Page 11 of Fated Protector

I stare at the garbage. "What are you talking about? Or are you just really into the trash?"

He laughs, a deep throaty sound that is a little weak from all his exertion. "No, I like my exploits to be dirty in a different way." He pulls back a few trash bags, and gleaming underneath is an ebony-black motorcycle. "This is the best place to stash it. I've got a few others hidden around the city."

"You just have random motorcycles hidden around New Orleans? Who even are you?"

"Just little old me," he says, removing the last trash bag covering the vehicle. He picks up the helmet hanging off the handlebar and places it over my head. "Safety first."

"Nothing about this night has been safe.”

He swings his leg over the seat of the motorcycle. “Climb on board.” He pats the seat behind him, and I sit down, my arms wrapped around his broad chest. I refuse to admit that I like the way my arms feel around him and instead focus on how I’m probably rubbing garbage juice all over his back as he deserves.

"I've never ridden a motorcycle before," I admit as he turns the ignition.

"Then today's a day of many firsts for you,” he says, revving the engine until it purrs. "Exciting, isn't it?"

He guffaws at my following groan, and we drive off down the dark alley and into the night.

CHAPTER7

Jack's small apartment is not in the best part of the city, but after the monstrosity, we just ran from, it doesn't really matter. The apartment itself is plain and stark, with no decorations and only a minimal amount of furniture.

"How often do you stay here?" I ask, running my fingers through a trail of dust on a kitchen cabinet and sneezing.

"A few nights a month at most," Jack says, joining me in the kitchenette. He starts rummaging through the pantry and pulls out a familiar blue cardboard box.

"Now, here's the deal," he says, placing the box on the counter. "Don't tell my mama that I served you instant mac and cheese. She'd never forgive me for eating it myself, let alone feeding it to a lady."

"My lips are sealed," I say, knowing I will probably never meet his mother. "Can I take a shower, and do you even have towels here?"

"I have towels," he says with a scowl. "I'm not a complete animal." He tips his chin towards a closet, and sure enough, there is a stack of threadbare towels that may have been the color blue at one time.

"Bathroom is at the end of the hall," he calls, and I head that way. The shower stall barely fits me, but I don't care. I would do anything to get the smell of rancid garbage off of my skin. There is a hotel soap sample on the counter that I unwrap and take into the shower with me. I scrub myself harder than I ever have in my entire life, and I work the shampoo into my hair and rinse at least three times. I still don't feel clean, even though I know I am. Between the Grunch and the garbage, it will be a long time before I can get the feeling of pure ickiness off of me.

My clothes,however, have met their unfortunate end. I don't think any amount of washing will get the smell out or the suspicious stains of brown grease and green ooze. Sighing, I wrap a towel around my torso and pad out to the kitchenette in my bare feet.

Jack already has two bowls of macaroni dished out and is sitting on a bar stool, fiddling with his phone. He glances up and does a double-take, his eyes roving over me in one long sweep before he mutters something under his breath and averts his eyes to the ceiling.

"What you want,cher?" he asks, his voice still hoarse as he shifts on the stool.

"My clothes can’t be worn again," I say, tightening the towel around me. "Do you have anything I could borrow?"

Still looking at the ceiling, he points back down the hallway. "The dresser in my room. There should be something in there that you can wear. Hurry up; your gourmet food is getting cold."

I let out a laugh and tiptoe back down the hallway. The old dresser inside his bedroom doesn't have much in the way of fashion, but I find a clean black T-shirt and clean sweatpants. Both garments are swimming on my frame, but they will have to do for now. I'm not short, but Jack is much broader and taller than me.

"Thanks for the clothes," I murmur as I take my seat next to him at the island. "And the shower. And saving me multiple times."

"You don't have to keep thanking me," he says gruffly. The tips of his ears have turned the shade of pink petunias. "I'm sure we're going to rack up enough debt to each other soon enough."

I dive into the macaroni and cheese. Although the pasta from a ninety-nine-cent box is long past its expiration date, it turns out to be one of the most delicious meals I have ever had. When I've eaten enough to settle my aching stomach, I clear my throat. "So, tell me everything."

Jack looks over his fork with an amused expression. "Everything?"

"Everything."

He sends me a thoughtful look and sets the fork down. "Well, in the beginning, a single cell organism became a fish, which became a frog, which decided to climb out of the swamp and somehow become a human. Then you've got –"

"You know what I mean," I say, rolling my eyes. "Apparently, monsters are real. What else is real?"

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