Can't Touch This (Can't Touch This #1)

Leaping down the porch steps, I opened the back door and grabbed the bag with dog and cat toys.

The idea I had for tonight was naughty. I had no idea if Vesper would be into it. Normally, there was no way in hell I would risk asking. But she was different.

We were different.

Different was good.

And if she wasn’t into it, then no big deal. At least we were honest with each other and adult enough to respect each other’s opinions.

Listen to me.

Adult and compromise and marriage.

Those words were a different language to me a few weeks ago; now they were firmly implanted in my brain.

What the hell are you doing to me, Vesper?

Heading back into the kitchen, I poured her a vodka pineapple and myself a cold pilsner and carried the bag and beverages back to the lounge.

Hippo had joined the duo on the floor.

The first time the pigmy pig went near Scar, I’d been petrified. I wasn’t too proud to admit my balls clenched at the thought of the killing machine tearing into my pet piglet like she was honey smoked bacon.

But by some miracle I couldn’t understand, Scar didn’t make a move to hurt her. He’d growled, no doubt wondering what the hell she was, but after one truffle nudge from Hippo he’d shut up and deemed her worthy enough to be his friend.

I couldn’t explain it.

And if I was honest, I didn’t trust him with her. Not after the sort of life he’d lived. But at the same time, I couldn’t lock him up and Hippo had free range of the house. The only concession I’d done was put a bell on her purple collar so I could hear if she went near him and keep watch.

Vesper looked up. “This pig is the most adorable thing I’ve seen.”

“Don’t let her fool you. She’s a mastermind at manipulation.”

“She sounds like Visa.”

“They’d probably plan a world takeover if they ever met.”

She laughed. “True enough. Let’s hope they never do. We don’t want pigs and cats ruling us.”

I hope they do meet.

Because that would mean she’d moved in with me and the damn cat would be my permanent house guest—bloody knuckles or not.

Passing Vesper her drink, I purposely kept the bag tucked down the side of the couch so she didn’t see it. Even though I was willing to put my neck on the proverbial chopping block, it didn’t mean I’d stopped doubting how she’d feel about this. But then again, look at how adaptable she was.

I mean, shit—we were hanging out in a rundown building surrounded by a killer dog and a beloved pig. That shit was different in anyone’s book.

Vesper took a sip of her drink, looking over her shoulder where I sat behind her on the couch while Scar kept her locked on the ground. “Tasty. What’s in it?”

“Your poison of choice.”

“How do you know my poison of choice?”

I smirked. “I cleaned your kitchen for you, remember? While you were sick? I noticed three different vodkas in your cupboard: apple, kiwifruit, and strawberry but no wine or beer or other liquor.” I chuckled. “And so, with the powers of infinite deduction, I came to the conclusion you must drink the Russian’s favourite and bought some for your next visit.”

“Wow, I’m impressed.” She smiled softly. “What else do you already know about me that I thought I kept a secret?”

“Probably quite a lot.” I took a swig of beer, not mentioning the fact that I now understood why she had no clothes, hand-me-down furniture, and a shitty car. In fact, her only splurge was the vodka and who the hell knew how old those bottles were in her cupboard.