Page 10 of Hell's Kitten

“Uh, right. Okay, then.”

I jog around to the driver’s side and unlock the car so we can both get in. He immediately pushes his seat back so his knees aren’t shoved up against the dash. Why is that so hot? Parker was a bit taller and bulkier than me, but I never found it a turn-on. Probably best to just ignore how I’m feeling.

“Sorry,” I mumble at the teeny size of my car. He shrugs and reaches for his seatbelt, so I follow suit.

Naturally, I have an air freshener in the shape of a paw and a stuffie purple kitty sitting on the dash. Out of the corner of my eye I see him take in both, but of course he doesn’t say anything. Well, he knows I’m cat crazy, just like he knows I slept in here last night. He’s fully aware of what he’s getting himself into.

I’m able to drive us back toward the café without the need for directions, but as we get closer, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. There’s a little on-street parking, but not much. He points and juts his chin.

“Left.”

I see a small side alley, so I signal and take us down there. We end up behind the stores with the dumpsters—but also a handful of parking spaces, some of which are empty.

“There,” he says as he jabs his finger at one of the vacant ones.

“Oh…it doesn’t belong to anyone?” I check even though I’m already pulling in.

“Yeah, me,” he grunts.

“Oh, right. And, um, you don’t need it for your own car?”

I glance over just in time to witness the barest hint of a smile twitch at his lips. “No. That’s mine.”

I look back at where he’s pointing this time, and my eyebrows rise as I bring the car to a stop and pull the parking brake up. Against the building, tucked in between the dumpster and the back of Toe Beans, is an enormous black motorcycle that makes my heart race just looking at it.

“You ride that?” I splutter.

This time, he gives me an actual smile, even if his lips are still pressed together. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Come on.”

He leaves me sitting in the car for a moment, my jaw hanging slightly open as I look at the Harley-Davidson for another few seconds. I’m equally terrified and enthralled by it. What must it feel like speeding along the open road on that thing?

When I realize he’s opened up the trunk, I leap out of the car and rush over to him. “Oh, you don’t have to…” I protest weakly, but he’s already gotten out my suitcase and a number of bags and boxes. I thought I packed pretty light, all things considered. But looking at all my stuff now and thinking about it in a stranger’s space, I feel it’s a huge amount.

Hang on a minute. Whereishe planning to take it all?

“Huh. Are you…giving me a cat bed?” I joke. But seriously—if I have to sleep in the café, I will. It’ll be safer and more horizontal than Purrsephone, that’s for sure.

He grunts again, but this time it sounds a little bit more like a laugh. “I live up there.” He points above the café, and my eyebrows rise once more.

“No way,” I say as I exhale. “That’s so cool.”

He gives me that same sideways glance he did when I said that Toe Beans was awesome. I hope he doesn’t think I’m being sarcastic, because I’m really not. The idea of living above your job is awesome because in theory, you’d never be late.

But more importantly, that means he’s right next to the cats that live in the café. That warms me from the inside. Those kitties have got to live an odd life with people coming and going all the time. It feels like the café—specifically, Nim—really does have their best interests at heart.

He looks between us and all my stuff. “I think we’re gonna need two trips,” he says.

“I’m so sorry—” I begin.

“Stop that,” he says firmly, frowning at me. I gulp and repress a full-body shiver. Why is thatalsohot? “I volunteered to help. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“Um, okay,” I say softly. “Thank you.”

He hums and grabs a stack of boxes in one arm and my suitcase in another. My eyes feel like they’re bugging out of my head as I watch him walk toward the building, thinking about how much that all weighs. Then I come back to my senses and pick up a few things myself before closing the trunk and hurrying after him.

In an impressive move, he manages to get his keys out of his pocket and open the door all while still juggling my crap. I follow him up the stairs to the next story, where again, he singlehandedly lets us into his apartment.

I’m sure there is furniture and doors and windows and stuff. That’s kind of the definition of an apartment, right?

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