Page 50 of The Minotaur's Valentine

“I hope you’ll give me that chance. I’m the ‘flight risk.’”

I try to make a joke, but my emotions are mixed up inside. “I’m one hell of an anchor. I’ll keep you here with me if that’s where you want to stay. I’d love that. You, me, and the boys.”

Libby purrs against me with a low, contented noise, and rubs me with her cheek like she’s marking me, but she’s only sighing as she rests her head on my shirtless torso, covered in short, soft fur. “I love the way that you say that. Like a family.”

My heart leaps, but I don’t know where it'll land. “Yes. Family.”

Chapter Forty-Two: Libby

Could Milo be any better?

I don’t know.

Girls in school (the ones I’d listen in on, not talk to) often talked about their “must-haves” in a guy. In high school, it was about looks, clothes, and money.

In college, it was career, character traits, and still money.

I never let myself have a list of things I wanted in a man. I had a list of things I didn’t.

I didn’t want someone who would leave me. So, I guess by default I wanted someone I could count on.

I didn’t want him to be scummy or slimy, like Aunt Karen’s greasy disco-throwback sugar daddy.

I finish feeding the kittens, lost in thought as I watch them wrestle and pounce on each other.

Milo is sexy and definitely great at sex. I didn’t think that would be the case for a virgin, but that just shows you that it’s more about attitude than experience.

Milo is hard working, respectful, and the one person I trust (Doc) trusts him enough to let him have my foster kittens, which says a lot—especially now that I know Doc is a guardian of nature, Mr. Sneaky Satyr.

The list of great qualities goes on and on in my head, starting small with the fact that he can cook and likes my kind of music and building to huge things like his communication skills and the fact that he’s obviously hella smart. (Tolkien, Lewis, and mythology, bitches. I have decided that book smart boys are total green flags.) The only things I can think of that aren’t great qualities are that most people would think my boyfriend is imaginary, he barely fits in the apartment, and his horns and hooves pose a serious threat to my security deposit.

“I really should get home in the morning. I can’t wear one pair of jeans for a third day.”

“You’ve spent 50% of your time here without them,” I point out.

“If I leave, I’ll come back. Better yet, you could come with me. My place is much bigger and it’s not far. I could show you the forge. I could make you a dagger.”

A dagger? How badass is that? (I know I’m not that tough, but I like to pretend. My mom would be proud of me. Actually, I think she might be proud of my dating skills right now, too.) “I’m sold. Can I ask you something that’s going to make me seem shallow?”

Milo meets me in the bedroom doorway. “Anything.”

“How big is your bed?”

“Big enough for a minotaur and his minotaur wife. So, big enough for you, the cats, and maybe a couple of dogs.”

A house full of pets.

And kids, my heretofore unknown biological clock whispers.

“I kind of like being squished up on you,” I confess.

“I love it, too. But I worry about breaking your bed,” Milo says with a sheepish grin. (Should that be bullish? I don’t know.)

“Ohh. Would you think I’m a bad cat-mom if I put the boys in the bathroom for a little bit?”

“No. They love to chase the water that drips out of the faucet. Just make sure the lid is shut so they don’t fall in.”

Shit, he’s so responsible. That probably shouldn’t be a turn-on, but after a lifetime of irresponsible crackhead neighbors, drunken landlords, and no-show fathers, it is. He radiates stability and solidness, like an unshakable mountain I can hug... or sleep with.

---