Page 23 of Good Enough

“Zoe. That’s what her tag says. Real friendly calico cat that is currently weaving in between my legs.”

Kai’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Where the hell are you?” A sudden realization made Kai’s eyes open wide, her mouth drop open, and her feet carry her over to her bedroom window. Opening the slats on one of the shutters of her turret bedroom window, she saw Waters' truck parked at the curb of her house below in the street. He was standing in front of the passenger door of his truck, in his normal feet shoulder-width apart stance, and sure as shit, the neighbor’s calico cat, Zoe, was weaving figure eights with her sinewy body around his gorgeous legs.

Lucky fucking cat. I hate her.

His face tipped up, signature aviators reflecting the early morning sun, and unerringly found her peeking at him through the slats. “Mornin’. You gonna come down and go to breakfast with me, or are you gonna hide up there in your ivory tower?”

“Umm… breakfast… yeah. Gimme fifteen minutes.”

“Make it ten, and I’ll buy.”

8

FEBRUARY 10TH

Waters

She and her Backpack of Death were down and out the door in seven. He watched her bound down the steps, the outer door of the enclosed porch banging shut behind her. Today she was in a bright blue Dodgers jersey over white leggings, the jersey so large it dropped almost to her knees.

Still no view of the potentially wicked ass. Damn.

Dodgers cap back in place, and her blonde ponytail pulled through the hole in the back of the cap. No boots today. Mentally, he groaned. This was kind of worse.

When the fuck did heeled Chucks become sexy?

He snagged her backpack. “Jesus Christ, what do you have in here?”

“Oh, quit your whining. You could probably lift that with your little finger.”

He closed her inside the truck, then came around the front. Stowing her bag in the cab behind his seat, he hopped up into the truck. “The fact that I can is beside the point.” He watched her struggle with a twisting seat belt for a few moments before he leaned across her and untangled it. With a quick, assertive flick of the strap, he pulled it across and buckled her in.

“Nice, Captain Caveman.” She began to bat her eyes at him and simpered. “Thank you, Waters. That seat belt was so confusing.”

Do not laugh. Do not encourage her.

He shrugged as he started the truck, focusing out his windshield. “It rarely gets used, so it can be unruly when someone tries to pull it.”

“No one rides in your truck?” she asked incredulously.

“Not usually.”

“Typical military alpha.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You’re clearly a ‘rules’ guy. My truck–no one drives it but me, no one rides in it because they’ll mess it up, and if someone does get to ride in it, no touching the tunes. And I bet it especially applies to the opposite sex. Obviously, you have a no-chicks-in-the-truck rule.

“So, let me guess what other rules there are. Never take a girl back to your own bed, definitely never spend the full night, and hell-to-the-no on kissing or cuddling. I’m guessing you only pick up women in bars or maybe at some function, and you likely prefer hotels. Five-star ones. That way, when she wakes up alone, room service is waiting for her with a ‘Thanks for the fun’ note.”

He huffed. “No note.” Snapping her head in his direction, her eyes were wide when they met his. “Letting her know it was fun only engenders hope the event might recur.”

She sat up ramrod straight and turned full forward, refusing to look him in the eyes. “So, um… to what do I owe the invitation to ride in your truck and go to breakfast?”

Hmm. Little uncomfortable, are we?

He shrugged. “It’s morning. We both need to eat. We’re both going to be at the studio working together. Figured we could eat together. Now, I’m very curious about this dream I woke you from. Define ‘good.’”

“I know a great diner just outside the studio gates where you came in yesterday. Alice’s. Best chocolate chip pancakes in L.A. Coupled with hot chocolate and peppermint extract, it’s heaven.”

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