All Chapters of The Purrfect Wingman: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Moving day. I’ve run into burning buildings with less nerves than I had standing in Ofelia’s new apartment, trying not to think about the kiss. The kiss. The one where her hands fisted in my hoodie, her mouth softened under mine, and for ten glorious seconds, the world had narrowed to nothing but her and the sound of my pulse practically exploding in my ears. But now? We were professionals. Adults. Two people keeping our distance in broad daylight while pretending last night didn’t shift the ground beneath us. I busied myself unpacking the bathroom box, listening to Ofelia reorganize the kitchen, and Spitfire glared from her nest like this entire process offended her. The kittens were curled nearby, blissfully unaware of the chaos about to descend. And descend it did, starting with the knock at the door. Ofelia sent me a look, half warning, half bracing, and I opened it to instant Rosario-level pandemonium. Ace waltzed in first, arms full of grocery bags, wearing a grin that pro

The moment the door slammed shut, it was as if someone had popped the pressure valve in the apartment. The tension, thick enough to chew through minutes ago, dissolved into a flood of breathless laughter, relieved exclamations, and groans of secondhand embarrassment. I pressed both palms to my cheeks, which were somehow burning and frozen at the same time. My adrenaline was still spiking, heart hammering like I’d just run from a code red rather than survived a social ambush. “Spitfire deserves a damn medal,” Ace said, shaking his head with a low chuckle. He was still standing near the door, arms crossed, but now his mouth curved into something between a smirk and a sneer. “You see that launch? Precision strike. That was tactical.” “She’s a war general,” Amaya chimed in, eyes gleaming. “Tactical and fabulous. Look at her, she’s not even winded.” “She has the heart of a lion,” Xenia added solemnly, crouching down to scratch Spitfire under the chin like she hadn’t just gone full feline

A few days had passed since Spitfire claimed victory and my apartment as her kingdom. The dust from the chaos had mostly settled, though the cardboard boxes stacked in the corner, the lopsided utensil drawer, and the pile of mail I kept pretending not to see suggested otherwise. I was still adjusting, still juggling my long hospital shifts, late-night studying for an upcoming practical, and the adorable kitten circus that had officially taken over my living room. The kittens’ eyes were all open now, wide and curious, tiny heads wobbling as they tried to coordinate movement with enthusiasm. Goose had discovered the joy of climbing onto the couch cushions, only to fall over sideways like a drunk burrito. Mochi preferred launching sneak attacks from inside a shoebox. The rest rotated between Spitfire’s fluff-lined nest and short, uncoordinated expeditions around the coffee table, if Spitfire or I allowed it. She was very much the general in charge of her tiny army, her tail flicking like

The second the door clicked shut behind us, the energy shifted. Gone was the sharp burst of adrenaline from that kiss in the hallway, from Jane’s voice slicing through the restaurant like a butter knife dipped in poison. Now the air between us buzzed with something quieter… heavier. Tension, yes, but not the bad kind. Not the kind that came with yelling or anxiety. This was warm. Focused. A tension full of choice. I moved toward the kitchen almost on autopilot, mumbling something about feeding Spitfire and checking on the kittens. My voice felt foreign in my mouth. Not because I was nervous. Well, okay, maybe a little, but because everything suddenly felt so real. No more stolen glances or “almost” kisses or brushes of hands that might have meant something. We’d kissed. Fully. Willingly. And then I invited him in. What the hell was I doing? I crouched beside Spitfire’s makeshift nest of towels and watched the kittens squirm and nuzzle against her. Their eyes were open now, but th

I didn’t close the door right away. Zach had just left, his footsteps fading down the hall, and still I stood there, one hand on the doorknob, the other cradling my coffee like it could explain anything. The apartment felt quieter without him in it, not empty, just... less full. The smell of burnt toast and over-reheated empanadas still lingered in the air, accompanied by the faint sharpness of cheap coffee and cat fur. Domestic chaos. My normal. Except it wasn’t normal anymore. I leaned against the doorframe, forehead resting lightly against the wood. My coffee had gone lukewarm, but I didn’t move to reheat it. I just breathed and let the silence settle. Because what I felt in that moment wasn’t panic. Wasn’t guilt or exhaustion or the sense that something was spiraling. What I felt was wanted, not only for my brain, usefulness, or emotional labor. Not in the way guys flirt with you to prove something to themselves. Just… wanted. Full stop. And cared for. Zach had offered the Rin