14. Chapter 14

Chapter fourteen

T he next time we went out, I took Felix to a vintage car show. It took pulling some strings—through my boss Harold, damn him and his toupee—but I managed to get the venue to give me access the night before a big show opened. Which meant…we had the entire place to ourselves.

Felix had been nervous to go out—but it seemed after the fair, the dam had broken and though he was nervous, he was incredibly excited too. After I'd told him we'd be the only ones there, all his nerves had melted away. Like an excitable puppy, he bounced around the room, hopping between vehicles and exclaiming every time he saw one he'd seen before.

"God, I used to have a car just like this," Felix said dreamily when we'd reached the end of one of the rows. He leaned lovingly along the hood of a Studebaker Champion, fanning his fingers along the paint with a sigh. The vehicle had a distinctive bullet-shaped nose and rounded fenders. The large windows on the car gave it a spacious feel, despite being smaller than my own SUV. I loved it, honestly, and the fact that he did too made him even more perfect in my eyes .

"What happened to it?" I asked, curious.

I expected him to clam up, but instead he sighed.

"Gone. I couldn't keep all of my old stuff, though I obviously tried." His voice was wistful, a sad little twist to his lips. I cocked an eyebrow.

His words were unusual. Just another item to add to the long list I was compiling of things that made no sense about Felix. Once again, I was forced to be content that I'd get my answers some day.

Maybe not today.

Because my main goal today was to steal more kisses.

And I accomplished it.

Because by the end of the date I'd stolen forty-six kisses. Felix's lips were swollen pink. They tasted like cherry chapstick—as did mine. I was sure I looked a mess too—as he'd taken to running his fingers through my hair. He'd been both ravenous and shy—wary, like he didn't know it was okay to want me as badly as I wanted him. By the end of the night, I'd remedied that.

It was hard not to feel confident after I'd spent all night kissing him against whatever vehicle was closest…and the walls…and the doors…and also the passenger seat in my car.

The evidence of our greedy touches was obvious. Both our shirts were untucked, our hair rumpled, and a boyish, giddy smirk was mirrored on our faces as we finally said goodnight.

Felix stood on his porch steps bathed in the golden light from the open door behind him. He was nearly as tall as I was when standing two steps above me. His eyes were as warm as they'd been when we'd danced—and as a cool breeze ruffled his hair, I ached to kiss him again.

Forty-six kisses, and it was still not enough.

His mouth looked so soft .

I wanted to kiss him so badly.

So I did.

Thoroughly.

Out in the open—where anyone could see, neighbors be damned.

When I retired home for the night, the front door shut behind me, I groaned and slid my hand down my pants to fist my hard cock. Felix drove me insane. With greedy flicks of my wrist, and my precum slicking the way, I jerked myself off, remembering the way he tasted and felt in my arms.

So small, so solid, so perfect.

Twisting, I stared through the peephole on the door, my hand still working, my cock dripping onto the floor as I watched the house across the street for any sign of the tiny, wonderful man inside. When I saw his shadow in the upstairs window, I came with a needy, desperate growl.

Harold gave me shit the next morning at work, but I found that asking him for help had been worth it. It seemed half the office—who am I kidding, all of it—knew about me and my new romantic adventures. Normally, I'd mind. Normally it would piss me off. Normally I'd guard my privacy like a rabid wolf guards his steak.

But…I was too busy to be annoyed.

Too busy spending my nights watching penises bounce. (In preparation, of course.)

Too busy spending my days reading spreadsheets. (Because I needed money to provide for Felix, and art.)

Too busy spending my evenings with Felix. (Whenever his schedule permitted it, his other paramours aside.)

Too busy being in love with a tiny, pastel-wearing gremlin man, to find the energy to care about anyone or anything but him.

I was a lovesick fool and everyone knew it. They could see it on my face, probably. Though my new screensaver didn't help. I had, rather proudly, turned my desktop screen into a homemade collage of the pictures I'd been collecting of Felix. Most were from the security feed I had going in his kitchen. He'd posed for those, which I found just…ah. So sweet .

I'm not going to insult your intelligence by pretending this was "normal" behavior from either of us. I knew I was odd. Possessive. Obsessive . I'd just…never met someone who not only didn't care about my more unpalatable personality traits, but maybe even liked that I had them .

Some pictures were more sneaky than those were. For example, I had covertly taken several of Felix at the car show. And there were a few extra fun pictures of him walking his cats outside. Last but not least, I'd collected a rather gorgeous photo that featured Felix crocheting while sitting on his couch.

That one was my favorite. It'd been tricky to get it—and Felix nearly caught me lurking in his bushes, my camera out. My heart had been pounding so loud, I'd worried it would give me away.

He looked so… forlorn in the photograph.

Do you get lonely, Finley?

I can't remember a time when I wasn't.

"That's a bit creepy, you know," Harold hummed as he passed by my office around noon. I already knew why he was here. He was going to invite me to lunch like he did every Thursday. I'd decline—like always. Then he would wander off to leave me alone with my chicken breast and asparagus filled Tupperware. It was routine. A pattern we stuck to.

This time, however, I was in a generous mood—aaaand I didn't have my Tupperware.

"Lunch?" Harold asked like he hadn't just insulted me.

"It's not creepy," I replied, while still staring wistfully at Felix's lovely face. "And yes."

"Yes?" Harold blinked, obviously surprised. "As in…?"

"Yes, I will go to lunch with you." I turned my computer off and rose from my seat, sliding my laptop into my satchel .

"No chicken today?" He squinted, clearly confused. For ten years we'd done this exact dance and this was the first time I'd ever changed the steps. I was a fan of routine, as was he.

I supposed it made sense that he was concerned.

"No," I answered, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "No chicken."

He blinked.

He blinked again.

And then a slow, wicked smile spread across his face. "Were you out too late to meal prep last night, Marshall?"

"And if I was?" I sniffed, adjusting my bag. Technically, I would've had time when I'd gotten home to cook. But…instead, I'd spent the last hour of the night before bedtime creating the masterpiece that was now sitting prettily as my desktop screensaver. I hadn't had enough pictures before the car show, and now it was perfect.

"Good for you, buddy." Harold laughed, shaking his head with obvious delight. "Now how do you feel about cheeseburgers?" My face pinched, and he redirected. "Pizza?" Again, my face pinched. "What do you even eat?" Harold frowned at me in mock concern. At least, I thought it was mock concern. Maybe it was real? I couldn't tell.

"Chicken."

"Fucking christ, Marshall."

We went to a local diner.

I ate salad, ice water, and a giant slice of rhubarb pie.

It didn't taste nearly as good as the one Felix had bought me .

For the first time in my life, I couldn't shut up. While I shoveled pie in my mouth, and changed my phone screen to Felix's face, I told Harold about our date. About Felix in general. About his pretty eyes, and how short he was, and the fact that he was clever, and silly, and lovely, lovely, lovely.

When Winnie visited me again she remarked—rather unhelpfully—that she had "never seen me more zen."

I didn't know about that .

Zen people did not feel like they were about to vibrate out of their skin.

Zen people did not buy binoculars so they could peer inside their neighbor's windows when he had visitors over.

Zen people did not hoard said neighbor's mail—because they'd waited too long to give it back, and now it was awkward .

Tampering with packages was a felony. I knew this. We all knew this. But of the felonies I was guilty of, this was the one I was least concerned about. I was lucky that my kill for the year had happened during spring, as that itch in and of itself was hard to ignore.

My full focus was on Felix now.

And I'd never been more satisfied—or hungry in all my life .

Visions of fucking him assaulted me at the most inopportune times. As did fantasies of dancing with him, of playing with him, of lying beneath his big telescope and watching him gaze at the stars. I wanted to share everything with him. Every waking moment we had left.

There were rings in my shopping cart.

I bought a t-shirt with his face on it to wear as pajamas.

I doodled his name on my notes at work like a lovesick teenager.

And when my coworkers asked me what I was doing for the weekend, I grinned so wide and so creepily that they all left me alone.

I was so obsessed with Felix that I nearly forgot about the disappearing shop we'd both visited in the first place.

Nearly.

I had spent a solid two hours immediately after that first dinner date hunting the internet for signs of it—to no avail—but aside from that, yes. Forgotten . Totally, completely forgotten.

The next time I saw Felix, he was leaving his house well after ten p.m. It was late, but I was curious. And when I inquired what he was up to, I was informed that it was time for his cats' yearly check-up at the vet.

I offered to carry them, and forty minutes later, with cat carriers in each hand, we strode into a twenty-four hour clinic in a town called Elmwood. The receptionist eyed me curiously, but didn't say a thing, though she was rather friendly toward Felix.

Suspiciously friendly.

I didn't like it.

"Back again?" she asked with a happy hum. Her nails clicked on the counter and it grated on my nerves.

"Tiffany had a stomach ache a few months ago," Felix explained to me. "So we're back sooner than usual."

"She feeling better?" the receptionist asked, tapping away on the computer like she was taking notes. The cats were surprisingly docile as I held them aloft in their carriers. They stared up at me through the gaps in the cages, almost like they appreciated my presence here.

As they should.

I was protecting their owner after all.

"Much better," Felix replied. He had his hat on, and his sunglasses, and he looked adorable and tiny , dressed in a cute little vintage shirt-pant combo that looked like it came straight out of a black and white film. His biceps were on display, and I had a hard time not staring at them. They looked particularly…lickable today. As did his ass, which flexed rather prettily as he shifted from foot to foot.

It was tricky to stare up close like this without being caught, so I switched tactics.

Figuring I wasn't needed, I retreated to the waiting area with the cats where I could ogle a little less obviously. However, I did stick close enough that I would still be able to hear Felix and the woman as they spoke.

I kept my attention half on them as I took in our surroundings. Pristine, white paint. Posters that were probably meant to evoke a feeling of calm. A wall lined with portraits of animals. Boring.

The street was bursting with life outside the large glass window in the waiting area.

How unexpected.

You'd think the town would be asleep this late at night on a weekday. Couples held hands, waltzing down the sidewalk together. And at the end of the road sat a diner. It had a lively glow, and a line practically ran out the door.

Beach Town was not this active at night, that was for sure.

Perhaps that was why Felix had opted to come here for his "cat care." I had a hard time imagining many vets kept their doors open past midnight.

"That him?" The receptionist asked, her voice quieter than before. I glanced around covertly, trying to see who she was talking about, only to belatedly realize that she was probably talking about me .

"Yes," Felix laughed, a sheepish sort of quiver to his words. "He insisted on coming the second I said I was leaving town."

"I see."

"For protection." Yep. They were definitely talking about me .

There were a lot of sickos out there. Believe me, I knew. There was no way in hell I was letting Felix out on his own. He was far too oblivious. I may not be gifted emotionally, but I was quite street smart, at least in the ways that prevented an altercation.

He'd get robbed or worse if left to his own devices.

Normally, I hid behind my sweater vests, but today I'd abandoned the second layer entirely. Felix's eyes kept gravitating to my chest where a bit of hair peeped through the collar of my button-down, as well as my arms—staring at me the same way I stared at him.

I hoped, with my size and musculature more obvious, people would be less likely to bother him. I folded my arms over my chest, a cat on either chair beside me as I glared at the receptionist, willing her to find fault in my words.

"For protection," she repeated, her voice wobbling with a laugh.

Rude.

"He insists I need it," Felix added, sounding oddly delighted.

"I see." She flashed me another knowing look, her gaze gliding appreciatively over my body. "Good for you," she added, humming to herself as she stared at my pecs.

I nearly slapped a hand over them, scandalized.

"He is." Felix covertly stepped in front of her view, and a little thrill flipped inside my belly. I licked my lips, doing my own ogling as my gaze traveled down the surprisingly long line of his back to his pert little ass .

My cock perked up, and to preserve my dignity, I folded my leg over, resting my ankle on my knee to hide it from view.

It wasn't until later that I realized the fact that the receptionist had known who I was meant Felix had been talking about me. Probably far longer than we'd even been together.

I probably hadn't needed the stroke to my ego but it was lovely, all the same.

Two weeks or so after we visited the vet, I received a frantic call from Harold. The summer was winding down.

We were only a month away from Barry (the blight's) annual Summer Bash. Something I was dreading, though Felix was surprisingly excited. This year, the theme was "weddings". Which, if you asked me, was frankly ridiculous. Felix told me he wanted to go together.

As grooms .

And wasn't that…just the stupidest thing I'd ever heard?

I was going to enjoy it immensely.

I'd already ordered my tux.

I was getting ready—a button-down and no vest today—to take Felix out again, and of course, because everything sucked, Harold called .

"Marshall…" He sounded apologetic.

Why did he sound apologetic?

"No, Harold."

"Yes, Marshall."

"No, Harold." I groaned, rubbing my temple. "No." He made an apologetic sound. "But—it's date night."

"I know. I'll make it up to you?"

"Fuck."

Apparently—sparing you the gritty, boring details—someone had been an idiot (big surprise there) and something had been logged incorrectly—and blah, blah, blah .

A giant, expensive, pain in my ass.

In a tizzy, I walked over to Felix's home. It was brisk out, chill for a summer night. The woods creaked, and down the street, Barry's lights were off despite it only being eight p.m.

I'd been flying on cloud nine all day, imagining what Felix and I could get up to tonight.

I'd had it in my head that I might touch his ass.

I know! Me?! An ass toucher.

I'd never wanted to touch someone's ass before.

I had been psyching myself up for it all day. And if things got a little frisky, I'd also figured I might throw a little tongue action in for the first time. I was a goddamn adventurer . Obviously I'd take Felix for food he wouldn't eat first and park us in the woods in what I now affectionately referred to as "our spot" in my head.

It was going to be so romantic .

Which was why I was pissed-angry-annoyed-irritated that I'd have to call off our date. Damn, Harold and his burger-pizza-eating, polo-wearing bitch-face.

Luckily…my ire was for naught.

Because when I told Felix what had happened, instead of sending me home to bitch and moan alone, he invited me inside, laptop, spreadsheets, foul mood, and all.

We sat together on his couch in silence for hours while I put out metaphorical fires and Felix crocheted some more wisteria for the parts of the house I'd cleaned.

He graciously left me alone, which allowed me to focus.

I'd never understood the phrase "comfortable silence" until I'd met him. Now I knew it intimately, and I never wanted it to end.

The occasional brush of Felix's cool feet beneath my thigh served to remind me that I was here—and not at home. As did the lovely lemony scent of his hair, and the quiet whisper of his needle looping through yarn.

At one point, Felix abandoned his project and switched positions entirely. No longer sandwiched at the other end of the couch, he scooted into my side almost… shyly. He glanced at me through his lashes to gauge my reaction to his closeness.

A pleased little smile flitted across his lips when he saw my face.

I wasn't sure what it was doing, but apparently it was favorable because only seconds later he was settling his head against my arm, his fluffy hair an absolute mess .

He dozed sleepily, like he wasn't curled up with a predator.

Like he wasn't a predator himself.

My monster ached.

Felix drooled against the sleeve of my button up, his crochet forgotten. Docile. Sweet. He looked so…soft like this. Covertly, I took a picture, logging it away in the album on my phone that was dedicated to him, and him alone. Then, because his hands looked rather lovely where they rested almost demurely in his lap, I took a picture of them too.

And his feet.

And his collarbones.

Fuck, his collarbones were pretty.

He was asleep, so I tried to be quiet—even when Dolly, the white-haired, bug-eyed beast tried to climb onto my lap, ignoring the presence of the laptop there at all. I pocketed my phone quickly to free up my hand in case I needed to defend my honor.

"No—" I hissed out, trying not to flinch. "Do not step on my spreadsheet—"

She blinked at me, lifting one soft little paw above the keys threateningly. It hovered, pink toe beans flickering into view. Using my free arm, I tried to push her away. Instead, somehow—witchcraft probably—the violent shove I'd planned on giving her somehow morphed into a gentle pet. My fingers fanned along her back, stroking the— oh wow, that was so soft! —fur with reverence. "You are a plush, little beast, aren't you?" I murmured, surprised by how much I liked how her fur felt beneath my palm.

I was going to have cat hair on my nice slacks, dammit.

Like the devil had overtaken me entirely, I found myself gently guiding her to snuggle up against my other side. She purred, rumbling against me as I gave her head one last, awkward pat, before retreating back to my laptop.

Because, apparently, things could get worse—that was not the last of it.

"Fuck my life," I muttered under my breath, as Tiffany—only a few seconds later—hopped up onto the couch and joined Dolly at my side. "I'm not your emotional support human," I chided both of them under my breath, though I tucked Tiffany in too with an annoyed grumble.

This was awful.

So terribly awful.

Almost as awful as the fact that Felix wanted to wear matching suits with me and pretend to be husbands for the entire neighborhood to see.

Bundled up as the rather tall center of a Felix sandwich, I worked through the last of my work. When I finished, I stayed, still reluctant to wake the three sleeping beauties who had made me their bed.

The stuffed cat Felix had won at the fair sat on his mantel, staring at me, but I didn't mind.

And when Dolly and Tiffany—movie characters, I'd Googled when Felix had told me their names—awoke and fled their spots on the couch, eyeing me like the intruder I was. I didn't mind that either.

"Acting as though you didn't just use me as a pillow for an hour and a half," I snorted as they climbed onto their ridiculous cat tree, far more graceful than any creature had a right to be. "Spoiled things."

Felix yawned, alerting me that he was awake. He gave my arm a little kiss that sent my pulse skittering. Then he wiggled, his chin digging in—and he peered up at me through the dark fringe of his lashes. His blinks were slow and sluggish.

Without thinking, I reached down to stroke a hand through his hair—like I'd done to the cats.

Felix smiled, humming softly as he tipped into the touch. "I've never slept beside someone else before," he admitted.

My heart skipped a beat.

He was so damn pretty, he distracted me from the train wreck that was about to happen. God, his lips looked soft. Kissable. I wanted to lick them like I'd planned. Very badly.

Then his sleepy smile flickered in confusion—the same time he glanced at my laptop screen and saw—oh shit.

He saw my collage.

The one Harold had called "creepy."

And my life flashed before my eyes.