Page 26 of Hunter

Hunter doesn’t protest this time. He just lets out a long, tired sigh and mutters, “Demon fur-ball.”

I smile despite everything, the sight of my anti-social cat curled happily on this large, grumpy man is almost comical.

And I really shouldn’t like seeing it.

Chapter 10

Hunter

A pounding rattles inside my skull as though someone’s taking a sledgehammer to the back of my eyes.

Hangover. Obviously. I deserve it.

I groan and try to roll over, but something warm and heavy is pinning me down on my bare chest. The weight shifts, lets out a tiny, indignant meow, and then settles again with a loud, rumbling purr that vibrates straight through my sternum.

What the fuck?

I crack open one eye. Sunlight is stabbing through the window as if it has a personal grudge. The room I’m in is small, there’s a bed tucked in the corner and an easel against the far wall. My shirt is missing, so are my shoes. I’m sprawled on a couch that’s too short for my legs, and a small black cat with white socks is curled on my chest as though she owns the spot.

The night before comes back in pieces.

The group session. Bailing after listening to Charlie tell the room he was raped. Puking in a trash can…twice. Then him bringing me here and taking care of me. And the fucking desire that my drunk brain wouldn’t let go of.

“Fuck,” I rasp.

The cat lifts her head, blinks at me slowly, then headbutts my sternum like she’s personally offended I’m awake and ruining her nap. Her purr kicks up another notch, loud and smug, as if to say you’re mine now, big guy.

I don’t push her off. My hand moves on its own, settling on her small, warm back. The fur is soft under my calloused palm, and for one stupid second, the simple contact feels like the only good thing that’s happened in months.

Robby’s been gone less than a year, and I’m already letting some soft, pretty boy take care of me.

I’m such a bastard.

The memory of his fingers on my skin won’t leave. The way he knelt in front of me, careful and steady, the way his breath ghosted over my shoulder while he worked. The way my body reacted even through the pain and the shame. I got hard. Actually got hard while he was bandaging me. What kind of fucked-up monster does that?

Sofia headbutts me again, demanding more pets, and I give them without thinking, my big hand dwarfing her tiny body. She purrs louder, eyes half-closed in pure bliss, like she’s decided I’m her new favorite person despite my best efforts to be unlikable.

The apartment is quiet and empty except for her rumbling and the distant hum of the city outside the window. Sunlight cuts across the room in sharp beams, highlighting the rumpled blanket pooled around my waist. His space is clean and tiny. The opposite of my mess of an apartment with its stained carpet and permanent scent of beer and alcohol.

I should get up. Find my shirt. Leave before Charlie comes back and sees me like this—hungover, half-naked, and petting his cat like I belong here.

But I don’t move.

Because the memory of his hands on my chest keeps playing on loop. The gentle press of his touch. And the way he looked at me like I wasn’t poisonous.

Robby’s voice tries to push in, but it’s quieter today. Muted. Like even my dead boyfriend is giving me side-eye for the way my body reacted to someone else’s touch.

I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the couch cushion.

I’m a traitor.

I’m a monster.

And I might be becoming obsessed to know more about this man that brought a drunk stranger into his space without so much as blinking an eye.

Sofia climbs higher on my chest, kneading my sternum with her white paws, purring like a broken engine.

I don’t push her away.