Depends on the day. Tonight, I could kill for a brownie. Or a cinnamon roll, or… both.
@HalfWritten:
You’re trying to ruin me. I could practically taste that just now.
I laugh again, leaning back against the bench as the waves curl and crash.
@OneLastLine:
Consider it my revenge for making me smile at my phone like an idiot in public.
@HalfWritten:
Then I’ll take it.
A smile from you sounds like a fair trade.
The words make something flutter in my chest, light and stupid and wonderful.
We talk a little more—about long days, about how sometimes it feels like life is all work and no play, about how the ocean looks prettier at night than in the morning. Nothing that could give away who we are or what we do, but enough to feel… close, and I feel like someone actually sees me.
I stand from the bench, brushing the sand from the back of my shorts, my phone still warm in my hand. Butterflies swirl in my stomach, ridiculous and traitorous, all because of one little message from a man I don’t even know.
I turn and slam straight into a wall.
Or, at least, that’s what it feels like. The air whooshes out of me as I stumble back, but two strong hands catch my arms before I can completely lose my balance. My fingers curl instinctively,gripping the barest hint of hard muscle through warm skin. I look up, and all I see are stormy-gray eyes staring right down into mine.
Rogue.
He’s in a black sleeveless shirt, his shoulders broad enough to block out the sun, his arms flexing where he steadies me. Through the open sides of the shirt, I catch an obscene view of his torso. Every line of muscle, cut sharp as if carved by the gods themselves.
“Rogue…” My voice is barely more than a whisper. His hands are still on my arms, steady and warm, my pulse hammering in my ears. For a second, neither of us move.
“Catalina,” he rumbles.
“It’s… Cat.” I manage, trying to reclaim some air, some balance, some shred of sanity.
He tilts his head, a hint of mischief flickering in the depths of his gray eyes. “Might as well call you kitten.”
Chapter 7
Excuse me? My brain short-circuits, trying to reconcile the six-foot-four wall of muscle in front of me calling me … kitten.
I blink up at him, still steadying myself in his grip.God, when did his hands get so big?“Did you just… call me a kitten?”
The corner of his mouth twitches, as if he’s daring me to notice. “Aye. You look like one, all small and away with the fairies. Nearly walked straight into traffic, or worse, into me.”
I huff, crossing my arms, though I can still feel the ghost of his hands on my skin. “You came out of nowhere. Maybe wear a bell if you’re going to sneak up on people.”
“Not sneakin’.” His voice is low, rough, vibrating straight through me, settling deep in my ribs. He shifts his weight, hands sliding into his jogger pockets, his shirt pulling just enough toflash a strip of skin at his side. Every line of him is coiled and controlled. “Just walkin’. Clearin’ my head.”
He smells of soap and something darker underneath. Clean, sharp, the kind of scent that makes you want to lean closer instead of pull away.
“Oh.”Brilliant, Cat. Truly stunning conversational skills.
He nods toward the ocean behind me, the last streaks of sunset glinting off the waves. “You run here?”
“Yeah.” I tuck a strand of hair into my ponytail, pretending my pulse isn’t sprinting. “Helps me reset after a long day.”
