Page 33 of Striking the Match (Redwood Bay Fire #3)

Cassius

“Now, how do we feel about maybe trying to be a little social, hmm?”

Kiki has been mad at me for various reasons since I brought her home, but right now, she has a very valid excuse.

After her operation to get her spayed a few days ago, she’s had to wear a cone around her neck to stop her licking her stitches, and that means most of her usual hiding spots are now inaccessible.

At least she was okay when Teddy and I got stranded overnight because her feeder is automated and I made sure her water fountain was filled to the brim before I left.

Bryan dropped in to check on her before coming to the hospital as well, and apparently she was terrified, hissing and swiping at him as she tried desperately to get herself somewhere safe.

With true orange cat logic, that meant she just backed herself into a corner and seemingly hoped that made her invisible. Bryan sounded happy to get out of there before she could change her mind and go on the offense.

I know it’s going to take time, but I just want her life to be as stress-free as possible. She should feel secure here and know that nothing’s going to hurt her. It’s difficult to explain that the cone isn’t a punishment, though.

She’s currently on the sofa, swishing her tail angrily back and forth as she glares at me with those big blue eyes of hers.

“Teddy is our friend,” I assure her. “We like Teddy very much. Teddy saved Kiki and Daddy’s lives.

So I know you’re scared, sweetie. But it would be cool if we could keep the maiming to a minimum, hmm? ”

For a moment, she considers me. Then she lets out a disgruntled howl and starts scratching at the upholstery.

“Ah, no!” I say firmly. I don’t really care about the sofa. I can always buy a new one. It’s more that I want to train her so she knows that the thirty-seven scratching posts—give or take—that I’ve put around the house for her are more suited to that purpose.

While she does stop digging her claws into my couch, her glare is still just as murderous. But when the bell for the front gate chimes, she bolts onto the floor and out of the door like she’s trying to win an Olympic medal.

I chuckle and shake my head. “Baby steps,” I remind myself.

I’m going to be using crutches for a week or two while my foot heals up, so it takes me a second to get to the intercom.

They’re more of a precaution than anything as the MRI confirmed it was just a mild sprain that felt worse under the extreme circumstances.

I probably could have pushed myself and walked to the highway the evening it happened, but I’d have done more damage in the process.

Not only am I looking at a faster recovery now due to taking preventative measures, but I wouldn’t trade that night with Teddy under the stars for anything, even if we could have died.

Because we didn’t. And now he’s outside my door, waiting to come in and spend an evening with me and my only-slightly-deranged miniature lion-cat.

Nerves flutter through my belly as I make my way down a level to the garage.

As the house is built on a slope, the front door is technically on the second floor.

But I wanted Teddy to park his car safely out of sight with the rest of mine, so I opened those doors for him automatically and he knows to drive around the back of the house.

I hope he doesn’t feel like I’m sneaking in a dirty little secret.

I just want this time to be completely ours, and I’ve had an annoying number of paparazzi hanging around outside my gate lately.

This is such a strange experience for me. I’ve never had a date come over to my home before. I’m excited but also anxious about being a good host, especially as I’m encumbered with these crutches. But as soon as I open the door and see Teddy’s face light up, I know everything’s going to be okay.

“Hello, gorgeous,” I say breathlessly, like I haven’t seen him for a couple of months instead of just a couple of days. In fact, it’s only actually been a day and half. Yet my heart is pounding, and my blood is rushing.

“Hi,” he says, stepping closer to hug me, tucking under my arms and expertly avoiding the crutches. “How are you feeling?”

“Better now you’re here,” I tell him truthfully, grinning as he blushes. I hope he never stops taking my compliments to heart like that, no matter how long we’re together. “Come in. Make yourself at home.”

I’m trying my best not to dwell too long on thoughts of the future.

I know from personal experience how impossible it is to predict.

But I do indulge myself a little bit as I close the door and appreciate Teddy in my lower entrance foyer.

He toes off his shoes without needing to be prompted, and when he looks up and smiles at me, I ache with the sense of how right he looks in my home.

It thrills me because since I’ve only just moved in, all my memories of this place will also be tied to him.

Let’s just hope that won’t be something I’ll regret one day.

Annnnd what did I tell myself about not fixating too much on the future?

Good or bad, what will be will be. What matters right now is, well, right now.

I want to savor having Teddy in my home for the first time, but also, we have an important conversation that I’d rather get out of the way sooner rather than later.

“Come on up to the kitchen,” I say as I sail past him on my crutches and start scaling the stairs.

“You’re good on those,” he comments with a little laugh as he follows me.

I wait until I reach the landing to turn and face him with a grin. “Not my first rodeo, baby. I got paid to let grown men hurtle themselves at me for entertainment.”

“That’s true, I guess.” He shakes his head as we head over to the kitchen area, and he drops his bag by the dining table. “But you’re not feeling too bad, right?”

Warmth blossoms in my chest. I pause on my way to the fridge to turn and balance one of the crutches against the counter so I can hug him again.

I’ve told him several times via text that for all the trouble it caused, it really is a minor injury, but his fussing is still appreciated.

I don’t want him to feel guilty or responsible.

But having a boyfriend who cares so much is a novelty I’m not sure I’ll ever get tired of.

“I’m feeling all kinds of things,” I mumble against his throat as I trail kisses against his fluttering pulse point. “Bad definitely isn’t one of them.”

“Oh, um, good,” he squeaks.

I love getting him all hot and bothered, but I did promise myself we’d talk first before having too much fun. So I sigh and pull away, pressing a final kiss against his lips with a grin.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” I tell him honestly.

“Yeah?” he asks breathlessly. “Even after all the fallout from yesterday?”

And this is precisely why we need to talk, because I hate the doubt in his voice. There’s no point trying to straighten the situation out or plan our next move if we’re not on the same page in this moment.

“Especially after all that bullshit,” I say, trying not to frown too hard. I don’t want him getting the mistaken impression any of my ire is directed his way. “Let me get us something to drink and we can go over everything, all right?”

“No, you sit, I can do that,” he insists, steering me toward the nearest chair.

I chuckle. “Yes, sir, Mr. Bossy Pants,” I tease him.

He falters. “Oh, sorry, I?—”

Before he can apologize, I kiss it right off his lips. “I love it. Fridge is over there.”

His smile is bashful. “Sorry. I think that’s one of those things I’m going to have to get used to. Um, what can I get you?”

“I’ll go for a beer,” I tell him, sitting down. “My painkillers aren’t that strong. Feel free to help yourself to one, too. Or there’s wine, plenty of soft drinks, or spirits if you’d like something stronger.”

“Beer’s great,” he assures me, fetching two from the top shelf. I point out the drawer where he’ll find the bottle opener.

“Is it the teasing?” I ask, following on my previous train of thought. He cracks the first top off and looks at me with a quirked eyebrow. “That you’ll need to get used to,” I elaborate.

“Oh,” he says with a nod. He opens the second bottle as well before coming and sitting next to me. The table is an oval, so he only has to angle his chair a little so we’re facing each other. He feels too far away, but I know that’s preferable while we talk.

I can’t wait to get my hands on him again, though. This time in the comfort and privacy of my own home.

He nibbles his lower lip briefly, not helping my horniness. But I wait patiently for him to speak. “I think it’s more that I need to get used to trusting that the teasing is flirting…at least I assume it is?”

Without hesitating, I squeeze his knee and smile. “It’s absolutely flirting, baby. Cheers.” I tap my bottle neck to his and he nods thoughtfully.

“Cheers,” he murmurs warmly. “Good. Thank you. I guess…there’s a part of me that knows that.

But growing up, teasing was usually intended to be mean.

My brothers are mostly okay, but being the youngest meant I caught a lot of shit from them.

It’s taken me a while to realize that at work, with the One-Thirteen, teasing is supposed to be fun.

It creates bonds. My last boyfriend was pretty serious, though, and he’d never joke around with me like that.

I thought if I wasn’t being serious, it was childish, and I didn’t want that. ”

“I can rein it in if you want,” I offer sincerely. Between my family and my teammates, I’ve always shown affection by roughhousing and talking shit because to me that shows how comfortable I am around the people I care for. But I’d never want to make Teddy feel uncomfortable. I could adapt.