Page 108 of Victorious: Part I

The cat kneads the sleeping bag, purring loudly, completely oblivious to the moment it’s just interrupted.

Shaking my head, I roll onto my back as I scrub at my face in frustration. “Fucking cat,” I mutter, but I’m half-relieved, half-very-fucking-frustrated.

Whatever was about to happen—whatever line we were about to cross—has been postponed, at least for now.

Clover reaches out to stroke the cat, which accepts her attention with regal indifference. “I think I’ll call him Dracula,” she decides.

“Dracula? Why?”

“Because he appeared out of nowhere, in the dark, he’s fast as lightning, and he’s clearly got a taste for blood. Look what he did to your hand.”

I glance down to see a small scratch on my hand where the cat must have swiped me during its dramatic entrance. “Great. Rabies isexactlywhat this trip needs.”

She laughs again. “He doesn’t have rabies. He’s just, particular about who touches him.”

The cat, Dracula, apparently, continues to purr, now curling up against Clover’s side like he’s claimed her.

I glare at it, feeling ridiculous for being jealous of a stray cat.

“We should get some sleep,” I say, turning onto my back. “Long day tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Clover agrees, but I hear the smile in her voice. “Goodnight, Phoenix.”

“Goodnight, Clover.”

“Goodnight, Dracula,” she whispers, cuddling into her new best friend, then rolls over, her back to me.

I lie awake long after her breathing evens out into sleep, staring at the stars through the broken ceiling.

Trying not to think about how close I came to fucking her.

Tryingnotto imagine what might have happened if that damn cat hadn’t interrupted us.

Trying and failing miserably on both counts.

Chapter Twenty-Five

CLOVER

The next morning, I wake to the soft glow of dawn filtering through the broken ceiling and the warm weight of Dracula curled against my side. For a moment, I’m disoriented—the unfamiliar surroundings, the hard floor beneath the sleeping bag—but then yesterday’s events come rushing back.

The abandoned water park.

The truck breaking down.

Phoenix.

I turn my head slowly, careful not to disturb the cat. Phoenix is still asleep beside me, one arm thrown over his face, his chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. I don’t know what it is about the calm in his face when he sleeps. The hard lines soften, making him look younger and less burdened. The weight of years of struggle vanishes, and he seems at peace.

I wish there was a way I could unburden the load he carries. There’s so much inner hate he holds on himself when he doesn’t need to. I wish I could show him the way I see him.

That he isn’t a product of how he was raised.

He can be any kind of man he wants to be. He just has to believe that he can be.

As I continue to stare at him, last night replays in my mind

The way he looked at me, the feel of his fingertips against my cheek, the way his lips felt against mine. The way his hard cock felt grinding into me—how close we came to crossing a line we probably shouldn’t.

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