Page 70 of Risk

He uncaps his water and drinks from the bottle. I’m momentarily sidetracked, watching the way his throat moves as he swallows down the liquid.

I shake my head. “I didn’t see this little cutie when I was here”—to tell you I was pregnant—“that first visit.” Seems like a better option to go for than the reminder of how horrible that moment was.

“He’s shy. Usually stays hidden when people first come over.”

Now, I want to ask if he has many people over—namely women.

Something comes over his face, and it looks a lot like concern. “Shit, you don’t have animal allergies, do you?”

“No allergies, and even if I did, I wouldn’t care because he is the most adorable cat I’ve ever seen.” I put my water bottle downand cup the kitty’s grumpy face in my hands. He starts to purr into my palm, and it tickles me. “I love his little scowl—which I’m hoping is permanent and not just for my benefit?”

“It’s permanent. Living with Balboa is like being judged on the daily.”

“Balboa. As in Rocky Balboa?”

He gives me a shy smile. “I never claimed to be original.”

“Screw originality. Zeus had us watching the Rocky movies the moment we were old enough to. I love the name Balboa. And I love him.”

“Already?”

“Instantly.”

I pick up Balboa and hug him to my chest, loving how he nuzzles into me, purring.

“I got him from the animal rescue center when I first got this apartment. From the moment I had seen him, I was done for. They told me he’d been at the center for eighteen months. They didn’t know anything about his past. They thought he’d been born on the streets. He came in as a stray, and they estimated his age was about six months old. No one seemed to want him, as they always walked past him. They said he was becoming depressed. I know what that feels like—not being wanted…” He gives an easy shrug, like his words didn’t just hit me with the impact of a wrecking ball.

“So, I knew he had to come home with me. When I first brought him home, he hid around the apartment for the first few weeks. I’d have to leave his food out, and he’d come out of his hiding places and eat while I slept at night. I got one of those kitty cams so I could keep an eye on him. Just see that he was okay. And then, one evening, I was sitting on the sofa, eating dinner and watchingRocky V, and he just appeared out of nowhere. Hopped up onto the sofa and curled up beside me. And he’s been like that ever since. That’s why I named him Balboa.”

I lift Balboa up so we’re face-to-face. “Yeah, you are definitely a Balboa. A strong, resilient fighter. Just like your dad.”

I hear a self-derogatory grunt come from Kaden, which I ignore. He is a fighter. And I don’t mean his previous occupation. I mean a fighter in life. Everything he has overcome to be where he is now. To be the man he is now.

“What was his name before that?” I ask, guessing the shelter would have named him.

“Dudley.”

“Dudley?” I echo with a grimace.

“Think the woman who ran the shelter was a Harry Potter fan. There were a good few animals with Harry Potter–related names.”

“Better than Dudley, I hope? Honestly, a true Harry Potter fan would never name this cutie kitty Dudley.” I press my nose to Balboa’s. “Or any animal for that matter. The Dursleys are the worst.”

“Right?” he agrees on a chuckle. “Unless their favorite character is Voldemort.”

I frown at that. “You really think a person who rescues animals could be a Death Eater?”

He chuckles again, presumably at my Death Eater reference, then shrugs his shoulders. “You know, some people have some pretty fucking weird quirks.”

I raise a brow at him. “Any you have that I should be aware of?”

The jovial expression drops from his face, and I think I’ve pushed the fun too far or that he has a weird quirk—which is worrying, to say the least, considering I’ve just moved in with the man.

“Um…” He rubs his forehead and sits down on one of the barstools. “No quirks that I can think of, but…well, this is probably another thing that we should have talked about beforeyou moved in. Um…” He links his fingers together and rests them on the countertop as he looks at me. “I don’t know how much you know about my past. I know what’s readily available about me online, but I don’t want to be an arrogant prick and think you’ve googled me.”

Of course I’ve googled him. Just to look at pictures of him. Sue me, but he’s hot. But I never read anything about him. I know from my two older brothers being in the spotlight that not everything printed is accurate. Actually, it’s lies more often than not or an overexaggeration of the truth over the facts. The truth isn’t always interesting or juicy enough for people to want to read. But then there are times when it is. And something tells me that this is going to be one of those times.

“I haven’t googled you.” It’s a small lie. I’m not gonna tell him I used to lust over pictures of him.

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