Page 92 of Felix

It’s time.

“I like his new shell,” he says conversationally. “He picked a good one after his molt.”

I nod, but my attention is on the tank in front of us. The new crab is in with Arthur, and although neither has made a single move toward one another, I’m watching like a hawk.

The new crab wriggles a little, and I gasp.

Christian chuckles. “Jesus, you’re cute.”

“I’m not cute,” I shoot back. “I’m freaking out.”

He kisses my cheek. “You’re cute when you’re freaking out.”

“That bodes well for you,” I mutter. “I freak out a lot.”

He hums. “I don’t think that’s true.”

I raise a brow, eyeing him. “I’m kind of particular.”

“So?” he says, leaning against my shoulder. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“I’m not a go-with-the-flow type of person,” I continue. “I live in a constant state of low anxiety and question most everything in my life.”

He huffs. “I think you’re organized, smart, kind, and attentive to detail.”

“I color code my notes,” I point out.

“Like I said… Cute.”

A scoff catches in my throat. “I’m anal-retentive, spend most of my free time studying because I like it, I have crabs, and I get off on people watching me have sex.”

Christian’s eyes dance with humor and something I’m not sure how to name. “Are you trying to convince me of something here, Specs? Because all I’m hearing are positives.”

I nearly growl, refocusing on the terrarium. I jolt in surprise. “Where the fuck did Arthur go?”

“He’s right there,” Christian says calmly, pointing to the corner.

I breathe a sigh of relief. “What if they hate each other?”

“Give them a chance.”

“What if—”

“What if,” Christian cuts in, “they become the best of friends? What if Arthur, your prickly and guarded hermit crab, finds out he really likes having someone around? Maybe this is the best thing for him.”

I look over at my boyfriend, who thinks he’s being sneaky.

“Oh, look,” he says casually. “Are they fighting?”

My head whips around. “Don’t even joke, Christian. I swear to God—”

He shuts me up with his lips. I moan before pulling back, pretty sure I’m supposed to be angry. He follows me, lips capturing mine again, hand anchoring in my hair.

“Not funny,” I say, but it only sounds like a groan.

“Kinda funny.”

“No,” I moan. “We’re fighting.”

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