A/N: All characters belong to the fabulous Janet Evanovich.

This story is a one-shot in response to the August 2021 Writing Challenge in the Facebook group Janet Evanovich Fan Fiction. The story is based on FanArt from the wonderfully talented Robot Zombie Pineapples. The art was used as inspiration and with permission. The art and full image can be found on Archive of Our Own under Robot Zombie Pineapples – Stephanie Plum FanArt Chapter One. Check out the many wonderful drawings and the stories of this very talented artist and author.

Warnings: Mild smut.

This story is mainly canon compliant, and takes place sometime after Hard Eight and before Smokin' Seventeen.

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Conversations with Rex

I climbed out of the black RangeMan SUV, taking care not to jostle my banged-up knee. I mumbled a thank you to some guy named Zero. It was pretty appropriate he had been the one to drive me home, because right about now my life certainly felt like a giant zero.

My latest POS car had just gone to the big junkyard in the sky. This time it wasn't even remotely my fault, but then that didn't change the fact I no longer had a car, and today was just another incident in a long string of embarrassing incidents. Such was the job of a bond enforcement agent. A job I was beginning to think I might not be so good at.

That was me, Stephanie Plum the bombshell bounty hunter. I couldn't suppress a groan. I had a lot of not-so-great days, but today was worse than usual since this little hallmark moment had happened on Haywood Street, just down the block from RangeMan. Today would have been embarrassing enough without half of RangeMan watching my latest humiliation in real-life technicolor.

RangeMan is an elite security firm that was owned by Ricardo Carlos Manoso, street name Ranger to those that knew him well. Or maybe Ranger was for those of us that didn't really know him well. That gave me a moment's pause.

Ranger is former Special forces and a primo bounty hunter. I'm pretty sure things like this don't happen to Ranger. He's about six feet of pure yum with dark hair, dark eyes, a perfect body, and a mysterious past. Ranger and I have a complicated relationship. Ranger has been my mentor, protector, employer, and even my lover, once anyway. I might even consider him a friend.

I'm not in a physical relationship with Ranger or any relationship for that matter. Mainly because Ranger has clear priorities and relationships aren't on the list. Ranger has made it known he'll be in my bed anytime I want. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I don't want him in my bed, like a lot, it's that I find it hard to disentangle after we've been romantic. The sex is spectacular, it's just the after that tends to be a disaster. He is one of two men in my life, and I still don't know anything much about him except our relationship is unclear and my feelings for Ranger are dangerous and complicated.

Lula and I tracked a low-level skip to a non-descript building on Haywood. Lord knows I should have known taking Lula along was probably a guaranteed recipe for disaster. Lula and I work for my cousin Vinnie. He owns Vincent Plum Bail Bonds. He's not the best bonds agent, but he certainly isn't the worst. His complete lack of moral compass and missing spine, make him a pretty good judge of character, which gives him a leg up in the business. Truth is, he would probably be a better bondsman if he wasn't saddled with me.

Lula's title is file clerk, but mostly no one knows what Lula does, and sometimes she tags along with me as back-up. Mostly she tags along because she is bored and can't file worth a crap. Turns out the alphabet is just a guideline, and really isn't there for structure.

Nope, it's just there for creative purposes. P under J and S under Y, eh pretty close, right. Vinnie keeps her around mainly because he is terrified of her, which makes her pretty cool in my book.

Today had been one of those days. Lula was in one of her more exotic outfits. A short poison green spandex skirt that barely covered her hoo-hah on a good day, and a neon pink tank top three sizes too small to contain her enormous assets. Lula had been a ho in a former life. She'd mostly ditched the lifestyle but kept the clothes. Today her hair was sky blue, and she had on a pair of genuine knock-off Jimmy Choo shoes in zebra print, which matched her genuine knock-off bag.

The skip was none other than Barney Belinski, a guy my mom had dated in high school. Barney was a middle-aged guy that drank more than he should and gambled more than he made.

Barney's life had gone down the toilet when his wife left him for the plumber that had been fixing said toilet. His wife had taken everything not nailed down in the house including Barney's beloved dachshund. Barney had been in a spiral ever since. He'd gotten into some drunken brawl at the Starvin' Marvin in Patterson over mustard for his corn dog. Granted everyone knows you need mustard on a corn dog, but most people don't destroy the slushy machine over the deal. Barney had been arrested for the destruction of property and missed his court date.

I had a feeling Barney was on his way to pay a visit to his bookie. Barney probably thought his luck was going to change. I had bad news for Barney. That was almost never the case. Usually, luck just got worse, especially when you were on your way to see a bookie named Smiley.

Lula and I spotted Barney walking down Haywood. His brown cargo shorts hung way below his bony knees and his white tank top had any number of unidentifiable stains on it. The only clearly identifiable ones were the sweat stains under his arms. I felt a little involuntary shiver go through me at that memory and squelched a gag. His stench hadn't been any better than the stains. His eyes were bloodshot, and the fifteen hairs left on the top of his head stood up like he'd been hit by lightning.

Now that I had some time and distance and I thought about it, that probably should have been a warning sign, like bright colors on animals. If that didn't warn me, the strong smell of cheap hooch should have. Barney had spent the morning pickling his liver in fine Burg style with four-dollar whiskey.

I'd parked my POS car down the block and Lula and I filed out. I planned to get ahead of him and Lula was going to come up behind him. We would box him in and do the takedown. Not that I'd expected much of a takedown. That was probably my first mistake of the day, or maybe my tenth. By about nine o'clock I'd stop counting.

It turned out, Barney wasn't keen on going down to the station to get rebonded.

When I identified myself as bond enforcement, he shoved me hard, sending me tripping over the sidewalk, scraping my elbow, and ripping my jeans. Then Barney had taken a swing at Lula. That's when things had gone from bad to worse. Lula whacked him in the head with her purse. The purse probably wasn't the real issue in this scenario, it had probably been the Glock inside that had done the most damage.

Barney had gone down taking Lula with him, her skirt had gone up around her waist baring what the good lord had given her for all to see. If she had underwear on, I wasn't sure where it had been hiding, and I didn't want to think too long about it, or I would be forced to poke out my mind's eye. The Glock had gone off winging me in the arm, the bullet lodging in the car behind me.

The sight of Lula's bare ass caused a delivery driver to stare long enough he'd probably gone blind. He rear-ended my POS, shoving it into the intersection. I had watched as my ancient VW Jetta rolled into traffic. I heard tires screech and then a dump truck took care of the rest, taking out a fire hydrant in the process. Water had shot up like that fountain at the Bellagio. I suppose the good news, a fire wasn't much of a concern.

By that time, half of RangeMan had poured into the street, weapons drawn looking for the source of gunfire. I was soaked, my car was toast, Lula still didn't have on any underwear, and Barney had taken off wearing a pair of my handcuffs.

All in it wasn't the worst disaster I'd had lately, but the sight of Ranger bent over at the waist laughing hadn't helped matters.

Ranger had laughed right up until the point he'd seen my white t-shirt, which had turned transparent. His eyes dilated black and he wrapped his windbreaker around me so fast, I barely registered his knuckles were resting on my breasts. The jacket was warm with his body heat and smelled like Ranger. My nipples were hard enough to cut glass, but not because I was cold. I knew my reaction wasn't lost on him.

"Babe." Ranger said.

Babe covers a lot of ground with Ranger, but today it seemed more like a caress. The intensity of his stare coupled with the way his knuckles lightly brushed back and forth across me, made my eyes cross and I whimpered just a little.

He leaned down close and whispered against the shell of my ear. His breath tickling my neck and making my nether regions tingle. "We need to get you out of that shirt."

At that moment, Ranger taking my shirt off seemed like a really good idea, like maybe one of the best I had heard all day, until I reminded myself, I was in a sort-of relationship with Joe Morelli, my on-again, off-again cop boyfriend.

I had one hot night with Ranger not that long ago. Ranger was magic. Ranger didn't do relationships, and that was the end of that. Ranger was all sensual heat and fire. He was the kind of lover that could make a woman forget she valued commitment, and I could feel myself sliding down that slippery slope with every brush of his knuckles. Ever since the disastrous morning after, we had been in an uneasy alliance. We worked as a team when necessary, and I did my best to avoid anything that would lead to a repeat sexual encounter, and Ranger did his best to entice me into one.

The truth was, it was starting to work. Standing wrapped in Ranger's windbreaker enveloped by his scent and body heat, I couldn't remember why I had ever said no. Yes, seemed to be a much better option. I did a mental head slap. Oh, now I remembered. It had something to do with the way he rolled out of bed the next morning, got dressed, and left. While the sex had lasted a lot longer, the departure had reminded me of my first encounter with Morelli. He'd relieved me of my virginity on the floor of the tasty pastry. The minute he was done, Morelli got up, pulled up his pants, and walked out. I'd run him over with my father's Buick the next time I saw him. I can't say I hadn't thought of doing the same to Ranger in the days since.

I narrowed my eyes at Ranger, and he gave a soft laugh. "Come on. I think I still have a couple of your RangeMan shirts in my closet from last time."

The fact my clothes were in Ranger's closet gave me a warm tingly feeling that I definitely shouldn't be having and probably signaled imminent danger. I was off in la la land, completely confused when we got off on five and headed for the medical bay.

I had totally forgotten about my scraped elbow, my banged-up knee, and the gunshot graze. Ranger could do that to a woman. He could also make you forget panties and your name. So, there was that.

Whatever look Ranger gave Bobby, must have worked because Bobby had that wild-eyed look about him that a man might get when confronted with an enraged grizzly bear.

His eyes studiously avoided anything but my face and my wounds.

"Your arm is fine. Just barely a scratch, but I'm going to put some gauze on it. It's bleeding just a little." Bobby told me in short tense sentences.

Bobby cleaned and dressed my arm, and then he put a big band-aid on my elbow and pronounced me good to go. Some of the tension left his shoulders when Ranger bundled me back into the windbreaker.

Ranger used his fob to take us to the secure seventh floor of the RangeMan building.

The seventh floor was Ranger's apartment. His apartment was sleek and modern. Tasteful with neutral colors and sleek lines. It had a sense of order that mine lacked. It was a good match with the man. They were both locked down in a way that gave the appearance of inner peace.

I knew inner peace was an illusion for Ranger, but I also knew he believed if you practiced something long enough it became yours. I wondered if that would work for other things, like the man himself. Maybe if I practiced not wanting him, eventually I wouldn't. The problem was I wanted to practice having him, because if you practiced long enough it became yours, and despite being all kinds of stupid, I wanted that man.

The practicing part wasn't so bad either. Ranger had once told me that time spent with him would ruin me for all other men. At the time, I thought it was one of those outrageous statements men made because they overestimated their own prowess. The minute Ranger had pushed inside me, I realized Ranger was a humble man.

Ranger disappeared into his bedroom and reemerged with a black V-neck t-shirt with a RangeMan logo.

Ranger slid his hands around my waist and pulled the hem of my t-shirt out of my jeans. I felt desire skitter through me, and I knew I should move away from him. Encounters with Ranger could go from charged to nuclear in a heartbeat, and this had all the hallmarks of heating up.

His eyes held that soft gaze that made me all melty. I could smell his intoxicating scent flitting around me, teasing my nostrils, reminding me of just how good he smelled. Just how good it felt when he touched me. Ranger started inching my shirt higher, giving me time to say no. Instead of stopping him, I raised my arms over my head. He pulled my shirt up and off.

His eyes dropped to my breasts and his gaze went from soft to pure predator in a heartbeat. The man had a single-minded focus that could make me forget everything, including my resolve not to sleep with him again. His warm hands spanned my abdomen. I bit my bottom lip to keep from begging. For what I wasn't really sure.

When his hands slid up and palmed my breasts, I closed my eyes and arched my neck in silent surrender. I'm pretty sure I stopped breathing. All rational thought left, and the only thing I could focus on was the feel of his hands. The little callouses on his fingers, as they slid over my overheated flesh. His thumb stroked my nipple through the fabric of my bra. I pressed my legs together as the corresponding heat between my legs started to build with each lazy stroke. I could feel the wetness on my thighs that had nothing to do with the fire hydrant. I was drenched for a very different reason.

Ranger took his finger and traced the swell of my breast until he got to the strap of my bra. He slowly, and deliberately slid the strap down, exposing my breast to his hungry eyes.

His head bent down and his mouth found my breast. His tongue snaked out working his way around my breast, gently flicking over my nipple making me squirm and push towards him. I kept trying to get his talented tongue to the place I needed it, but he stubbornly refused as he continued his lazy exploration. A whimper escaped my throat, and I realized my proper self should be embarrassed by the way I was writhing and begging, but I just couldn't find it in me to care.

Finally, he gently sucked on my nipple and grazed his teeth across me, giving my nipple a little tug. I heard my own sharp intake of breath. I was so close to tumbling over the edge, just from his touch. My breasts felt heavy and overly sensitive. When Ranger sucked hard on my nipple, I felt a corresponding pulse deep within me. When he bit me, I practically screamed his name.

He used his tongue to lick his way up my throat to my mouth. We stared at each other for a moment. Indecision and longing making the air feel heavy, like a forest fire with little embers of desire licking and burning the skin.

Then he kissed me. Our tongues touched and the embers ignited into a raging, uncontrolled wildfire.

Touching him had been a mistake. Kissing him had been an invitation of mutual destruction. All the barriers that I had erected were torn down, and it was just pure raw desire shimmering between us with nothing to stop us.

I meant to push him away, but somehow when my hands went to his chest they fisted in his shirt. I pulled him closer, and he pushed his muscular thigh between my legs. I could feel him hard against my belly, and I whimpered, rubbing shamelessly against him.

My hands were frantically working the belt on his cargo pants when Ranger broke the kiss and rested his forehead against mine.

"We have to rain check this, I have a meeting." He sounded as breathless as I felt.

Suddenly the reality of what we were doing hit me like a train. I was irrationally mad. I was less important than some stupid business meeting, and that just hurt. The physical pain in my chest that accompanied that realization, was unexpected. I shoved away from him pushing him back a step, anger making me strong. I was about fifty shades of humiliated and royally pissed off.

"There will be no rain check." I hissed as I pulled the strap up on my bra.

Ranger gave me a look that said we both knew I was lying and handed me the RangeMan t-shirt. I quickly yanked it over my head.

"Babe. I'd blow off the meeting," Ranger's voice was uncharacteristically soft. "But you have Lula and the cops downstairs." The implication being the cops included my sort-of boyfriend Morelli.

OK, so there was that, but it didn't make me any less embarrassed that I'd been thirty seconds from lift-off just by kissing him. I turned on my heel and marched out. I was still pissed.

By the time I got back to the street, Lula was long gone, and Les was talking to the cops. No doubt giving them some completely made-up story about what had happened that didn't include the fact an illegal firearm had been discharged and I was an idiot. OK, so maybe he'd left the idiot part in, but I hoped not.

Lester Santos was a good guy. He was Ranger's cousin, and most days they looked like they could be twins. They both had the same dark hair, dark eyes, balanced features, and sinful lips. Lester was a little taller but sported the same hard muscles, broad chest, and very fine ass. That's where the similarities ended. At least on the surface.

They were both ex-Special Forces, focused and no doubt lethal predators, but Les was outgoing and cheerful. He put people at ease and had a goofiness that fooled people into underestimating him.

Les liked the ladies. Just never the same lady twice. I always wondered if there was more to that than met the eye. Les and I talked sometimes and he flirted shamelessly, but for the most part, we kept our distance. I figured that had more to do with Ranger in the mix than anything.

Les caught my eye and gave me his trademark Santos grin. I couldn't help but smile back. That's when I noticed Morelli was on the scene. His eyes cut to mine and held for a beat. He just shook his head and stalked off. Yeah, that was not going to win me any points on the future wife, mother of his children scale. I could tell he was mad. I gave him credit for walking away instead of yelling at me in front of everyone. Of course, he could have offered me a ride, since my car was currently flat as a pancake underneath a dump trunk. I just glared at his retreating back.

Morelli is six feet of pure Italian male hotness with lots of lean, hard muscles. He has wavy black hair that is perpetually a little too long, and curls around his collar. He has chocolate brown eyes that a woman could get lost in and a panty-dropping smile. I'd certainly dropped mine enough to know it worked. He has the Italian libido to go with his movie-star good looks, and I can attest the man has stamina. Morelli was my first lover, and sometimes I think he will be my last. I love Morelli, I'm just not sure I want to be married to him, and right now I'm not so sure I even like him.

The men in his family are drunks, womanizers, and abusers. Morelli is none of that. He's got a house, a dog, and a working toaster. He's a good cop and a good man.

Unfortunately, Morelli is Italian through and through and has traditional views of marriage and a hot Italian temper, and most of our fights are over Morelli's view of what he wants me to be, and what I actually am.

Don't get me wrong, I'm half Hungarian and half Italian so I can do a pretty good job of holding my own. I definitely got the Italian temper and I sport an array of creative hand gestures. Most of our fights are silly and over quickly, except for one long-running gun battle that we have been having for years. Morelli hates my job. It's the one thing we don't seem to be able to get past. Morelli wants me to have a safer job, one that I might be better at. I understand his concern, but the truth is I like this one. So, we fight and break-up, fight and make-up, and then agree to be engaged to be engaged because both of us are stubborn.

Les jogged over to me. I swear I saw him give Morelli a little stink eye as Morelli drove off. While there is a healthy amount of respect between the RangeMan guys and Morelli, I don't expect them to all sit down for a beer anytime soon. Morelli believes in the rule of law, and RangeMan takes a broad interpretation of what that means. They tolerate each other, cooperate when expedient, and largely give each other a wide berth.

"Hey, beautiful." Les greeted me. "Are you OK?"

I realized Les was the first person that asked me that, and I got a little teary-eyed.

Les sighed and pulled me into a hug. I rested my head on his chest. I could hear his steady heartbeat, and feel his warmth. I realized, as my fingers felt around a little, that there is nothing soft about Les. He had washboard abs and a well-defined chest. Something foreign slid through me, and I pushed it down.

"I'll have Zero drive you home. He can swing by the tasty pastry so you can get a donut. But just one." Les warned.

I looked up at him and he was smiling at me, but something in his eyes made my heart skip a beat, and I pulled back from him.

My mouth was suddenly dry, so I just nodded. Les waved Zero over. Zero looked like he'd really rather bash himself in the head than drive me home, but he mutely pointed towards the garage.

As expected, the drive to my apartment was silent. Zero wasn't much of a talker, in fact, come to think of it, I'm not even sure he can talk. So here I am hobbling across the parking lot praying the elevator is working with my lone Boston crème donut.

My apartment is in the back of the building, on the second floor, overlooking the parking lot. I have one bedroom, one bath, a small kitchen, and a living room that combines with the dining area.

I got on the elevator with Mrs. Bestler. She is eighty-three and retired from one of the local department stores. Most days her elevator no longer goes all the way to the top. The doors opened, and Mrs. Bestler sang out, 'Second floor, ladies lounge.'

I let myself into my apartment and looked around. It's a hodgepodge of unwanted furniture from my various relatives.

It's comfortable, and more importantly affordable. Unlike Ranger, I don't have artwork on the walls, fresh flowers in a vase, or a silver tray by the door where I put my keys. I also don't have a housekeeper, named Ella to cater to all my needs. It's good to be Ranger. My apartment could be better described as controlled chaos decorated in thrift-store chic. At least that's how I like to think of it. Eclectic with a bohemian flair. Or maybe minimalist. Either way you say it, it translates into sparse.

My hamster, Rex, was running on his wheel, his feet a blur of pink. I tapped on the glass cage by way of greeting, causing him to momentarily pause, his whiskers twitching, his shiny black eyes large and alert.

"Hi there."

Rex didn't say anything back. He's the small, silent type. I would like to think the momentary pause and the whisker twitch was hamster speak for welcome home, but probably it was who put the damn light on?

I dropped my messenger bag on my well-loved dining room table with its mismatched set of chairs, and my eyes cut to the stack of files just sitting there taunting me. A testament to my ineptness. I had four outstanding skips and Barney was supposed to be the easiest. Maybe Morelli was right. Maybe I'm really not cut out for this job.

I pulled my gun out of my messenger bag and dropped it in the brown bear cookie jar sitting on the counter. I figure the gun can keep the only two bullets I own company. In retrospect, I probably should have left it in the cookie jar this morning.

I'm not a fan of guns. It's not like it does me a lot of good anyway with no bullets, but then Ranger is always on my case to carry my gun. I figured it was a fair compromise. I carried the gun but left the bullets at home. That made me a whole lot less likely to accidentally shoot someone. I made a mental note to discuss this option with Lula, as I rubbed my stinging arm.

I picked up my coffee mug that declared I was the World's Best Hamster Mom and took it to the kitchen to make tea. I'm not so sure it's an accurate statement, and if I don't bring in some skips, I know it won't be because I won't even be able to afford hamster crunchies.

"You'd better enjoy those crunchies while they last, there may not be any more after that bowl."

Rex scurried out of his soup can and stared at me, an expectant look on his face.

"What do you think?" I asked Rex.

"Do you think it is time to get a job at the button factory? People are always going to need buttons, right."

Rex twitched his whiskers. Conversations with Ranger and Rex can be surprisingly similar. Neither has much to say, and you're often left interpreting their blinks and body language.

The microwave dinged and I pulled out my coffee mug, dunking the tea bag a few times before I took it over to the bar and had a seat. Rex was silently watching me. It felt a little like disapproval.

I opened the tasty pastry bag and smelled the comforting scent of a donut. I pulled it out and flattened the white pastry bag into a makeshift plate. I hate doing dishes, and getting up to fetch a plate seemed like too much effort. I took a bite of my donut and chewed thoughtfully. The sweet gooey goodness calmed my nerves, as I examined the scrape on my elbow, along with the other bumps and bruises from this morning. The biggest one being my pride.

My gaze went to my phone and I scrunched up my nose. I had multiple voicemails, probably not a one of them I really want to hear. I sighed and punched in the code to listen to them.

"Stephanie, it's your mother. Are you there? If you're there pick-up." I couldn't quite suppress a sigh.

My mother has never quite figured out that cell phones and answering machines don't work quite the same.

The next one is also from my mother. "That was me, I called earlier. I didn't need anything. You don't need to call me back. Unless you want to. Your grandma heard from Frances Dabrowski that Sophia Ricci's son, Anthony, is single again. I know there was that whole mess with the prostitute, but he's been going to church. He's got that good job as a meat cutter at the new discount supermarket. I'm sure it's a union job, pays well. I should invite him to dinner. I can make pineapple upside-down cake." I heard a crash in the background. "Oh lord, your grandma is doing Zumba in the living room again, I've got to go. I'll invite Anthony."

I pulled my finger through the icing on the donut and licked it off. "What do you think? The whole prostitute thing was probably just a mix-up. Besides I heard it was just a BJ anyway, so probably not too serious."

Rex hopped off his wheel and looked at me like I might be a shade off of stupid, which was ironic coming from a hamster with a brain the size of a pea. I glared back at him.

"OK, we'll scratch Anthony off the list." Which seemed a little sad since Anthony had hair and most of his original teeth. My standards were starting to wane.

The next message was from Joe. "Hey cupcake." That was the whole message. I could hear the barely restrained anger in his voice and winced a little. A little wave of irritation went over me but I pushed it down.

"Morelli is just ahead of me in the maturity department. That's the problem. It's not that I don't want to marry Morelli or that he doesn't want to marry me. Of course, we never seem to want to get married at the same time."

Rex gave me a look like he thought I was getting off-topic. Rex shook his little hamster butt and wiggled into the shavings, settling in for what no doubt would be a riveting revelation.

"I mean it's a miracle Morelli is as normal and responsible as he is. Morelli men aren't exactly known for being stable. Mostly they die young, drive drunk, or explode their livers." I shrugged at Rex. Everybody knew about the Morellis.

Rex threw me a bored look and got back on his wheel, his little pink feet a blur.

"So, you think I should give Morelli a chance. Move in with him once and for all, look for a different job." I pressed my fingers to the corner of my eye to stop the twitching.

Rex stopped running on his wheel and blinked a couple of times. I mostly thought that meant Rex was as ambivalent about that idea as I was. Morelli had Bob, his big orange shaggy dog, and I wasn't entirely sure how that would work out with Rex. I was pretty sure Rex wasn't so sure about Bob either.

Rex went back to running on his wheel, clearly dismissing the idea as crazy.

"Morelli could make a good husband you know. He has a stable job, a house. A crazy grandma that is in league with Satan, but then we can't all be perfect."

Rex didn't seem to be listening. I figured even Rex was a little afraid of grandma Bella and the evil eye, and he didn't want to take any chances. Getting turned into a guinea pig would just be insulting.

"I think Morelli needs to examine what he wants in a wife. I get that he was raised in a traditional Italian household, with a stay-at-home mom and a domineering father, but look how well that worked out. Surely, he knows things are different, or maybe not, at least not in the Burg." I sighed and Rex hopped off his wheel, blinking rapidly whiskers twitching.

"If he wants a wife who will fit that mold, I'm not for him," I said defiantly. "Besides I'm not sure I even want kids. We can't all be so lucky as to have a hamster."

Rex sat on his haunches, which I took as a sign of solidarity. That was right. Either Morelli accepted me for who I was or he wasn't the right guy for me.

The next message was from Ranger. "Yo!" Ranger made Morelli look like a chatterbox.

My heart gave a little squeeze when I heard his voice.

I looked at Rex. He had come to the glass. Apparently even Rex had a thing for Ranger's voice.

"You know there are a lot of reasons I'm not married to Morelli. His job. His family. His friends. Not to mention my inability to commit, or his. Then of course there is Terry Gilman. Let's not forget her and her ginormous tits." I rolled my eyes, trying to hold back the tears that threatened.

"The reason I'm not married to Ranger is much simpler. His life path doesn't include marriage, and that is the end of that story." Rex was the only living creature I had ever admitted that to. At least I didn't have to worry about Rex gossiping. One of the other great reasons hamsters outranked humans in my book.

"Sometimes I think we're friends, but lately I think I'm more like a pet to Ranger. No offense." I gave Rex a reassuring look. "I mean he takes care of me, protects me, plays with me sometimes, and maybe he even kind of loves me."

Rex had his little pink paw pressed to the glass, and I took my finger and pressed it to the glass over his paw. Rex got it.

I heard a rustle of fabric behind me and whipped around.

"Jesus, what are you doing in here." I barked as I clutched my hand to my chest. I was pretty sure I had just had a mild heart attack.

Rex gave a startled squeak and ran into his soup can. Bonding time was over. Rex was a smart hamster; he knew when to retreat.

I scanned the black cargo pants and the black t-shirt painted onto the broad chest. I licked my lips. An entirely involuntary gesture. I saw his eyes darken and take on a predatory gleam that caused my pulse to flutter.

"How long have you been standing there?" I whispered as embarrassment flushed up my neck.

"A while." His mouth tipped up into an almost smile.

"You know the definition of insanity." Came his deep rich voice. "It's doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome."

My breath hitched as he stalked towards me and gently hauled me up by my shoulders.

"Maybe it's time to try something different."

And then he kissed me. The kiss started out gentle but turned heated and almost frantic when I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed into him. I was pretty sure the temperature in the room had gone up ten degrees, as he cupped my ass and hauled me closer.

The kiss set delicious and unexpected things in motion. Things I realized I was enjoying a little too much, as I tried to crawl my way up his perfect body. I could feel him react against me.

The sound he made against my mouth when he pushed back sounded suspiciously like a growl and vibrated through me causing me to moan. We were both panting, and neither of us really knew what had just happened. We were just staring at each other, waiting for the world to stop spinning.

"Oh boy," I whispered.

"Yeah, beautiful, that was unexpected," Les whispered back.

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A/N: This story was as close to Tart as I can manage. I hope you enjoyed it. A huge thanks to Robot Zombie Pineapples for inspiring this story. I appreciate all the reviews, feedback and PMs. Thanks for reading.

A/N: I switched back to first person POV for this story, and I found it incredibly difficult. I hope the mistakes aren't too jarring!