Page 3 of Cruel Pawn
Her name was Carmen.
She drank matcha with almond milk, but hot, not iced.
She had a cat, which obviously meant she was a good person, because cats didn’t tolerate fools or dicks.
She was stylish and dressed in clothes expensive enough to satisfy even my elitist mother.
She’d paid for our drinks and not batted an eye at the three syrups I had in my drink, or the cream cheese frosting, or the whipped creamon topof the cream cheese frosting. She was either used to dealing with extravagant, OTT requests like mine, or was the sort of woman who never judged. I found that extremely appealing. I hated judgy assholes.
“Mango,” she said after a minute, ducking her head with a little smile curving into her soft cheeks. “I know it’s silly and predictable to give a cat a food name, but—”
“Absolutely not,” I cut in, offended at whoever had told her that. Cats deserved the most pompous, stupid, ridiculous names that existed in the English language—and when we ran out ofthose,we should give them cute, ridiculous names in Italian and Spanish and Korean and Thai and Ukrainian and—you get the picture. “My first cat was called Mocha. Then there was Latte, and Cheese. Now I just have Aegi.”
Carmen ducked her head with a smile. “You had a cat called Cheese?”
“Hey, I didn’t laugh at Mango.”
“Not laughing,” she said, lifting her head and striking me utterly dumb with a smile so bright and glittering it lit up her eyes from within. “But Cheese?”
“He was orange.” I explained, remembering his antics. He passed when I was a teenager, but he was completely crazy. “And a cheese thief, which is how he got his name.”
Carmen laughed, a soft breath of sound I was utterly infatuated with. I wondered what it would take to make her truly laugh, to make her throw her head back and let sound fill the room. Would she have a high, pealing laugh, a deep belly laugh, or a wicked cackle?
“You can’t blame a cat for upholding the cheese tax,” she said. “Even if they are lactose intolerant.”
She knew cats were lactose intolerant? I was going to marry this woman.
“Mango’s orange, too, hence the name,” she added, the light dimming in her eyes, like a cloud crossing the sun. “It feels wrong to sit here laughing while he’s at the vet.”
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked, my heart aching. If anything happened to Aegi, I would burn the whole city down.
“He’s had gastro-intestinal problems for years. He’s getting old now, so he needs a specific diet and medication and—sorry, you don’t need to know all this.” She ducked her head again, her hair falling forward to hide her face.
“No.” My hand moved before I could stop it, and I tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. So goddamn soft—her hair was like silk, and fuck I wanted to keep touching her. I made myself pull my hand back, and sat on it for good measure, not convinced I could keep my hands to myself. “I would do anything for my baby, and I’d be devastated if she was at the vet. You don’t have to apologise.”
I flexed my hand, the imprint of her burned through the scales of my skin into muscle and branded onto my bones where I’d never get the impression out. What the hell was wrong with me? I met beautiful women all the time, and they never had this effect. And sure, I had a habit of rushing head-first into relationships because I was addicted to the way they made me feel—until they ended. I was a hopeless romantic as my friends constantly reminded me. I lived for this kind of thing. Chance meetings, instant bonds, fate.
The last fated relationship didn’t end well, though. My mood soured, but I pushed away the thought.
“I should go,” Carmen said, her plush bottom lip caught between her teeth as she rushed to her feet, fastening her coat. “I need to make sure everything’s ready for Mango when he comes home and—oh god, I’m late for a meeting. My boss is going to kill me.”
I rose too, reaching for her before I stopped myself because no one just grabbed women they’d just met.God, you’re serious, aren’t you? You’re fucking insane, Arden, no one falls in love this quick.Mean laughter ricocheted through my head, but I blocked it out, focusing on Carmen as she fluttered around the table like a whirlwind of anxiety and panic.
I caught her hands before she could run away. “Mango will be fine; cats are resilient, and stubborn. Try not to worry too much, Carmen.” I tried to say her name normally, but I couldn’t help the way my voice softened, my lips wrapping around the word like a caress. She swallowed and looked up at me, those clear brown eyes full of so much vulnerability, so trusting, and I decided there and then that I would keep her forever. Fuck the snide voice in my head. This was my future wife in front of me, and nothing would keep me from her.
And if I was going to marry her, why should I hold back? I didn’t. I pulled her into a hug, my eyelids dropping at the feeling of her body pressed to mine, so warm, a powerful comfort I was rarely gifted—the sensation of another body against mine. She was so soft but strong too, and that only piqued my interest further. Did she do Pilates? Yoga? Boxing? Bouldering? I needed to knoweverything.How hard could it be to find someone’s surname, really? Carmen wasn’t a hugely common name. A little light stalking was in order.
Like the angel and devil on my shoulder, I could almost hear the voices of my best friends.
Are you out of your psycho mind? You can’t stalk a girl you just met, Arden. Not even online. That’s crossing so many fucking lines.
That was Stefan, the angel.
Calm down, what’s the harm? Scrolling someone’s Instagram and poring over their Facebook account never killed anyone. If you need help digging deeper, let me know, Arden, it’s been too long since I’ve had a pet project.
That was Cameo, the devil.
I usually listened to the devil.
