All Chapters of The Purrfect Love Story: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

I woke to the sound of purring. Not the soft, contented rumble that usually came when Goose burrowed into the crook of my arm, but a sharp, irritated kind of buzz, like he was trying to file a complaint.Blinking against the dim winter light filtering through Carolina’s curtains, it took me a second to realize why. Goose sat perched at the edge of the couch cushion, tail flicking, golden eyes fixed on me with betrayal written all over his tiny face. His human, me, had apparently been stolen.Not by another cat. Worse. By a woman.Carolina’s curls were the first thing I noticed, wild and tangled across my chest like some soft, dark halo. The second was her leg draped lazily over mine, the weight of it pinning me in place. The third, the realization that she was still fast asleep, mouth parted slightly, breathing slow

Goose meowed like he knew exactly where we were going. The little traitor had practically climbed into his tote the second I picked up my keys, and I didn’t bother arguing. He was obsessed with her. Couldn’t blame him.By the time I reached Carolina’s building, the smell hit me before the front door even buzzed open. Not the good kind, either. It was the sharp tang of something burnt. I climbed the stairs two at a time, Goose purring like he was already entertained.Sure enough, when I reached her apartment, the smoke alarm was screeching overhead. Carolina stood in the middle of the kitchen, curls frizzing like she’d been electrocuted, fanning the oven with a notebook. A notebook. Of course.She spotted me in the doorway, cheeks flushed with both heat and embarrassment. “Don’t sa

Humans are loud. Even when they’re quiet, they’re loud. Their breathing, their shifting, their endless string of noises that don’t make sense. Purring would be easier. I purr, Ace listens. Simple. But this new human, Carolina, she doesn’t stop making sounds. Half of them are soft, soothing ones, the kind that make Ace’s shoulders unclench. The other half are sharp little bursts in a language I don’t know, though her voice rolls like silk when she uses it. She has been fussing over him ever since he came back from wherever he runs off to when that horrible beeping box screams at him. I don’t like the beeping box. It means he leaves, and I don’t know if he’ll come back. But he did. He always does. Still, when he walked in, smelling like smoke and exhaustion, I had to yell at him. A good solid mrrrow right to his face. Carolina scooped me up before I could really get my point across, pressing me against her chest. Her curls tickled my ears, her heartbeat thudded fast-fast, and she mutt

I stared at my laptop, the glow of the screen too bright in the dim apartment. The last thing I wanted to do was write. But Ace’s texts from last night kept replaying in my head. He’d been gruff about it, the way he always was when he tried to downplay things, but the words had come through anyway. Rosario 🚒 Gato Homem in Denial: Station 12’s lieutenant. Big mouth. Calls me bartender rookie. Showboat during drills. Almost sprayed half the crew to make a point. I’d sent him a dozen rapid-fire messages, half in English, half in Portuguese, trying to make him laugh. Carolina: Ignore him. He’s só idiota. Goose could do better drills, and Goose still falls off the couch trying to jump sometimes. Ace had responded with a single smirk emoji, followed by. Rosario 🚒 Gato Homem in Denial: I’ll let him know he’s being promoted. I’d grinned at the screen until my cheeks hurt, but when I closed my eyes to sleep, the sting of his words had stayed with me. Not my sting, his. The way he car

The first thing I felt was heat. Not the artificial warmth of my radiator, clanking and complaining like it was about to die. Heat. Dense and real, the kind that only comes from another person pressed up against you. I blinked open my eyes in the milky morning light peeking through my blinds. Ace was still there. Not a dream. Not the blurry edges of whiskey or adrenaline. Just him. Quiet and heavy in my bed, slow breaths and his arm thrown over my waist like he didn’t remember he was only supposed to visit last night. I didn’t move at first, didn’t even breathe too loudly. I just stared. The way his eyes crinkled closed when he slept. The way he looked softer, less burdened, less haunted by all the dark he’d seen. His mouth, usually twisted into that smirk he didn’t know how to handle, which made me spill words out of him like a faucet, was slack. His hair was tousled and in ridiculous cowlicks and I wanted to laugh. Instead I reached over for my notebook on my nightstand. Moved slow