Page 6 of Catnapped

4

MAY

After not being able to locate the butler at the moment, Carson talks to the chef. I steal a green grape out of the bowl sitting on the giant island in the kitchen. Everything in this place is giant. Including Carson. Every space we enter together, the man dominates.

The chef pulls at his white uniform's collar, showing just how nervous he is. I'm not sure if it's because he has something to hide or because of the questions Carson fires at him one after another. I mean, I kinda feel for the guy. Carson is intimidating. He is also extremely hot.

I peek out the back door. There is a lot of land out there for a cat to get lost in. Well, ‘lost’ isn’t the right word. Cats don't lose their way unless they choose to. Plus, I can’t see anyone willingly wanting to give this all up. Sure, Mrs. Farrol can be a bit much, but I’ve been told I can be too. We all can be odd in our own ways. She doesn’t seem too horrible, at least not to Fitzy. Princess Mousey is another tale.

"Chef is good peeps,"Mousey says as she places her furry booty next to me so we can both gaze out the window. "Makes a meansalmon. The taste is great for my stomach, but it's terrible for my hips." I hold in a laugh, not wanting to interrupt the interrogation Carson seems to be having right now. "The big guy is checking out your hips as we speak."

"What?" I peek over my shoulder to see that she’s right. Heat warms my cheeks. Before Carson catches me blushing, I quickly pretend to be staring outside again, a light snow flurry dancing on the wind. He didn't seem to be fazed that I'd caught him.

“See, I told you.”Her little voice brings my attention back to her. She looks so damn pleased with herself.“He can barely keep his eyes off you.”

“Shhh.” The second I release the sound, I realize how loud it came out. The room becomes eerily quiet.

I continue to gaze out the window, not daring to even turn around. My cheeks now feel like a burning inferno. The sound of Mousey’s laughter next to me does nothing to help my situation. I have to bite the inside of my cheek not to join her.

One of the main problems with hearing cats speak is that when I respond, I have to say it out loud for the world to hear. It’s not like the cats can hear my thoughts. That’d be weird. Convenient, but weird. But maybe there’s a human whisperer among them? Hm, I’ve never thought of that. I make a mental note to ask Mousey later. Back to the problem at hand: When I speak to my feline friends, it only makes me look that much more crazy. I should be used to it, but no one enjoys getting some of the looks people can shoot your way. Well, I suppose cats can. They don’t give a crap about what anyone thinks of them. They’re going to do what they’re going to do.

I wish I were more like that. That I cared less about what people thought about me. Over the last few years, I’ve been trying to get better at it.

“You okay?” I jump at the sound of Carson’s voice right next to me. To balance me, his hand comes down on my hip. “Sorry.”

“You move quickly for someone your size,” I tease.

“I heard him coming,”Mousey pipes up.“Didn’t think you’d call him fat.”

“I wasn’t calling him fat!” I hiss. Mousey only goes back to giggling. I’d be annoyed, but she’s so cute, I can’t stand it.

“I didn’t think you were.” Carson's hand slips against my back. He glances down at Mousey. “The OG really said that?” He looks amused, which is something I haven’t seen from him yet.

“If anyone called you fat, it was her." I point down at her. "She said she heard you coming,” I defend myself, but I can’t help but smile. “Did you just give her a nickname?”

“You called her OG first.” Now it’s Carson defending himself. He's still trying to play like he doesn’t like cats, but Mousey warmed right up to him. Cats can read people.

“Did she tell you anything else?” His lips twitch as he says it, but he has the good grace not to laugh. “Anything about … me?”

I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, having an idea of what he’s talking about.

“You tell him I ratted on him about his hard-on for you?”

I snort a laugh. Carson’s eyes narrow on Mousey. I cover my mouth with my hands to keep from laughing more.

“Just that the chef is good people,” I manage to get out. “What was your take on him?” I change the subject, trying to steer our conversation away from hard-ons. Even as I do, though, I peek down to see if it’s still there.

“I don’t think he had anything to do with it.”

“What?”

“The chef.”

“Right!” What is wrong with me? Did I really try to inspect his crotch?Get it together, May,I remind myself.Focus. You have a job to do.

“Need to chat with the butler.” Carson runs his fingers through his short, dark hair, making it a bit unruly. Without thinking, I reach up to fix it. His brows raise in surprise. I notice a small cut through one of them. The scar somehow makes his face more handsome.

“Are you petting him?”Mousey asks tartly. “Trying to make mejealous, I see.”

---