Page 64 of Start Your Engines

“It’s Fluffers,” he says as a sob wrenches itself from between his lips. He holds Fluffers’s swollen paw up. It’s like Fluffers is wearing a boxing glove. “He was stung by a bee. He might die.”

This little cat, who smirks as he stares at him, has him shaking and choked with anxiety.

I know a bee-stung cat isn’t the huge emergency Connor thinks it is, but I can’t bear to see Connor distressed like this. “It’s okay. We’ll get it sorted, baby.” The word slips out, but Connor is so overwhelmed by Fluffers that he doesn’t pick up on it.

“And I can’t get him to an emergency vet because I don’t have a car and?—”

I turn Connor around and walk him towards the house, partly so I don’t have to look at his devastation because it makes me want to hold him and make all his pain go away. My heart tears because seeing him again lets those feelings I’ve pushed down out of the box. And I wouldn’t put it past this bloody cat to jump out of his arms and chase another bee.

“Let’s go inside and call Brad. I’ve had cats stung by bees before, and it’s not as scary as you think.”

“Okay,” he replies with a gulping sound. He wipes his eyes with his shoulder. His voice changes. It’s deeper and carries an edge. “Why aren’t you with Mr. Often Forgets Leg Day So His Small Penis Is Thicker Than His Calves Vet?”

I hold a chuckle. Who knew mentioning my old fuck buddy would help stem the tears? Connor is jealous of a man who pales in comparison to him.

Connor scowled the entire time I spoke to Brad. Once Brad established I wasn’t calling to change my mind about visiting him, I relayed instructions to Connor on removing the venom and things to be aware of.

I kick my shoes off as I hang up.

“What do we do now?” Connor asks, his shoulders loosening. He stares at Fluffers like he’s a baby.

He’s so precious with this cat and the kitten he found in Australia. I knew he could be sweet; he’s been like that with me, but this is an extra level. I want to hold Connor close and protect him so that no one ever comes close to hurting him again. A tickle hits my belly. The box I’ve tried to shove my feelings in about being his boss and not allowing myself to imagine being with him is opening. I can’t lock it shut anymore, and I don’t want to. Heat fills my limbs as I stare at him. I need to look after him and be the person he’s tried to be for me.

If Connor doesn’t have a car with him, that means he’s not driving. From the brief messages Jimmy and I shared over the last week, I’m sure Connor hasn’t driven since the accident.

“He mentioned antihistamines might help stop the swelling,” I say.

Connor has Fluffers’s paw temporarily wrapped in a makeshift ice pack, aka a bag of peas. “But I don’t have any.”

“We’d need a certain type. I’ll head out while you sit with Fluffers.”

Technically, we don’t need them. Fluffers doesn’t have a bee allergy, or he would have gone into anaphylactic shock by now. A specific small dose of antihistamines can help, though.

“Okay.” Connor nods. His face has regained its tan, and he’s wiped his tears away.

My gaze drops down his body. His T-shirt clings to his muscles while showing off the forearm tattoos I’ve dreamt about tracing with my fingers and tongue. His joggers hang low on his hips, and I glimpse a little hair leading beneath the waistband. With his dark beard, he resembles a mountain hero ready for battle. That he’s cooing to a cat makes my hormones spark hotter.

I put my plan into action. I make sure Connor is distracted, and then I perform a fake dive dramatic enough to impress a footballer.

I scream in pain as I roll around on the floor, clutching my ankle.

Connor runs over, not letting go of Fluffers, who scrabbles to escape my shrieking. Connor eases him into his carrier before he kneels beside me.

“What happened?” The vein in his neck is out of control as he holds me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force a tear, but nothing comes. The way his gaze scans me, his hands shaking, which I’m sure is more due to the day’s action than anything to do with me, leaves me warm and annoyed. As he tries to touch me, I pull away. He can’t learn I’m faking the injury.

“I caught your sofa and went down. I’ve twisted my ankle.” I’m a shit liar, but concern clouds his awareness. I’m a special kind of sick that hasn’t got a cure. “Please help me up.”

I must move this on before he realises what I’m up to. He helps me sit on the sofa. “Let me check it.”

“No,” I blurt out, pulling away from him again. “I forgot to shave near my ankles this week. It’s embarrassing how hairy they are.”

Worst lie ever. And now he thinks I’m a weirdo with hobbit ankles. I clench my jaw.Get on with it, Senna.This isn’t about turning him on. This is about getting him back in a car.

He glances at my legs. Well, it’s more than a glance. He’s staring at my thighs like they’re made of gold.

“Okay, well, stay here and rest. I’ll find you another pack of veggies to put on it, and we’ll chill out until it feels better.”

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