Chapter 8 Bronson
brONSON
Of all the secrets and possible lies that had flitted through my head, Lincoln turning into a freaking wild animal was not one of them.
If wild was the correct term. I hadn’t stuck around long enough to know if he was a panther body with a Lincoln brain or if he was a full-on, “I will eat you for dinner” wild animal.
I hadn’t stuck around for anything. I went into full-on panic mode and booked it out of there like my life depended on it. I couldn't imagine how that had made Lincoln feel.
And the messed-up part was my initial panic, the one that had me running out the door, hadn’t been because he grew fur.
No, it had been that stupid caption on that stupid picture he sent me that stupid night.
I’ll show you mine, if you’ll show me yours.
Was that the equivalent of sending a nude?
Had he sent a “nude” to his ex that day and had it end up with me?
The thought of that possibility had me wanting to puke.
There was a whole lot to unpack about that, and I wanted to ignore all of it.
Once again, I was getting green eyes over the ex of someone I had no right to be possessive of.
We weren’t even dating. Our relationship had been one hundred percent about me getting the panther I’d thought was held in captivity to a safe place.
It wasn’t until I got home and was standing under the hot shower that I found some clarity. I’d been trying to figure out how everything had gone so terribly wrong when my focus started leaning more toward the fact that Lincoln wasn’t human and less toward his ex and my feelings involving that.
Lincoln was a cat. A huge-ass cat. At least part of the time he was.
As I fled, I’d promised I’d never tell, that I’d keep his secret, and I meant it.
But as time ticked on, that didn’t feel like enough.
Sure, he’d made a foolish-assed mistake sending a picture of himself.
It didn’t matter who it was to… that kind of thing shouldn’t be on a digital footprint, that was for sure.
That picture answered a question I had as to if he was the only one out there. Obviously, he wasn’t, because “show me yours” meant that his ex was also a panther. Or maybe another animal? Were there others out there? Every time I scratched away at what happened, I got more and more questions.
It had been about a week since I ran off on him, and the first day, he didn’t contact me at all… not that I blamed him. I ran off and treated him like a freak.
If only he knew I had been the freak in that situation, letting my stupid jealousy get the best of me.
I couldn’t say for sure that I wouldn’t have reacted the same had jealousy not reared its ugly head, that I wouldn’t have panicked over the fact that he was a man one minute and on four paws with a long tail the next.
I had no idea how that would’ve played out.
That day, I’d struggled with a lot of what had happened.
But what was hardest for me was not hearing from him.
I missed him, as illogical as that was. I barely knew him, and we’d spent less than a handful of hours together, total, since we met.
Still, I longed to have him by my side. And it only got worse as the days ticked by.
More than once, I thought to text him. But say what? That I missed him? That was creepy at best. So instead, I checked my phone a thousand times and wondered if he was thinking about me at all.
Finally, when I looked down there was a message. It came during the workday, and I didn’t get it till the end. Do you still need me to help with your mom?
That was it. I ignored it, unsure how to respond, but I appreciated the sweetness of it. Even after I ran away, he was willing to help me. Asking him had been a foolish thing in the first place. I knew how to be firm with my mother. There was no reason for me to have pulled that in the first place.
The next day, his text had a different feel to it, a simple thinking of you and a picture of his coffee at the shop we’d met at that day. Once again, he gave me an easy opening to chat with him, like I’d been longing to for days. And once again I ignored it, not knowing the best way to respond.
The next message he sent was an apology. Sorry I scared you.
The thing was, that wasn’t it. He hadn’t scared me, not in the truest sense of the word, and definitely not for the reasons he thought. This time, I finally knew how to respond, the need to comfort him helped me break through my fear of making a huge dumpster fire out of the situation.
I’m not scared. I kept it short and simple.
He replied almost instantly, which was the exact opposite of what I’d been doing. I’m glad. I hated to think that I had.
I hit the call button and put it on speaker. Sending a picture of his animal form was a horrible idea, and talking about it via text felt equally bad. Talking about it was better.
“Hey,” he said on the other end of the line, with so much emotion in his voice that I couldn’t pick out exactly which ones. It was like this mesh of happy, sad, and a little confused.
“So, remember how I had all those binders?” If only he’d known it wasn’t the first time. He’d been saved by my data collecting at the coffee shop.
“I do.” At least this time, there was a little humor in his voice. And fair, that had been ridiculous.
“Well, I’m kind of a data kind of guy, as that shows.
I thought maybe we could get together, and you could tell me more about all of this.
Like, explain it to me, and I could ask questions.
And I promise not to run away. What do you think?
Could we maybe do that?” I was talking a mile a minute, but I knew if I stopped, I wouldn’t get it all out.
“Yeah, of course we can.”
Was that relief I was hearing? Had he been as worried about this situation as I was?
“And I meant it about your mother. I can be your boyfriend.”
It didn’t go unnoted that he hadn’t said pretend in there.
“I appreciate that, but let’s take one step at a time. Why don’t you come over to my place? We could… I don’t know… but for the record, I won’t run.”
“Yeah, I could do that. Just tell me the time and the place.”
I hadn’t thought the offer through at all when I’d made it. After we hung up, I shot him a text and gave him the address and asked him to come over the next night. He instantly replied letting me know he’d be there and to let him know if I wanted him to bring anything.
And just like that, it felt like a date, and I found myself cleaning and dusting as if I were. I wanted the place to be perfect for him. It was a small apartment, nothing fancy, but it was very much me in personality.
The next day, I went to the store and got some food to make a simple dinner for us. Was I acting like this was a date? I absolutely was. Was it a date? Of course it wasn’t. This was just information-seeking, nothing more.
Only it felt like everything more. So much more.
I opted for an easy dinner, one that could wait if we were ready to talk or be ready quickly.
I had just about finished cooking when he came to the door.
I opened it and did something I wasn’t expecting, something I wasn’t planning…
I threw my arms around him, holding him close and rubbing my cheek against his.
I quickly schooled myself and pulled back.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that. ”
I waited for a cocky response, something along the lines of, “What’s wrong? Is it because I’m so hot?” But he didn’t say it. Instead, he walked straight inside. “It smells great in here. Thanks for inviting me. Should we get on with the interrogation?”
“I’m not going to interrogate you, but I do have some questions.”
“Some or a lot?”
I had to chuckle. “A whole lot.”
“Then it’s a good thing I have all night.”
And in that moment, I wanted that “all night” to be a lot more than talking.