by Cara Bristol
“I know Verna.” He waved, too. “I don’t mind.” He and Kat were married. Why shouldn’t people know they were together? He wanted them to know.
“People here are very friendly and nice—but everyone butts into everyone’s business. Where’s your hover scooter?” she asked.
“I hid it around the block.”
She glanced down at her dress. “We’d better drive my truck anyway. I’d be more comfortable sitting on a bench seat than straddling a scooter.”
Riding on the scooter would require hiking up her skirt. No one on ’Topia had worn flowing garments, so that hadn’t been a consideration in designing the scooter. From his standpoint, he wouldn’t mind seeing more of her fantastic legs. He shot her a mocking leer. “I don’t mind, and we’d be invisible so no one would be able to see you anyway.”
She twisted her mouth in a wry grin. “Be that as it may—truck.” She pulled a remote from her purse and opened the garage door.
He folded himself into the passenger side, and she climbed behind the wheel, flashing some leg in the process. “Hey,” he said.
She turned her head.
He cupped her cheek with his palm then pulled her close for a long, slow kiss.
Chapter Eleven
“Hey, Tigre! I’ve missed you. How are you?” The enthusiastic, huggy greeting by the cute, perky server set Kat’s teeth on edge.
They’re just talking. Argent is a small town with two restaurants. Of course they know each other. Don’t read anything into it.
“Hey, Delia! I didn’t expect to see you. I thought this was your night off.”
He knew her work schedule?
“It was, but Marty asked if I could fill in for a girl who called in sick. You here for drinks, or do you want to order pizza?” Like the other cocktail waitresses, she wore tight jeans and a T-shirt covered by a short butcher-style apron with deep pockets, which did little to hide her voluptuous figure.
“We’re here for pizza.” Tigre pulled out a chair, and Kat plunked her butt into it, wishing they’d gone to Millie’s Diner. “Delia, this is Kat Kelley. Kat, this is Delia Mason.” He made introductions.
“Nice to meet you.” Kat forced a smile.
“Great to meet you!” Delia said warmly then looked at Tigre. “Your favorite—the carnivore—is on special tonight. Five bucks off, and you get a pitcher of Elk Spit for half price,” she said, and then turned to Kat. “There’s always the vegetarian delight or a build-your-own. But if you like meat, I recommend the special. It has pepperoni, Italian sausage, Canadian bacon, regular bacon, salami, and ground beef. It’s to die for.” She laughed. “Literally. You’ll probably suffer a coronary afterward.”
“Your boss must love the way you recommend the pizza,” she commented snidely.
Delia’s melodious laugh grated on Kat’s nerves. “Are you kidding? That’s the selling point. Hey, Marty!” she yelled across the tavern to the man behind the bar. “What do you call the carnivore?”
“The heart attack special!”
Tigre, Delia, and the bar patrons laughed.
“Cute,” Kat said. Had Delia and Tigre dated? Had they been lovers? Where was this jealousy coming from? The whole marriage-genmate thing was a technicality. He could date or have sex with anybody he wanted!
Over my dead body!
Geez! Get a grip. She chided herself, shocked by the surge of jealousy.
Tigre was looking at her. “So? What kind of pizza would you like?”
She considered getting the vegetarian because Delia had recommended the heart attack special, but Kat was a meat-and-potatoes gal. She’d be cutting off her nose to spite her face if she ordered something she didn’t like. “Let’s go with a heart attack.”
“Excellent choice!” Delia said. “And a pitcher of Elk Spit?”
“That’s a beer?” Kat asked.
“A local microbrew. A lager.”
She glanced at Tigre. “Better give me a pint. I have to work tomorrow.”
“Two Elk Spits, then,” he said. “Wingman playing pool tonight?”
“Not tonight. He’s with Izzy.” She glanced at Kat. “I’d better put in your order if you want to eat tonight. I’m so glad I got to finally meet you.”
Finally? What did she mean by that?
The waitress left.
“You and Delia seem to know each other well,” Kat fished.
“I suppose.” He shrugged. “Chameleon and Kevanne were the first to mate, but Wingman met Delia not long after, so she’s been part of the family for a while.”
“She and Wingman are a couple?”
“They’re genmates.”
Now, she felt like an idiot. Fortunately, she discovered the truth before she’d said something stupid. At least she’d acted polite. More or less. “Izzy is their daughter, then?”
“Delia’s, but Wingman dotes on her.”
She felt ridiculously relieved—and glad she’d ordered the carnivore. Relaxed now, she scanned the interior, taking in the multiple TVs, the worn-but-rich wooden floor, the old-timey lights, the bar with its big mirror. Some taverns were sad depressing places where people went when they had no place else to go, but the Whitetail exuded the warm, comfortable pub-like atmosphere where friends went to hang together. Two pool tables were in use with a friendly competition engendering good-natured ribbing.
Delia delivered their beers and set a couple of small plates and silverware on the table. “Pizza will be ready in about fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you.” Kat gave her a genuine smile this time.
She sipped her beer, finding the Elk Spit mellow and not too hoppy. The crack of pool balls smashing together cut through the din of the bar conversation and TV noise. “Your brother Wingman plays pool, you indicated?”
“Yes. He shoots with his wings. He can fashion the tips into points. He causes quite a sensation when he plays. You’ve never seen him shoot pool?”
“I’ve never been to the Whitetail before,” she admitted.
“How long have you lived in Argent?”
“About a year. I had a house in Coeur d’Alene, but on weekends I kept running into people I encountered on the job, so I wanted more privacy. When the bungalow came up for sale, I decided to buy it and relocate. It means a longer commute, but I love that I can chill out on my days off now. I go to Millie’s a lot, and hike and swim at Lake Argent, but coming to a bar alone never appealed to me.” She took another sip of Elk Spit. “I’ve been missing out.”
“My brothers and I come here often. And to Millie’s, of course.”
“Why did Delia say she was glad to meet me?”
“Isn’t that what Earth people say? Nice to meet you, pleasure to meet you, that sort of thing?”
“But she said, finally. Like she’d been waiting to meet me.” She recalled how Kevanne had greeted her much the same way when she and Matt had responded to the burglary. “Did you tell your family about us? What happened in Vegas?”
“Yes.”
“How much did you tell them?”
“Just the basics. The end result.” He lifted his beer mug. “You didn’t tell anyone we got married?”
She watched his throat move as he swallowed, recalled how the pulse in his neck had throbbed against her lips, the way his tail had wrapped around her, how warm his skin was. That his nape was slightly furry. Desire sizzled through her.
“No.” She shifted in the chair and rubbed her damp palms against her thighs.
“Why not?”
Because it had been a mistake. “It happened so…suddenly, impulsively.” If she’d admitted to her fellow officers that after tying one on in Vegas, she’d tied the knot with a man she barely knew, she’d never live it down.
Delia breezed by with their pizza, setting it on a metal stand. “Anything else I can get you? Another Elk Spit?” She eyed their half-empty mugs.
“None for me, thank you,” Kat replied.
; “I’m good,” Tigre said.
“Flag me down if you need anything.”
Kat’s stomach rumbled at the delicious aroma. As she took a piece of pizza, the mozzarella stretched from the pie to her plate. The sauce tasted tangy, the cheese flavorful, and the meats well-seasoned with the right amount of spice and salt. It was worth the heart attack risk, she decided.
“So?” he asked.
“The best pizza I’ve ever had.”
“I’m glad you like it, but I was referring to why you hadn’t told anyone we got married.”
She couldn’t mislead him, allow him to assume because they were technically married and maybe dating they would live happily ever after. “I didn’t say anything because our union isn’t real.”
“It’s real to me.” His gaze shuttered to hide the hurt, and she felt like an asshole.
“So many things were operating that night, but judgment wasn’t one of them. Both of us were under the influence.”
Or had alcohol and the feral fever given her the courage to follow her heart? Her life was methodical, disciplined, reasoned. Some would say regimented. She never did anything without thinking it through. Until that night.
“And the genmate bond,” he added.
“A trifecta,” she agreed to lend weight to her assertion, although she had doubts about the genetic aspect. She had been inebriated, and circumstantial evidence pointed to the likelihood she’d been infected with an alien contagion, but the DNA bonding thing pushed the envelope of credibility. How could humans share genes with extraterrestrials who weren’t even from this solar system?
She didn’t know what to do about the marriage other than to postpone any decision until she figured out her feelings. “Can we hit rewind and get to know each other?” She reached out and covered his hand.
“That depends.” Topaz eyes glinted suggestively. “Is sex off the table?”
She tilted her head and peered at him from beneath her lashes. “Off the table? I was kind of hoping for sex on the table.”
He arched his eyebrows and shifted his gaze to the pizza. “Here? Or should we go to your house?”
She’d been joking about the table, but salacious, sexy images whirled through her head now. She pictured herself perched on the edge of her dining table, Tigre between her legs. She signaled Delia. “Let’s get this pizza boxed up to go.”
Chapter Twelve
A few weeks later
A breeze stirred the curtains, and the first light of dawn danced on the floor. Contentment swelled in Tigre’s chest as he lay with Kat, her head pillowed on his shoulder. He smoothed his hand down her arm in lazy strokes. He envisioned a lifetime of moments like this.
Psy and Inferno and their respective mates had left for a mini vacation to Victoria on Vancouver Island in Canada. They had been invited, but Kat couldn’t get off work, so he’d opted out, too. He wanted to spend time with her, not without her, and, as he’d discovered, being the sole single among couples put him as the odd man out, although they did their best to include him.
Besides, the absence of his friends gave them the farmhouse to themselves. It was nice being alone together in their own space. They could never go to Kat’s house because, despite his multiple friendly overtures and the gift of a catnip mouse, Amanda Blake could not be cajoled or bought. She hated him as much as the first time she’d laid eyes him. Maybe more. She had a hissy fit the instant she spotted him.
Kat sighed. “I wish I could stay in bed with you all day, but duty calls. I’d better jump in the shower and then get to work.”
“Better put on your uniform first,” he joked.
“Good thinking.”
This time, she’d remembered to grab all the stuff she needed for work. Her laundered brown shirt and pants were draped over the chair, her utility belt and gun underneath the clothes. On his dresser was her badge, which would be pinned to her uniform. It seemed like something always got forgotten at her place, necessitating an early morning rush-around so she could retrieve it and make it to work on time. Was she accidentally on purpose forgetting things so she’d have an excuse to leave? Her way of keeping him at a distance?
He tried to stay positive, reminding himself the relationship had progressed with leaps and bounds. To wit: they saw each other several times a week. They talked and laughed together. Desire for one another burned hot while keeping the feral fever under control. At this very moment, they were lying naked in bed after making love several times during the night.
But was it love? For him, yes—although he had yet to express the depth of his emotion, because he feared, for her, the answer was no. She liked him, she desired him, but would she still be building invisible walls if she loved him? Would she keep forgetting stuff? Would she have tried harder to get off work so they could go on vacation?
“I wish I could go,” she’d said when he’d broached the idea of Victoria. “But I’m heading up a task force to find the rural home burglars, and we finally have a lead. I can’t get away now. I’m sorry. Maybe we can go somewhere after I solve this case?”
“Of course,” he’d agreed. He’d accepted the decision and explanation at the time, but as had often happened, doubts later had seeped in.
She kissed him and threw off the top sheet and jumped out of bed. “No rest for the wicked.”
“If you moved in with me, you wouldn’t need to rush around so much.”
“I’d still need to go to work,” she said.
“I’ve heard married people on Earth reside in the same house.” He knew for a fact they did.
She peered at him over her shoulder. “We’ve talked about this.”
We don’t need to rush. Take it one day at a time. Let the relationship develop at its own pace. Those were the things she always said—except he didn’t agree. They were genmates!
But this morning wasn’t the right moment to pursue the issue; they didn’t have time to discuss it, let alone settle anything when she had to get to work. He understood and admired her commitment to her employment. His brothers’ genmates had jobs, and they also were devoted to their occupations.
Did it matter if they didn’t live together like the others? They saw each other often. So what if she returned to her own home? Besides, she did have to care for her cat. As long as Amanda Blake continued to be a complication, they couldn’t live together anyway. Maybe their rocky beginning had caused him to read too much into the situation. He was fortunate to have found a genmate! He could have ended up like Mysk who’d spent half a century on Earth and still hadn’t found a match.
Every relationship was different—his brothers’ interactions with their women had demonstrated that. Perhaps what we have is our normal.
“You’re right,” he said. “How about I fix breakfast for you before you go? I’m not much of a cook, but I might be able to throw together an omelet.”
“Thank you. I would like that.” She leaned over the bed and kissed him then scampered into the adjoining bathroom.
He slid out of bed. Not bothering with underwear, he pulled on his pants and bounded downstairs.
* * * *
Kat waited until Tigre left the bedroom before creeping out of the bathroom. She eased the door to the hall open and listened to him banging around in the kitchen. She caught a whiff of coffee, and, if she wasn’t mistaken, sausage. Her stomach rumbled with hunger.
She closed the door and dug her phone out of her handbag. After a couple of weeks of “dating,” Tigre had begun pushing for a deeper commitment, lobbying to take their marriage to the next level by cohabitating. Although he hadn’t said “I love you,” she was pretty certain that was what he felt.
The feral fever had clouded their judgment. Now that she could see clearly, she realized how much the initial animosity and the impetuous elopement had skewed their relationship. Continuing to stall and stringing him along wasn’t right. As her grandmother would have said, the time had come to shit or get off the po
t. She scrolled through her phone address book and pressed connect.
“Hello?”
“This is Kat Kelley,” she said. “How are we looking?”
“It will all be done by this morning.”
“Okay, good.” Her stomach fluttered with residual nerves.
“He still has no idea? You’re really not going to tell him?”
“No.” She eyed her naked ring finger and closed her hand into a fist. She’d been so drunk, she hardly remembered the marriage ceremony. What a crazy, crazy thing to do. But then, drunk people did crazy things. “Thanks for handling this.”
“No problem.”
“I’d better go. I have to get out of here.” She hung up and darted into the bathroom.
* * * *
Tigre set a pot of coffee to brew, then studied the contents of the fridge, pulling out eggs, a block of cheese, a few veggies, and some breakfast sausage. He crumpled and fried the sausage, and, while it cooked, he chopped some onion, mushrooms, and leftover steamed zucchini and grated the cheese. Next, he whipped the eggs, adding a dash of milk for fluffiness.
Trying to recall how Meadow did it, he drained the sausage, wiped out the frying pan, and poured in the beaten eggs. He waited until they started to set then added the sausage and vegetables on one side. He let the mixture harden a bit longer then flipped the “top” over the omelet—just as the doorbell rang.
Who could that be? He wasn’t expecting anyone. He eyed the omelet then turned down the heat a tad and dashed to the front door.
A tattooed young man in jeans and a T-shirt wearing a ball cap backward waved a large manila envelope. “You Tigre?” He popped a mouthful of gum.
“Yes.” Tigre squinted. He didn’t recognize the guy. He’d remember the tats. He glanced over his shoulder. The eggs were going to burn. He should have removed them from the heat.
The man shoved the envelope into Tigre’s hands. “You’ve been served. Have a nice day.” He strode to a truck jacked up on huge tires, climbed in, and fishtailed away in a blaze of dust.
