Page 65 of Rafferty's Rules
I need:
Lissa to know she doesn’t have to chase me. I’m at her sexual disposal for the next ten days.
I’m speechless, and I still can’t think of what to say as he presses his lips to my forehead.I suppress the urge to wrap my arms around him and bury my nose in his neck—because he smells so good, and I can’t seem to get enough of him. Sort of woodsy and spicy and all kinds of manly man. I’m struck mute as he pulls away, his stubbled chin stroking my cheek, causing my body to viscerally recall the sensation of the motion repeated between my legs.
‘Next time,’ His voice raspy and bedroom-y, and he ducks, bringing his eyes level with mine, ‘you should just get in the shower with me.’
I am so embarrassed—and so busted—but instead of an apology when I open my mouth, I find myself saying instead, ‘Was your mother part husky?’
‘What?’
His response is more chuckle than word, and I’m cringing, oh Lord, am I cringing. I pray for the ground at my feet to open up and swallow me whole. Except I’m on the third floor of Rafferty’s house, so if the ground does open up, I’d probably only make it to the second floor. With a couple of sprained ankles for my pains.
‘I did not just compare your mom to a dog,’ I splutter immediately. ‘I didn’t. You didn’t hear that. No, youmistakenlythought I compared her to... that. But I didn’t say that.’
‘Okay. ..’ He’s looking at me like I’ve gone nuts. ‘So you didn’t just suggest my mother is a bitch?’
‘No! I’m sure your mother is nice,’ I protest, turning around to continue my denials, following Rafferty as he circles me. ‘I just meant you have the most gorgeous eyes—the way the light is maybe?—but they’re almost turquoise and kind of startling.’ And around. ‘And, well, the only other eyes I’ve ever seen that kind of colour were on a dog. Can I... ask what you’re looking for?’ Because I’m kind of getting dizzy.
‘I was just deciding between humping your leg or sniffing your crotch.’
‘I take it back, you really are a dog!’
Chapter 18
When I eventually make it downstairs myself, it’s clear Cat’s food bowl has been refilled, and he has fresh water, too.
So he’s not a full-time dog.
‘Looks like someone got himself a fur-ever home, buddy,’ I murmur, lifting him from his cardboard box. ‘I hope he looks after you better than he does his houseplants.’ My eyes cut to a tiny yet parched looking potted cactus sitting in the kitchen window. ‘At least you can make a noise. You’ll remind him you need to be fed, right? Don’t worry,’ I say, an attempt to reassure us both, I think, as I hug him to my chest, ‘I’m sure he’ll be a great person to live with, and you’ll do him so much good because pets provide companionship, you know? You’ll be the perfect company he needs, between the times he has a woman in his bed.’ Ugh. My heart sinks a little, metaphorically at least. Why did that sound so much less painful in my head? ‘Or maybe you’ll keep him so entertained with your adorableness, he’ll find he won’t need casual sex anymore?’ I suggest bringing us face to face. ‘No pressure, kitty. And if all else fails, you’ll just find another roomie, won’t you, baby?’
After all, no one owns a cat. Least of all a cat named Cat.
The yellow peril—surprise, surprise—isn’t the best mode of transport post sex, never mind post losing virginity, urgh, that sounds so antiquated, so I decide to ditch this mode of transportation and stay local, right after Cat and I go to the veterinary clinic. Despite being so poor I can’t afford to pay attention, I feel honour bound to pay Cat’s veterinary bill. I know, Cat is now officially Rafferty’s pet, but as I was the one to rescue him and finagle his fur-ever home, I feel the least I should do is pay for his check-up.
I’d already settled Cat in the bike’s basket and made it to the end of the street before realising this bike riding business was going to be agony. But I make the best of a bad situation, giving my thighs a good workout as I pedal while almost entirely standing as I recall every last moment of last night. The throb of need between my legs. The heat and smell of his skin. His hand reassuringly possessive on my hips as he’d pulled me in for that first kiss.
A blare of horns brings me back to the moment, the bike wobbling under me frantically.
‘Hell!’ I struggle to straighten the handlebars, dropping my butt, and other places, to the poorly padded seat. ‘Ouch!’ My knees knock against the frame as I take a sharp right, pulling onto a side street, my foot immediately finding the sidewalk.
‘You nearly come a cropper there good and proper, girlie.’
One hand grasping the handlebar, the other pressed on my chest over my jumping heart, I look up into the weathered complexion of the speaker. An indigenous man, a very amused looking indigenous man.
‘I thought you were gonna run me over!’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I answer over the lump in my throat, which I think may be my heart’s plan of escape. ‘I was a little distracted—just for a minute. I’m so sorry if I frightened you.’
‘You frightened me?’ he says as though the idea is ridiculous. ‘More like I was frightened of being flattened by this thing.’
At this point, I realise he has his fingers wrapped around the other handlebar, his other hand resting on my shoulder. I recognise other things then; the dark freckles on his face, the wiry grey in his eyebrows, and the spark of amusement in his deep, soulful eyes. I also notice the grime in his shirt collar and the worn patches on his very unusual clothes. He’s wearing a black suit with a silver pinstripe, the sort of thing that might have originally been made to wear on stage. It’s a little big for him, like he’s recently shrunk, and the same goes for his black cowboy hat.
If he’s dressed to impress, then he’s achieving his goal.
‘Girlie, you’ve gone a funny colour. You need a doctor or something?’
‘No, I’m fine, really. It’s probably shock.’
