Page 24 of Hunter

“Fuck,” he groans, throwing one arm over his eyes. “Hate cats. Tell your demon to stay away from me.”

Sofia, who has never liked anyone except me and occasionally Lucy on her best behavior, takes one look at the large, warm body now occupying her favorite spot and decides this is the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

She launches herself onto the couch like a tiny black missile, climbs straight up Hunter’s leg, and curls into a perfect loaf right in the middle of his lap. Her loud, rumbling purr starts immediately, vibrating through his thigh as she kneads his stomach with her white-socked paws like she’s making biscuits in the world’s grumpiest dough.

Hunter freezes.

“The fuck?” he mutters, lifting his arm to stare down at the traitor currently claiming him. “I said I hate cats.”

Sofia blinks slowly at him, then headbutts his chest once, hard, before settling in with a contented sigh, her purr only getting louder.

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Sofia doesn’t usually like anyone. Consider yourself special.”

Hunter glares at the cat as if she personally offended him, but he doesn’t push her off. One of his big hands twitches, then slowly comes to rest on her back, awkward and tentative, like he’s not sure what to do with something so small and warm.

“She’s… vibrating,” he grumbles. “This is weird. Make it stop.”

“She’s purring because she likes you,” I say, unable to hide the smile creeping into my voice. “Traitorous little beast. She usually hides from everyone.”

Hunter mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “demonic fur-ball,” but his hand stays on Sofia’s back, fingers absently stroking along her spine. The big, grumpy firefighter who just threw up in a public trash can is now being held hostage by a cat who has decided he’s her new favorite person.

It’s absurd.

It’s also kind of adorable.

I kick off my shoes and head to the kitchenette to get him a glass of water, trying not to think too hard about the fact that I just brought a drunk, grieving man into my tiny apartment against every ounce of better judgment I possess.

Hunter’s voice drifts from the couch. “You’re still trouble, pretty boy.”

I glance over my shoulder. He’s sprawled there, one arm behind his head, Sofia curled contentedly in his lap like she belongs there, his free hand still absently petting her.

“Yeah,” I murmur, more to myself than to him. “I know.”

And right now, looking at the way his big, calloused hand looks so gentle on my cat’s back, I’m not sure which one of us is in more trouble. But I’m going to guess it’s me.

I really am going to need to put up some personal boundaries and stick to them. And I will. In the morning. What kind of person would I be if I just left him in the state he had been in? Not the kind of person I want to be, that’s for sure.

“Does your wound need new bandages?” I ask, keeping my voice light. “There’s a Walgreens a block over. I can go grab some stuff.”

Hunter grunts, the sound low and grumpy, his hand still moving slowly over Sofia’s back even as he scowls at the ceiling. “Don’t need shit. I’m fine. Just… leave it.”

I tilt my head, reading the gruff tone for exactly what it is—stubborn refusal wrapped in exhaustion. “That’s a yes. Got it.”

He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “bossy little shit,” but doesn’t actually stop me when I grab my keys and wallet. Sofia lifts her head, gives me a betrayed look for leaving her with the large warm body she’s claimed, then settles back down with a dramatic sigh, purring even louder as if to say she’s perfectly happy right where she is and she no longer needs me.

Traitor.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes,” I call over my shoulder as I head for the door. “Try not to throw up on my couch while I’m gone.”

Another grunt. “No promises.”

The night air is cooler now as I jog the block to Walgreens, the fluorescent lights inside too bright after the dim apartment. I grab fresh gauze, antibiotic ointment, painkillers (just in case), and a bottle of Gatorade because drunk guys need electrolytes. The cashier gives me a sympathetic look when I pay, like she knows exactly what kind of night I’m having.

When I get back, the apartment is quiet except for Sofia’s loud purring. Hunter is still sprawled on the couch, eyes half-closed, one big hand resting on my cat’s back like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I set the bag down on the coffee table and pull out the supplies. Then move over to the sink to wash my hands. Before moving back over to him, I grab a washcloth and a bowl of warm soapy water and carry it over, setting it down on the table.

“Sit up,” I say gently. “Let me change the bandage before it gets infected.”