Page 18 of Snowed Under

She takes it tentatively at first, her delicate fingers wrap around mine, then she shakes with a little more vigor. “Deal. Plus, it’s freezing out there tonight.”

“I’ll put your bicycle in the back of my truck,” I say before she makes an excuse. “It’s not like you live far from me.”

The corners of her mouth turn up in a half-smile. “Wise ass.”

Oh, Ainsley Parsons. What am I gonna do with you?

I smile. “Let’s go home.”

CHAPTER 6

AINSLEY

That cocky grin.

His pretty hazel eyes.

Carved biceps.

Sweet, sweet buns of steel.

Those are the thoughts that jolt me out of my sleep, and when I realize it’s only just after five in the morning, I curse my attractive neighbor and then I rub my eyes. It’s not his fault. Well, maybe it is because he’s being super helpful as well as looking cute while doing it. Now he’s offered to stand in as my fake boyfriend to ward off evil spirits and men called Drake.

It’s sweet of him buturgh. How is this my life? Why couldn’t I just voice the words that I’m attracted to him, or at the very least, that fake dating is a good idea and see how that went?

I guess I’m afraid that admitting I feel a spark with Cole might make him think I’m looking for a rebound. Even though it’s been months, me and Drake were done long before that. Then there’s the other fear that Cole is just being a nice guy. I mean, he’s flirty. He is that way with everyone, and I can’t blame him for that. He’s young and single. Why shouldn’t he flirt? But now I’m picturing him flirting, I’m just not sure that I like the idea of him doing it to other women. Yep, he helped me unpack my unmentionables and moved some boxes and now I have some weird claim over him. In my dreams.

He’s not interested in me. He was just being nice.

I yawn, throwing back the covers, then step into my pumpkin slippers. Everything is better with fall all around you. It may be the last few days for it, but that’s not the point. In my opinion, fall should occur anytime after July 4th. There’s only so many pumpkin spiced lattes one can drink in such a short space of time.

I use the bathroom, slipping into my comfy, orange waffle robe, and just as I walk into the kitchen, I yelp at the sight of something moving across the floor. It makes me rocket five feet in the air, and I quickly jump up on the nearby kitchen chair for refuge.

“Holy shit!” My hand presses over my heart as I stare down at the scruffy, ginger cat looking up at me.

His expression is one of blind nonchalance. Like it’shiskitchen andI’mthe one trespassing. What’s even more bizarre is how the heck he got in here, unless… I glance over to the door that backs onto the kitchen and sure enough, there’s the culprit. A cat door. Maybe the previous renter was used to his comings and goings, but he doesn’t look very friendly. A worse idea hits me;did they leave it behind?

I don’t know if I should shoo him — or her — away, or to try to make friends. I go with the latter.

“Here, kitty kitty,” I say, stepping down gingerly from the chair. I realize I’m being a tad dramatic, but I wasn’t expecting to see a cat in the middle of my kitchen.

I realize I probably need treats or something to lure it in. Sadly, I don’t have any catnip, but I probably have some tuna in the cupboard. I stop. Do cats really eat fish? Or am I imagining that?

I walk around the cat. His head moves and his eyes follow me. All the while, the furry beast doesn’t budge. This tough little talker really thinks he owns the place.

I reach to the top cupboard and hunt around.Damn it.I didn’t do grocery shopping, but surely I’ve got something in this godforsaken pantry aside from mothballs.

Corn flakes. A box of cookies. Spaghettios.

I turn. The cat hasn’t moved, but he’s still watching me with big, wary brown eyes. Maybe I should’ve tried to shoo it away. Hmm. Do cats drink milk? I have that at least.

I move to the fridge, then hunt around for a dish. Settling on a saucer that matches my teacup, I pour some milk and set it down. He looks at it, then back at me, then back down again.

“I’m sorry, your majesty.” I fake a bow. “But there are no royal biscuits to go with your milk this morning.”

I snort, and the cat hisses at me. Literally hisses, baring his teeth.

“Okay, so we’re not gonna be friends, then? Maybe the last person who lived here let you boss them around with your beady little eyes and cold demeanor, but that was then,buster. This is now.” I reach over toward the broom tucked between the sink and the fridge, just in case the furry critter decides to attack, and I grip the handle. You can’t be too careful where cats are concerned. I’ve heard they’re a different breed, and this one is proving that theory correct.

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