Page 50 of Hunter

“The zoo has been trying to mate the leopards for a while,” he tells me, eyes still glued to the glass. “But she just wasn’t having any of the guys they put in there with her.”

“Picky girl?” I ask, leaning on the railing beside him.

Charlie turns his head, that crooked little smirk tugging at his lips. “Have you met other men? It’s the only way to be.”

I huff a laugh, but it comes out rougher than I mean it to. The way he says it does something dangerous to my chest. He’s so fucking alive. So unafraid to take up space and call things exactly what they are. Robby would’ve turned a comment like that into a fight. Charlie just owns it and somehow makes it look effortless.

I watch him watch the cubs, my hand resting on the railing close enough to his that our pinkies are almost touching. Every time he shifts or laughs or points something out, I feel it like a pull behind my ribs.

“You’re really into this,” I say quietly.

He shrugs, but the smile stays, and he bumps my shoulder. “With them being your favorite…you should be, too.”

I laugh again. I haven’t done so much laughing in forever, and it feels great. “Caught me again.”

Charlie’s eyes sparkle with mischief. He turns fully toward me now, leaning one hip against the railing so we’re facing each other. My gaze trails down his body, and I don’t even pretend not to look.

“You know,” he says, voice light but laced with something warmer, “for someone who is probably as damaged as me, maybe more so, you’re being suspiciously agreeable just to stay near me. Feeding me. Coming to see the snow leopards. Laughing at my dumb jokes. You sure you’re not being held hostage by the guilt of coming to my rescue earlier?”

I step in closer, crowding him against the railing without quite touching him. I can smell the faint tahini and warm skin on him and see the way his pulse jumps in his throat as his breath hitches.

“Maybe I am,” I say. “But maybe I enjoy being held hostage by you. You know what they say about stray dogs, take them in and be nice to them once and you’ll never get rid of them.”

His eyebrows shoot up, a smirk fighting its way across his face. “Who says that about stray dogs?”

“Me, I just said it,” I reply, holding in a laugh at the expression on his face.

He laughs then, bright and surprised, the sound hitting me straight in the sternum. He shakes his head, curls bouncing, and leans back against the railing like he needs it to hold him up.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, but there’s no bite to it. His eyes are sparkling, cheeks still flushed from earlier. “A ridiculous, damaged stray dog who keeps showing up wherever I am.”

I don’t deny it. Instead, I let my gaze drag slowly down his body again, before meeting his eyes.

“Guess that makes you the one feeding the stray,” I murmur. “Careful, Charlie. I bite.”

His breath catches again, louder this time. The tension between us coils tighter, hot and sweet and dangerous. He wets his bottom lip, and for a second, I think he might close the last inch of space between us.

Instead, he tilts his head, that sassy little spark flashing back into his eyes.

“Yeah? Well, this particular stray better behave if he wants more table scraps,” he teases, voice dropping to match mine. “I don’t reward bad dogs.”

I grin—actually grin—something I haven’t done in years without forcing it. “Noted. I can be good.”

“Liar,” he shoots back, but he’s smiling so wide it makes something in my chest ache.

Charlie twists in front of me, turning to face the railing again so he can watch the snow leopards. He doesn’t tell me to back up. I don’t. Instead, I lift my good arm and rest my hand on the railing beside him, caging him in just a little. Not touching him. Not yet. But close enough that my chest is inches from his back. I can smell the vanilla from whatever shampoo he uses.

We stay like that. The snow leopard cubs keep tumbling behind the glass as though they’re putting on a private show just for him. He glances back at me, his eyes dropping to my mouth again, lingering this time, and I have to fist my free hand at my side to keep from touching him.

This boy is going to ruin me.

And I’m pretty sure I’m going to let him.

He turns back toward the glass again, leaning back just enough that his shoulder blades brush my chest. The contact is light, almost accidental, but we both know it isn’t. His breath catches. Mine does, too.

“I’m pretty sure that we haven’t both healed since last night,” he murmurs, eyes still on the leopards even though I can tell he’s not really seeing them anymore.

I let out a low chuckle, my mouth close enough to his ear that my breath stirs his curls. “I don’t think this is considered fucking… unless I’ve been doing it wrong my whole life.”