Page 104 of Broken Pact

Although I took care of her Falcone problem, so he won’t be bothering her anymore. Not that she knows that. I haven’t found the right time to fill her in just yet.

That and she feels like she’s helping to protect the solo man living in Avalon Falls from the suspected man-hunting serial killer. I keep telling her it’s not as bad as she thinks, but she still worries. And I’d be a fucking liar if I said that didn’t make me feel like doing something corny like singing in the rain or some shit.

I feel fucking lucky actually. I don’t really believe in fate or any of that shit. I can’t subscribe to the idea that all the tough shit in your life is delivered because you deserve it. Nah, that philosophy isn’t for me.

But I do believe in luck. And my grandfather always told me we can make our own luck. And I’ll be damned if he wasn’t right when it comes to her.

How else could you explain the absolute insanity of the situation if not for luck? I’m heading home after a hot as fuck day in the garage, where I fucking know there’s a gorgeous brunette waiting on me. And she’s all mine.

The half-assed rules she insisted on in the beginning of our little ruse were obliterated almost instantly. Neither one of us has even brought it up.

The sun beats along my back, warming the leather kutte. But the wind keeps me cool enough until I can get home and head straight for the shower. Not before I try to convince my girl to join me. She’ll shoot me down, and I’ll crowd her against the wall or the counter in the way she likes but pretends she doesn’t. She’ll arch those perfect tits into my chest and throw some sass at me because she’s incapable of not mouthing off. And then I’ll war with myself because I’ll want to kiss her so bad, my teeth will ache.

My dick throbs in commiseration, like he knows all too well how this little song and dance goes. I think about mundane shit for the rest of the drive, because riding with a hard-on isn’t all that fun.

I park my bike in front of the garage, and as soon as I kill the engine I hear the thumping bass from inside my house. I can’t see inside from this angle. The garage faces the street, and while there are windows in the front of the house, it’s nothing like the entire window wall in the back of the house. The side that faces the lake.

I notch my helmet against the handlebars and toss my sweaty hair off of my forehead. I opt for the front door, so I can sneak in and see her in her element. I imagine her jumping around and singing lyrics. My girl is talented at a lot of things, but singing just isn’t one of them. She gives it a hundred and ten percent though, so points for effort.

I pause at the front door, my hand on the doorknob and ear pressing against the cool wood. Sounds like one of the bands from the concert we went to a few weeks ago. My grin slips a little when I realize the front door is unlocked. We’re gonna be having some words about locking doors when she’s home alone. I don’t give a fuck that we’re in a safe part of Avalon Falls.

I ease the door closed, wincing at the clicking sound of the lock engaging. I don’t need to worry though, because she couldn’t hear a fucking dump truck coming through the front window with the music this loud. Goddamn it sounds like she’s throwing a party.

I round the corner and half expect to see red solo cups and bodies packed in my living room, but all I see is her. Dressed in ripped jean shorts and an oversized tee that slips off one shoulder. She’s twirling around the messy kitchen with a purple whisk in one hand and my cat in the other. She’s laughing and singing, and my grumpy cat looks like he’s in heaven tucked into her chest.

I don’t fucking blame him.

I’d give up my left arm to be tucked into her tits like that. I tried to convince her to let me sleep on ’em like pillows the other night, but that didn’t last longer than a few minutes. Apparently, I have a heavy head.

I lean my shoulder against the doorframe, kicking one ankle over the other and watch the two of them. She’s singing into the whisk and laughing, twirling Pudding around and grabbing one of his little paws like they’re ballroom dancing or some shit.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen my kitchen so full before, so lived in. Mixing bowls in various sizes on the counter, along with measuring cups, spoons, and ingredients like flour, sugar, and chocolate chips scattered about. The warm, sweet scent of fresh baked goods mingles with Coraline's perfume, filling the space with the essence of her.

She hasn’t noticed me yet, lost in her own world of music and Pudding. A smile tugs at my lips as I watch them, a strange but welcome feeling swelling inside me.

I fucking love it.

My chest squeezes painfully, this hot twisting ache right underneath my breastbone. It’s the kind of hurt that also feels good too.

Without making any sudden movements, I slip my phone from my pocket and snap a few photos. I even take a short video because this is the kind of shit I want to show our kids and grandkids one day.

The early days of our relationship. I’ll tell them their grandma and I had a complicated relationship and I had to woo the shit out of her. But eventually it was a feline who ended up making her fall for us. We’re a packaged deal, Pudding and me. And now we’re about to be a packaged deal with her. She just hasn’t admitted it yet.

When she hits the chorus and does this little twirl, I can’t take it anymore. I can’t hold myself back, the urge is too strong. I pocket my phone and push off the doorframe, my strides eating up the distance between us. It’s not until I’m a few feet in front of her that she sees me.

She startles, jumping a little with wide eyes. “Oh, Jasp?—”

I back her into the nearest counter in two steps, planting a hand on either side of her. Pudding jumps out of her arms, his disgruntled meow trailing him as he scampers upstairs. She tilts her chin up, her eyes sparkling with whatever emotion she’s trying to bury behind their blue depths. They look deep and endless, like the middle of the lake on a clear night with the moon’s reflection twinkling on the surface.

I could drown in those eyes. Willingly and without regret.

“What are you doing?” Her voice is low, like the two of us are sharing secrets.

“You’re in my kitchen,” I murmur, keeping my face a few inches from hers. I want to be able to see her expression, to feel her surprised exhale against my lips.

She arches her back, creating more space between us. “You told me to make myself at home.”

But we can’t fucking have that, so I follow her, curving my body over hers further. “I know.”

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