Page 110 of Failure to Match

We’d make each other miserable.

I held up a palm when he opened his mouth again. “I’m not going to argue about this with you. We have more important things to talk about.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“Supervised dates, Jackson? A full coaching package? Suddenly you’re on board?”

For the first time since he’d stomped out of Minerva’s office without so much as a goodbye, his scowl eased a touch. “I changed my mind.”

“Really?” My brows arched as I folded my arms over my chest. “Youwantme on all your dates, critiquing every little move you make?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “If I must suffer through them then so do you. Plus, you did say that if I had any personal areas of concern, you’d help me work through them.”

He was up to something. There was no doubt about it.

He nudged closer to me, his massive thigh pressing to mine. “We can go over the details later today. But first, we need to feed Cat.”

We? “Why would wedo that?”

He frowned at me like I’d asked a stupid question. “Because he hasn’t had his breakfast yet.”

That wasn’t what I meant, and he knew it.

“I don’t know what you’re scheming, but I can almost guarantee it’ll end with a bite mark,” I warned. “And blood.”

He smirked to himself. “We’ll see.”

Toebeans was perched beside his empty food bowl when I opened the door, simmering in hanger-induced rage. He growled when he saw me, because howdareI?

“Hi, cutie. I’m sorry we’re so late?—”

Jackson snatched my wrist as soon as I stepped into the suite, stopping me in my tracks. How could one person generate so much electricity? One small touch and every inch of my skin buzzed with it.

“Where’s his food?” he asked.

“Um… bottom cupboard. Far left.”

“Can I do it?”

I hesitated. “I mean… you could try.” But why would he want to?

“Thanks.”

Normally Toebeans would have been entangled between my ankles by now, noisily screaming about how neglected and famished he was while simultaneously making it as difficult as possible for me to get to his food bowl.

Then again, normally I didn’t have a Jackson Sinclair accompanying me to his mealtime.

His tail stopped flicking as Jackson stepped closer, a warning growl rumbling from his chest. This wasn’t going to work. Jackson wouldn’t even make it to the cupboard before being forced to back off.

“Watch your ankles,” I warned.

Jackson came to a stop around six feet from his target. Then he slowly, carefully, crouched down.

Wrong move. Toebeans bared his sharp fangs, ears flattening as his pupils flared.

Uh Oh. “Jackson?—”

“Hello, Cat.”

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