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Which only makes me want to know every fucking thing about her.
What song is she listening to? What kind of books does she like? Where does she go when she gets off the train? What is the status of her relationship with Mia?
The last one is beyond irrelevant, and yet it’s the one thing that keeps circling in my mind.
“I can tell you all about how she tastes.”
That fucking line is on repeat in my head.
Today, she’s right in front of me again.
I drop my newspaper on the floor by my feet and tilt forward, inhaling her floral scent.Is that how she tastes? Fuck, what is wrong with me?
I lean back in my seat, the movement pulling the attention of the man beside me. He raises a brow, acknowledging that he knows precisely what I just did. I angle my body toward the aisle. I’m not admitting to anything, fucker.
Fuck this. I’ll talk to her when we get off the train.
* * *
I takethree strides so that I’m beside her, then murmur “hello, Kitten” as I grab her arm.
She jumps, spins, and slams her fist directly into my nose.
“Fuck!” I holler as I slap my hand to my face.
Cat looks at me, her mouth wide in a horrified expression, and cradles her hand. “Ow! You hurt me!” she yells.
I pull my hand away from my face and inspect it. It’s covered in blood. Likely because my nose is broken. “I hurt you?” I ask incredulously. “You fucking punched me!”
“Because you scared the shit out of me! Who grabs a woman and purrs in her ear when she’s getting off the train in Boston?”
“Who fucking punches people? And I didn’t purr; I said your damn name!”
“You called me kitten, asshole.” She huffs and studies her hand. Then she rolls her eyes, shakes her head, and strides in the other direction.
I stand there for a minute, dumbfounded. Did she just fucking hit me and walk away without apologizing? What the hell? I storm after her, despite the looks I’m receiving. Yes, I’ve got blood dripping down my face and I’m probably as red as a fucking tomato. Add in my clenched fists, and I’m sure I look dangerous.
“Hey!” I shout after her. “Catherine Bouvier, turn around this instant!”
Her body stiffens, and her steps falter as she comes to a stop, but she doesn’t turn around. Her shoulders rise as she inhales and fall when she blows out a long, steadying breath. Then another. Then she turns, and oh fuck, the look she aims at me would probably knock me dead if we were any closer. I cover my jewels because I honestly don’t trust her not to knee me there right about now.
“Excuse me,” she says so quietly I have to strain to make out the words. Cars travel past, and people move quickly down the sidewalk on either side of us, but she and I hold firm, locked in a staring contest. I won’t fucking blink first.
She stalks closer, and I swear to God, my balls shrivel.
“You are not my grandmother. You do not get to say my name like that,” she says as she narrows her eyes.
I blow out a breath. “I’m sorry.” I hold up both palms. “I was just trying to get your attention,” I explain. The taste of blood on my lips makes me wince.
“Get yourself cleaned up,” she says in disgust. “And next time, don’t grab women in the train station.” With that parting shot, she spins on her toes and disappears into the crowd.
I’ve got to be honest, even though she probably just broke my nose, I’m still obsessed with her.
Actually, I might be obsessed with herbecauseshe broke my nose.
I might just be in love.
Yeah, I’m totally fucked.
