Then Who Killed the World? || Katrina & Dallas
Kitten.
Katrina King was a girl who invited nicknames, she’d had more than she cared to remember in the last twenty-four years. She was endlessly cast as the little sister and mascot and given nicknames fitting to that role – kid and kiddo were two of the favorites, but there was also Little King. A misnomer since she’d passed her sister in height sometime after Skylar left home. Kit Kat, though that one she didn’t mind. Skylar had her own stash of private nicknames that only she got away with – Rina and Baby Girl among them. And then there was Dallas. Her crush on him when he’d first arrived was a secret to exactly no one. There were monks in Tibet who’d taken a vow of silence that were gossiping about her poorly hidden feelings for the town mechanic.
She knew he’d rather flirt with her older sister than with her (who wouldn’t) but that didn’t stop her from turning tomato red when he eventually did notice her tagging along with her best friend to work for no reason other than to gawk. Subtlety had never been her strong point. She could still remember introducing herself to him, beet red with shaking hands and shifty eyes that refused to look higher than his ribs for any amount of time lest she make dreaded awkward eye contact. She introduced her self: I’m Kat. Katrina. Katrina King but people, you know, call me Kat. Or Katrina. Either’s fine. It’s, uh, yeah…fine. Umm, I’m with Harper? She’s my best friend. Said it’d be okay if I hang out here…with her…? Well, she’s not here yet, obviously, but she’s supposed to be like any second. I won’t get in the way, promise. That awkward speech led to the first time he’d called her kitten. A nickname she would have protested from anyone else.
“What entourage were you expecting, Tex?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. “Skylar is protective, but even she doesn’t have me traveling with an armed security detail. Yet. Besides, you know she trusts you.”
She shook her head, putting her arm over her bag protectively. “Candy and I are a package deal, I’m afraid. You want the candy, I get to come along,” she informed him with a grin. Turning toward his truck she was froze when he claimed his statement was “douchey” and frowned in confusion. What was wrong with offering a chariot? “No? Or, well, okay, if that’s the dou–worst thing you’ve ever said then you don’t need to wash your mouth out, but you might need to polish your halo? I’ve said lots meaner things than offering someone a chariot.”
Half the magic of Kitten was that it was less a nickname and more of a private joke between only them; it was meant for her ears only, bellowed across the shop whenever they were alone, or whispered into her ear with the humming buzz of a quiet laugh hot on its heels whenever they found themselves in company. A nudge and a saucy wink never failed to send poor Katrina into a flushing flutter. Dallas reckoned it was nearabout the cutest thing he’d ever damned seen.
“She trusts me with her, maybe, but she doesn’t trust anyone with you, least of all me. Says I drink too much and drive too fast.” He flashed that infamous boyish grin her way, dimples hidden by a few day’s worth of scruff but present nevertheless.
It only grew as she questioned with him, eyes crinkling at the corners, too many white teeth on display to be anything but genuine. “Scuse me, Miss King-- are you having trouble sayin’ douchey? You’re not gettin’ in my truck until you’ve cussed at least once, here an’ now, ma’am. House rules.”
