Page 64 of Relationship Goals

A relieved exhalation leaves me all at once, and I scoot closer to the center console, leaning my head against his shoulder.

When he slams on the brakes, though, I gasp, the seat belt digging into my chest.

“Did you see that?” His eyes are wild, and I gape at him, shaking my head.

“See what? I didn’t see anything. What was it?” My heart’s beating a mile a minute, and I rub at where the seat belt hit me.

“I’m not sure.” He glances over at me, then blinks at what he sees. “Are you hurt?”

“No, just surprised. Startled me,” I say.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Shit.” He rubs a hand down his face, then looks back out the front window. “There it is.”

My gaze swings to whatever it is he’s looking at outside the window, but I don’t see anything.

Before I can ask him, though, he’s pressed the hazards and leaped out of the driver’s side door. Thankfully, there aren’t too many people on the road here, and I watch Luke run in front of the car.

He crouches down, the headlights drifting across his muscled back, his shadow long and stretched strangely in front of the car. His low voice is lost in the soft hum of the engine, but I hear him say something. Seconds tick by, turning to minutes, and eventually he jerks up, turning back toward the car.

There’s a lump in his jacket, and he’s holding it close to his chest as he walks back to the open driver’s side door.

My phone’s in my hand, because I’m not going to lie, I’m a little freaked out by his behavior and want to be ready in case he’s absolutely lost his—

A tiny paw pokes out, an itty-bitty murder mitten tipped with filthy sharp claws.

“Is that a kitten?” I breathe, my eyes the size of saucers. He stopped on a dime for a kitten?

Be still, my heart.

The bad boy of soccer my left ass cheek. A villain does not stop the car on his way home, with a high probability of getting laid when he gets there, to rescue a teeny-tiny kitten.

He carefully, gingerly gets back in the car, murmuring sweet nothings to the hissing furball inside his canvas jacket.

“You stopped the car for a kitten?” If my voice goes up to an inaudible pitch at the last word, I can’t be held responsible. It’s just so damnedcute.

“Got a problem with that?” he asks, thick eyebrows raised, a pointed challenge in the question.

My own eyebrows skyrocket, and I nearly ask him if he wants to have an eyebrow-raising contest until the kitten mews pitifully, and I’m making grabby hands at it.

“Of course I don’t have a problem with it, you grumpy buffoon. Hand over the fluff.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt. Cat bites can be serious.”

To my shock, he holds out his left hand, which has, I realize, a thick set of dotted scars on the meaty part between his wrist and thumb.

“Wrap the baby in your coat and give him to me,” I insist. “You can’t drive and hog the cat.” A thought scampers across my awareness. “Were there more? Was there a mom?”

He gives me a long, searching look. “It was by itself,” he says shortly. “I looked. Trust me, the mom is long gone.”

“Oh,” I say, crumpling slightly, getting his meaning. “God, that’s awful. Poor baby,” I croon to Luke’s chest, the massive eyes of an angry kitten pinned on me. A low baby growl sounds, and I have to stop myself from positively screeching in delight.

“You like animals?” he asks.

“Are you joking? Who doesn’t like animals? Now hand it over and let’s get it home and take care of it.”

“Right. Okay.”

Luke moves so slowly as to not further distress the poor thing, and I swear, any solidity left of my heart completely and totally turns liquid.

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