First

Cat and I always eat breakfast together; it’s a ritual we started back when I first moved in. Breakfast was the meal that made her miss her parents the most. I’d never experienced a breakfast that didn’t involve trying to sober up my old man the morning after he beat the hell out of me. With those factors in play, creating new memories to fight off the old was positive for both of us.

Normally our breakfast conversations are about stupid crap. I mock her new nail polish and she complains about my music. We joke around and go our separate ways, Jake flitting in and out because of his work schedule, and life goes on.

Except this morning she walked in as I was finishing up, scrunched up that adorable nose of hers, and told me, ‘I’ve been thinking about it and I’ve decided you’re the perfect guy to de-virginise me.’

The good news? I was a gentleman. I told her no. She doesn’t need to know there’s nothing more I’d like than to take her to bed and never let her leave. Oh, the other positive was I didn’t choke on my apple. The bad news? Now that she’s brought up her scheme, I know she’s not going to leave it alone. That’s not how Cat works.

Which is why I’m more than a little nervous when she knocks on the door leading out here to the attached garage and calls, ‘Dally? You out here?’ even though it’s obvious I am.

She comes out without invitation and my gut clenches when her eyes drift hungrily over me. I wipe my hands off on a rag and go to the radio, turning down the rock music I’ve been blasting to keep my mind busy. ‘Whatcha need, brown eyes?’

It takes her a moment to look away from my hands. ‘You said you didn’t know if you’d be around for dinner.’

‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ I say, checking my hands one more time. Did I miss some grease or something?

She can’t hide her feelings worth a damn. A song’s notes pop into my mind—Hey, jealousy—

Her eyes narrow. ‘How lovely. None of your friends called?’

I could be cruel right now. I could tell her I haven’t hooked up with anyone in three months and let

her squirm. But then she’d ask why not. I’d have to explain I woke up out of the blue one night and was on my way to the kitchen for water when I’d passed her room. That I’d heard her breathy moans and had cracked the door, ready to yell to Jake upstairs before busting in and killing someone. That the sound of my name on her lips when she climaxed and my realisation of what she was doing had left me abandoning her door and running toward the bathroom for the coldest shower I could stand.

But bringing that up would only deter her initially. Eventually her brilliant, analytical mind would figure out that I’d just admitted I was more than a little interested and she’d double her efforts. Or show up naked in my bed or some other equally ridiculous scheme that would probably work.

Yeah. Definitely better to lie.

‘Catty much? No, none of them called. So, what’s the plan?’

She shrugs and steps further into my sanctuary, inspecting the work I’m doing on my bike. ‘I ordered pizza if you want some.’

I don’t trust her. She’s being too complacent. ‘Sure.’

I start to head inside, but as I pass her she steps in my way, forcing me to draw up before we collide. Her fingers reach out and trace down the words inked into my arm. She’s never touched me like this. That simple, slow slide is like having a live wire dragged over my skin.

‘Invictus … Why’d you chose this poem?’

I can’t pull away, can’t show weakness. But unless she moves and I get past the scent of the flowery shampoo and warm sugar body scrub she loves to use, a cold shower won’t be enough this time. I’m going to have to ice my balls.

‘I like it.’

‘That’s it?’

‘Yep.’

She makes a huff of irritation, but finally pulls her hand back and heads back into the house. ‘I ordered you the meat lover’s.’

‘Thanks.’

I order my dick to stand down and take a few deep breaths. Cat’s clearly upping the stakes. I need divine intervention or I’m not going to survive till Arizona.

***

‘For the love of all that’s holy, it shouldn’t be this hard!’ I complain as I pace the kitchen.

I grab a paper plate off the counter and fan myself with desperation. I am way too flushed for such a simple interlude.

Dally in low-slung, ripped jeans and a tight t-shirt. I didn’t want to scare him, ruin my chances for good, so I compromised. Instead of dragging his shirt off and licking my way down his abs, I focused on his tattoo. Allowed myself the guilty pleasure of touching it, following it down his arm. And he’d watched my finger the entire time with an intensity I’ve never seen on his face before, not even when he’s working on his bike.