He Thought I Wanted Him I Only Wanted His Cat

I wanted to stroke the campus heartthrobs cat.

It was the middle of the night, and I couldn't stand it anymore. I shot him a text.

Avery: Hey, can I stroke it? Just once!

His reply was immediate, and predictably formal.

Rhys: Avery, that's a bit forward.

I pressed on. I knew I was good with my hands.

Avery: Ive got a great touch, I promise Ill make it purr! One hand from head to tail, right?

Silence.

An hour later, he finally replied.

Rhys: One hand won't do it.

Rhys: You won't be able to grasp it.

1

Avery: No way!

Avery: I can definitely grasp it!

To prove my point, I immediately took a close-up photo of my hand and sent it to him.

In the picture, my hand was cupped, angled just so to make my fingers look extra long and nimble.

Avery: See? Plenty of room.

I wasn't delusional. His cat, Figaro, was only three months old. A tiny little thing. How could I not be able to grasp it?

The top of the chat box flashed: Rhys is typing...

It started, then stopped. Stopped, then started again. For a solid three minutes.

All I could think about was the cat. I was getting impatient.

Avery: How about you send me a close-up picture so I can check if its grown?

2

Rhyss reply this time was surprisingly fast.

Rhys: I'm a traditional man.

I frowned, staring at the screen. What did being traditional have to do with sending a picture of a kitten?

Rhys: Its not appropriate at night. It's already asleep.

I was even more confused.

Avery: Don't lie. It's definitely wide awake right now.

Nighttime was prime zoomie-time for any kitten. I suspected Rhys was just using excuses.

After that, he stopped replying.

Rhys Alderidge was a legend in our department. First, because of his facea chiseled, untouchable beauty that landed him the unofficial title of Campus Heartthrob. Second, because of his personalityinfamously stiff, unapproachable, and stubbornly old-school. Hed broken a thousand hearts without even trying.

We were in the same college, but different majors, so besides large lecture classes, we had zero overlap. Texting him at midnight about stroking his cat was, admittedly, a breach of social contract.

This is going south, I thought, letting out a heavy sigh.

Just as I was about to give up, my phone vibrated. Rhys had actually conceded.

Rhys: If you want to stroke it so badly... fine.

Rhys: But you have to come to my place.

He added a familiar line.

Rhys: I'm a traditional man.

!!!

Hed said yes! I was elated, scared hed change his mind.

Avery: Deal! No problem!

Avery: Wherever you want to stroke it is fine by me! Im flexible!

The screen went quiet for a few seconds.

Rhys: When did you... take an interest in it?

3

Why was I so obsessed with stroking Rhys Alderidges cat?

Because it was my cat.

Rhys was a kidnapper. He had effectively catnapped my beloved son, Figaro.

Figaro was a scrappy, long-haired calico Id found living under my dorm. He had a weird, chaotic patchwork of orange and black that made him look a little like a walking paint-spillwhich is why no one adopted him.

Id been his biological human since he was a month old. I paid for his vet visits, built his little shelter, and fed him by hand. I couldn't bring him into the dorm because my roommate was allergic, so I was saving up my scholarship money to rent an apartment.

Rhys, however, had beaten me to it. He skipped straight past "adopt" and went directly to "steal."

But an opportunist never quits. I instantly developed a perfect new plan:

Get close to Rhys.

Lull him into a false sense of security.

Then, steal my son back.

4

When did I take an interest in it? I thought back.

Avery: Two months ago.

Two months ago was when I first met Figaro next to the dumpsters behind my dorm.

The top of the chat box flashed: Rhys is typing...

After a long pause, he sent three words.

Rhys: Me too.

My fist clenched. What did that mean?

He saw Figaro two months ago but didnt take him in? He just watched while I did all the hard workpotty training him, getting him fed, turning him into a plump, healthy little creatureand then swooped in to claim him?

This was a blatant theft of hard-won victory. It was infuriating.

But I forced myself to calm down. Bigger picture, Avery. Bigger picture.

I put on a friendly facade.

Avery: Well, looks like were completely in sync then, arent we~

Avery: So, when can I come over and stroke it?

5

That night, Rhys just replied, It's moving too fast, and then went radio silent. No specific date, no time.

That wouldn't do. A dedicated plotter like me hates uncertainty. I had to push him.

The first thing I did in the morning was film myself applying hand cream and sent the video.

In the clip, I massaged the milky lotion into my palms, smoothing it over my knuckles.

Avery: Look, my hands are super soft. It's going to be in pure ecstasy when I touch it.

The chat box flashed Rhys is typing... for nearly a minute.

Nothing ever came through.

Why did he keep doing this?

A bold thought crossed my mindmaybe Rhys just wasn't good with phones.

I decided to be more direct.

Avery: Can you send me a video of you stroking it? Just to tide me over? (Stars-in-eyes emoji)

He was silent for a while. Then, a familiar line popped up.

Rhys: I'm a traditional man.

Avery: ...

Was that a default auto-reply? Was something wrong with him?

I didnt know how to respond, so I just didn't.

About ten minutes later, my phone vibrated. Rhys had actually sent a video!

6

My heart did a little jump. I quickly tapped play.

The frame held only a pair of hands.

The fingers were long and slender, with distinct knuckles. Pale skin with faint blue veins underneath. The fingers were moving, sliding up and down in mid-air, a study in elegant motion.

But they were trembling slightly, as if recording this brief clip had been a massive psychological barrier to overcome.

I was momentarily confused. Why was he showing me his hands? Was I the type of person who just drooled over handsome men?

I wanted the cat!

With no Figaro content from Rhys, I resorted to trawling his old social media posts. I found an old video of him petting the cat.

In the clip, Rhys was sitting down, his eyes lowered, silver-rimmed glasses resting on his nose. His white shirt sleeves were rolled up twice, exposing a clean, firm forearm. He looked gentle and studious.

His long fingers were lightly petting the kittens head.

The next second, the cat twisted its head and swiped a claw across his forearm, leaving a clear red scratch. He didn't seem annoyed; a tiny, affectionate smile even touched the corner of his mouth.

My roommate leaned over my shoulder. Hes so handsome, and so emotionally regulated I wish I were his cat. She paused, then observed, Look, he was just scratched and hes still smiling.

She smirked suggestively. Maybe he is a bit of a masochist. They say the quiet, buttoned-up ones are always the wildest ones in the sheets. Girl, whoever lands him is going to eat well.

Her words made me realize the reason for Rhyss hesitation.

7

I sent a probing text.

Avery: You never bring people you arent close with back to your place, do you?

Rhys replied with a single word.

Rhys: No.

Aha! Case closed. He was so stiff and formal that he felt we werent close enough for me to come home and stroke his cat.

I clicked over to his profile again, carefully scrolling through his posts. I needed a way to accelerate our relationship status.

8

Clutching a small pink gift bag, I found Rhys in his large lecture hall during the busiest break between classes.

He was sitting alone, reading. He looked like a very serious ragdoll cat.

Rhys!

He visibly flinched when he saw me, blinking rapidly behind his glasses. His earlobes flushed pink.

I pressed the pink bag into his hands, smiling brightly. Open it, Rhys. See if you like it.

He took it, glancing nervously at the surrounding students, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.

Are you sure you want me to open this in front of everyone?

I nodded enthusiastically. Of course! Open it.

He carefully peeled back the tissue paper. Inside lay a small, hand-knitted scarf that Id stayed up all night to finish.

Happy belated birthday, Rhys!

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, catching my radiant smile.

Rhys froze, staring at me. When he finally registered what I'd said, his ear tips turned even redder. He adjusted his glasses to cover his confusion.

...Thank you.

The surrounding spectators immediately became alert.

Rhys actually accepted a gift from a girl?

The Heartthrob is blushing

I gave myself a mental high-five. Plan: Aced.

Now that hed accepted a gift and Id wished him well, we were officially friends, right? It was time to claim my prize.

I knitted it myself, I emphasized.

He stroked the scarf, his eyes avoiding mine. I love it.

I was up all night working on it, I pressed, following the momentum.

He looked up at me, his eyes dark. I understand your intentions.

The moment was now. I lowered my voice.

So, about what I asked last night?

His Adams apple bobbed. He looked away. Im a bit traditional. I need some time. Maybe next month

My smile instantly faltered.

He saw my face drop and pursed his lips. Next weekend, he revised quickly.

I immediately deployed the innocent, doe-eyed appeal, gently tugging the sleeve of his shirt.

The day after tomorrow! Tomorrow! Please?

He seemed burned by my touch. He grit his teeth. Fine.

Thank you! My mood instantly shifted, and I beamed. Im going to make sure Im completely ready!

He looked at me, his gaze heavy, and his voice held a strange, determined finality.

I will be, too.

I didnt understand what he needed to prepare for.

9

On the walk back to the dorm, my roommate linked arms with me, shaking her head in amazement.

Avery, do you know what Rhys said when a freshman tried to give him a gift last month? She mimicked Rhyss stiff, upright posture. I do not accept bribes for my position. He refused without even looking at it.

Hes pathologically good. She suddenly leaned in, elbowing me. But he took yours and said he liked it!

I thought she was overthinking it. He just likes hand-knitted things.

My roommate sighed, utterly defeated. Avery, you are a ruthless opportunist, but also a monumental idiot.

Poor Rhys.

I tuned her out. I only had one thing on my mind: Figaro. Tomorrow, I could finally go to Rhyss place and stroke him! I hadn't seen him in so long; I was going to inhale his scent until I passed out.

10

I was too excited to sleep. Tucked under my covers, I suddenly remembered an important detail.

I texted Rhys.

Avery: Did you shave its butt hair? If not, I can come over and clip it tomorrow.

Figaro was a long-haired cat; his rear end needed regular maintenance, or things got messy.

On the other end, Rhys seemed to be struggling. After a long input delay, he replied.

Rhys: Isn't that... moving a bit too fast?

I frowned at the screen. I told him the truth.

Avery: I cant wait any longer!

This time, his input was even slower. So long that I thought he might have fallen asleep.

Finally, the message popped up.

Rhys: I've never done it before, but for you... I can try.

Rhys: I'm very much looking forward to it.

I was wondering why hed be looking forward to clipping a cats butt hair. Then, another message arrived.

Rhys: Since I've agreed to all this, can I ask for a small favor in return?

I bit my bottom lip, hovering my finger over the screen. After three seconds of deliberation. Fine, I need the cat more.

Avery: Sure.

He almost instantly replied.

Rhys: Can I call you 'Babe'?

I was confused.

Avery: Why?

He replied with utter seriousness.

Rhys: It seems like people in our situation often use that term for each other.

Our situation?

11

I stared at the words, my brain momentarily fried.

Then, a sudden realization struck meI understood! We were cat-buddies!

People online who shared pictures and advice about their cats often called each other "Babe" or "Sweetie." The logic was flawless.

Relieved, I readily agreed.

Avery: Okay, sure. Go for it.

He immediately sent a strange, slightly outdated floral emoji with the caption, "Happiness Lasts Forever," radiating a kind of rigid, uncontainable joy.

My goal achieved, I decided to end the conversation.

Avery: Goodnight, see you tomorrow.

I was about to put down my phone when a voice note popped up.

I tapped it. His low, rich voice poured into my ear, sounding as if he were right behind me.

Goodnight, Babe.

See you tomorrow.

12

Following the address Rhys had sent, I found myself standing in front of a substantial, secluded villa.

This is next-level luxury, I murmured, taking a deep breath before ringing the doorbell.

The door opened.

Rhys stood in the frame, his hair damp. He was wearing a white terry-cloth robe, and hed taken off his glasses, making his features look sharper and his thick eyelashes more prominent. He seemed edgier than usual.

I froze for a second.

He spoke first. My parents are at a visiting professorship abroad.

...Oh.

So, he was completely alone?

He held out a pair of fuzzy white kitten slippers. They were identical to the black ones he was wearing.

I started to bend down, but he knelt first.

Let me.

You dont have to

Before I could finish, his fingers deftly untied my shoelaces. His robe gaped slightly with the movement, and I accidentally glanced inside, catching a flash of taut, slightly pink-tinged muscle.

My face went hot, and I snapped my head away.

After I put the slippers on, Rhys gentlemanly ushered me inside.

So, can I stroke it now? I asked, eager for the cat. Has it gotten a lot bigger?

13

Rhyss Adams apple bobbed. He cleared his throat. Y-yes, he managed.

I was impatient. Where should I stroke it?

You where do you want to? Anywhere is fine.

The living room couch, then.

I went straight to the point, plopping down and rubbing my hands together excitedly.

Bring Figaro out!

Rhys lightly coughed, the tips of his ears flushed red. He looked incredibly serious.

Its not small, he said solemnly.

What did that mean? Was he bragging about how well hed fed Figaro?

As I wondered, Rhys very deliberately reached for a remote and closed all the living room blinds.

??

Then, he turned on a dim, amber-colored mood lamp.

???

I didnt understand, but I respected the mans eccentricities.

The entire space was bathed in a hazy, slightly ambiguous light. He walked over to the sofa. Taking a deep breath, as if making a monumental decision, he sat down next to me.

The bottom of his robe had slipped open slightly as he spread his legs. He leaned back against the cushions and lifted an arm to cover his eyes.

He looked like a portrait of submission. His damp, dark hair, the half-open robein the dim light, he appeared both incredibly restrained and deeply ready to let go.

I was stunned. This was what he meant by "traditional"?

After a moment, he didn't feel any movement, so he lowered the arm covering his eyes and looked at me, his expression wet with a kind of resigned vulnerability.

You you dont want to start?

I was just as antsy.

You have to bring Figaro out! If you don't, how can I start?

The air froze.

First, search for and download the MotoNovel app from Google. Then, open the app and use the code "292045" to read the entire book.