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Not a smile.
Not yet.
This was something else. Something primal. Animalistic.
He was proud of making me dumb with need.
Hell, I couldn't even fault him for it.
"Yeah," I agreed, shaking off the last bit of haze that was over my brain. "Your friend has really bad timing."
The light turned, and Reeve gripped on the steering wheel at the top, the other hand moving out to land at my mid-thigh, giving it a little squeeze.
"You're coming in?" I asked, surprised, when he cut the engine after pulling into my driveway.
"Unless you want me to leave," he agreed, tone a little cautious. It was a sound I decided right then that I hated.
"No, come in. You can say goodbye to Bandit before the rescue comes and gets him in a few hours."
"Bandit, huh?" he asked, meeting me at my side of the truck, falling into step beside me. He didn't, as I had maybe been hoping, put his hand at my lower back, something I was a real sucker for, but he did stay close, his body brushing mine as we moved up the steps.
"He looks like a little criminal," I agreed with a smile, letting the dogs out, smiling a little as they play-attacked Reeve who took it in stride, trying to give them all a proper head scratching hello before following me inside.
"He's holding up?"
"Raccoons are pretty hardy," I agreed, dropping my sweater on a chair as I moved through the living room. "Ford is doing a lot better too. I moved him into a bigger cage so he can play with some toys. I keep him on the heat around meals and at night, but he is going to grow fast."
And I was keeping him.
I didn't share this fact because, well, I was maybe a bit worried that he would read too much into it. Or, well, even read the right amount into it. Because I absolutely did want to keep him simply because of him bringing Reeve around.
That was really sappy, I know, but true.
There was simply no other reason why I would keep him. He was young and adorable. He would be adopted in a heartbeat if I gave him to a rescue.
But I wanted him.
Even if things with Reeve didn't move in a more serious direction, it would still be a cool story to tell someday, about how a cold, dying kitten led me to making out with an outlaw biker in a glass room.
"Oh, how did you get out?" I asked Charlie, my sweet, but very mischievous umbrella cockatoo with a mostly-healed wing. He was perched on the side of the sink, eating noodles out of the soup bowl I had left on the counter this morning before heading out. "I have tried three different types of locks on his cage. He's too smart for his own good," I told Reeve as I moved over to Ford's cage and tickled his multi-colored head through the bars before glancing in at Bandit's cage. "What?" I asked with a small smile when I turned to find Reeve watching me with a look I couldn't interpret.
"This thing you have going here," he said, waving a hand around at Bandit and Ford then Charlie who raised his crest at the motion, "it's pretty fucking cool, babe."
I crossed over toward him, scooping up Charlie the same way you would a dog or cat, something few birds would allow, except for maybe the velcro birds of the cockatoo family. He was seconds away from attacking Reeve's buttons. I knew him well enough to know that was what he was eyeing up as he stood there.
Kissing the top of his feathered head, I felt a genuine smile pull at my lips. "I like animals better than most people," I confided.
"Lot of people are assholes," he agreed. "I see the appeal here."
"Did you ever have pets?" I asked, wanting that connection, hoping he did like animals, didn't just tolerate them, and not let them die in front of him.
"Had dogs when I was younger. My sister conned my Ma into getting her a whole hoard of fluffy shit over the years. Rabbits, guinea pigs, chinchillas. Cage shit. My mom didn't like animals on the furniture."
"She's a younger sister, right?" I asked, noting the fondness in his voice, something you usually found in older brothers, not little ones.
"Yeah, Wasp was always eyeing something up at the pet store. She took good care of 'em though. One of those rabbits lived like fucking twelve years."
"Wasp?" I asked, surprised. Sure, Reeve was an odd name. Cyrus wasn't even all that popular, but neither were as unusual as Wasp.
"Nickname," he told me, lips twitching.
"I take it she is, ah, spirited," I guessed, figuring she got the name because of a wasp's sting.
"That would be an understated way of putting it."
