Meadow next door. But he’s made my place his second home ever since I moved in, sometimes staying three, even four nights at a time. Especially when I break out the rotisserie chicken.
I glance toward the back door.
Still locked.
“Seriously, when did you sneak in?”
He yawns in my face.
I cradle him with one arm and head toward the place next door. Mrs. Meadow has lived here forever, always tending her garden in a wide-brimmed hat and bright lipstick. But she mentioned moving in with her son’s family.
I step outside and cross the short walkway to her door, still holding the purring beast like he’s my emotional support animal.
I knock.
No answer.
“Mrs. Meadow?” I call.
Nothing.
I step back and glance up at the windows.
No curtains.
My stomach dips. “Wait,” I whisper, glancing down at Flufferton. “Did she… leave you?”
The cat meows, sharp and insistent.
“Oh my God. You were supposed to move too, weren’t you?”
He chirps and bumps his head against my chin, like he knows exactly what I’m saying. I look back at the window. Bare. Empty.
She’s gone.
“You poor thing.” I kiss the top of his giant, fuzzy head. “Okay, okay. Let’s find out what’s going on.”
Back inside, I grab my phone and scroll to the message Mrs. Meadow’s son sent me weeks ago, the one with his number. I’d helped watch General Flufferton when she last visited them for the weekend. Hopefully, he still has the same number.
I tap it and pace, heart fluttering with nerves.
He picks up on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Hi, this is Cindy from next door to your mom. Sorry to call out of the blue but—uh—General Flufferton’s in my kitchen.”
A pause. “He’s alive?”
I blink. “Yes? Wait, you were looking for him?”
Another pause, then rustling. “Hang on. I’ll get her.”
There’s a muffled call for “Ma! Cindy’s got the cat!” and then a click.
“Oh, sweet heavens above, thank God.” Her voice trembles. “Cindy? Is he all right?”
“He’s purring like a lawn mower and already drank from my water glass.”
She laughs. “That boy. I couldn’t find him before we left. I thought he’d come back in, but… he didn’t. I was devastated. I meant to leave him with my sister.”
My heart twists.
“I’m so glad you found him,” she says. “I miss him terribly, but… my daughter-in-law is allergic, and, well, we are already moved and he never did like car rides.”
General Flufferton meows again from his perch on my counter, grooming one giant paw like none of this drama concerns him.
“He’s been staying with me a lot lately,” I say softly. “More than with you, honestly.”
Mrs. Meadow laughs. “I always suspected he liked your place better. All those toys and that silly feather thing you bought.”
“He lives for the feather thing.”
There’s a long, quiet moment. I hear her sigh.
“He loves you, dear. I can tell. I’m just so glad he’s safe.”
Another pause.
“Will you…” Her voice cracks. “Will you love him as much as I did? He may be better at your place than with my sister, who has two dogs.”
I look at him. Big, black, fluffy menace of a cat with a chirpy meow and a purr that sounds like a truck engine. He blinks slowly at me, then jumps down and butts his head against my leg again, curling his tail around my calf.
“Of course,” I whisper. “You can come visit him anytime.”
“Oh, thank you, sweetheart. That means everything to me.” There’s a pause.
“Oh dear, I almost forgot to mention! Since I moved out, the power company is scheduled to shut off my service sometime this week. But you know how these old townhouses are… Wouldn’t be surprised if that causes you to have a blackout because of me.
Like the time I plugged in my bread maker and took out both our fuses. ”
I blink. Wait. Was that why the lights went out the other night?
We say our goodbyes and hang up, and just like that… I have a cat.
I stare down at General Flufferton. He meows like it’s about time I figured it out.
I scratch behind his ear. “That’s one more thing my mother is going to disapprove of.”