Page 22 of High Velocity

I’ve heard about cases where these orphaned cubs end up in zoos, or end up being euthanized. Rehabilitating them to give them a fighting chance back out in their own environment is the much preferred route to take, if you ask me.

“Yeah,” Jackson mutters, taking another sip as his eyes drift out the window.

The timer on the oven pings, alerting me the garlic bread should be done.

Five minutes later, I’m sitting across the table from Jackson, steaming bowls of chili in front of us and a warm slice of garlic bread on a napkin beside it.

“Dig in,” I prompt him when I see him waiting for me.

“Looks great, but I want you to know I didn’t come here looking to mooch a meal off you.”

I put the chunk of bread I had halfway to my mouth back down.

“Okay. What did bring you here then?”

“Told you last night I’d be in touch, but I didn’t realize until today, I don’t have your number.”

“I see.” I grin at him. “Could’ve asked JD. He has it.”

He makes a face I can’t quite place before explaining, “I prefer asking you for your number. That way you can tell me to take a hike if you don’t want me to have it.”

I let that resonate for a moment, deciding I like what that conveys; respect.

“406-673-8422,” I rattle off without taking my eyes off him. “Don’t you need to write that down?” I ask when he doesn’t move to take out his phone.

“No. I’ll remember it.”

I’m not sure whether it was those words or my chili that had my stomach happily gurgling throughout dinner. We didn’t talk a whole lot, and when we did it was about general subjects. Nothing too deep or too personal. It’s as if that one brief exchange about something as mundane as phone numbers suggested a level of involvement we both apparently need easing into.

That doesn’t stop me from turning around and slipping my arms around his neck when he catches me in the kitchen, circling me with his arms as I put away the dishes. It’s almost like it’s second nature.

“I should head out,” he announces for the second night in a row.

The faint lines at the outside corners of his eyes deepen when he smiles, and my stomach does a little flip.

“I don’t want to overstay my welcome. I already scored a bonus meal when I was only looking for a phone number. I don’t want to push my luck.”

I’m very aware of his strong arms, holding my body pressed firmly against his, and my voice is a bit hoarse when I respond.

“I wasn’t complaining.”

“I know,” he whispers, brushing my lips lightly with his before adding, “but if I stay, chances are good I’d be nodding off in no time after my long day, and I’d really like to get out of my prosthesis first.”

“Feel free to take it off here. It doesn’t bother me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He kisses the tip of my nose.

“That’s good to know for next time.”

The words hold a certain promise, but I don’t have much time to think about it before I’m distracted. This time when he kisses me, he plunders my mouth, displaying a level of skill that makes me forget my own name.

When he walks out the door a few minutes later, I make a mental note to pick up some condoms tomorrow.

Just in case.

Suddenly tired myself, I take my pills, turn off the lights, and head for the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I’m about to crawl into bed with my book, my phone pings with an incoming message.

That was just what I needed. Thank you.

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