Page 42 of The Guy Who Fake Dated Me

I shot him a glare. “Do I look okay?”

His eyes moved from my face, down my neck, and over my chest.

I swallowed.

Logan kept going, his gaze drifting past my waist, my hips, along my bare calves, and finally to my shoes.

Had it just gotten hot out here?

When he raised his attention back to my eyes, he said, “You look awesome.”

“Shut up.” I feigned anger but had to resist the urge to fan my face.

Logan and I moved to stand by one of the benches and watched Greta and the cat. She took the leash from Jenni and then bent down to scratch the cat’s ears.

Logan took a step forward because it looked like Greta was about to topple over, but she righted herself and led the cat our way.

Great.

Ignorant of my discomfort, or maybe because of it, Greta sat down and patted her legs. The cat bunched its body.

I tensed. What if it attacked Greta? Cats had sharp claws and could cut a person’s face to ribbons.

The cat jumped.

So did I.

The cat landed calmly on Greta’s lap.

I backed up into Logan.

“Easy.” He slipped his hand around my waist. “He’s not going to hurt you.”

I’d had something to panic about until I felt Logan pull me to him. His muscled chest and steady hands made it so I could barely remember my name.

Greta started scratching the cat’s head, and the cat settled in.

“He is a cuddler,” Jenni said from where she stood nearby.

“I thought most cats weren’t into cuddling,” Logan said. He put his other hand on my shoulder and squeezed as if assuring me he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Depends on the cat. It’s true that most only like it on their terms, but once in a while, you’ll find one who appreciates the attention.”

Greta waved at us. “You two get over here; we need to take a picture.”

I swallowed, but let Logan lead me to stand behind Greta before letting me go. I felt cold and hot, liquid and solid, dizzy and grounded, all at the same time. I gripped the back of the bench and willed myself to stay upright.

Logan went around to sit by Greta. He held his phone up selfie style and said, “Cheese.”

I made sure I was in the frame and smiled.

The cat’s tail twitched, and it gave Logan the side eye. In that moment, I knew the animal was playing Greta. Lulling her into a false sense of security. If given the chance, the cat wouldn’t hesitate to go after the older woman. Or me.

It didn’t help that Greta was petting him like she was a supervillain.

What would I do if the cat mauled Logan? Who should I call? Rachel? Shane?

Logan stood up, and the cat closed his eyes and acted completely content.

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