Page 9 of The Love Bandits

The cat in my armsseemslike a coincidence.

At the same time, there are any number of stray cats in Asheville. There’s even a Facebook group called Asheville Cat Weirdos. I know this because I infiltrated it to get the goods on a woman who’d stolen her girlfriend’s cat.

“But do you believe in keeping your promises?” Jake asks.

I can tell where this is going. He’s going to ask me upstairs for a drink. While that’s exactly what needs to happen, I can’t deny there’s a stubborn part of me that wants to laugh in his face again. He may seem funny and charming, and there’s no denying he’s very attractive, but he’s wearing a mask as surely as I am. I know what he did to Cleo. I know who he is at his core—rotten. Wrong.

A little bit like you, a voice in my head whispers.

But I straighten my spine and tell that voice to keep its unsolicited opinions to itself.

“It just so happens that I do,” I tell him brightly. But the little cat rubs his head against my chin again, and I register that the hand holding him to my chest can feel his ribs.

Nicole would tell me not to be an idiot, but I can’t let this cat starve. He may not be my “Widdle Mister,” but he deserves more.

“I need to feed my cat first.”

I don’t have a plan for that, but I’m a reasonably intelligent woman. Surely, I can figure something out.

He rubs his chin, then says, “There are a few cans of cat food under my sink. You’re welcome to them.”

“You have a cat too?”

He shakes his head. “It’s a short-term rental. My best guess is that some rulebreaker left them in there, and the cleaning service didn’t find them. There’s also enough single-serving condiments to either make a person really sad or stock a Wendy’s.” He inclines his head. “I guess they could do both at the same time.”

This is good. This lets me stick to the plan. But I have a strange feeling of misgiving. My gut tells me something is off, but I can’t decide what unless it’s the unexpected presence of this cat.

As we get close to the door leading into the building, I fuss over Professor X so Jake will know it’s on him to take out his key card. But I make sure to reach the door first, because I don’t want him to think I’m hesitating for any reason other than that I don’t want to let go of the cat.

Jake doesn’t seem to notice, easily slipping ahead and using his key card. We walk upstairs companionably, but I notice the way he’s eying the cat. Professor X has one ragged ear, and he’s skinny and gangly. My mark is probably wondering why someone who makes such a show of caring for her cat is neglectful, which makes me feel like a jerk even though Professor X isn’t my cat—or wasn’t until today. After I leave, I’m going to make sure to look for his people, and if I can’t find them, I’ll be his person.

The thought fills me with a warm glow, even if I’m not sure how I’ll make my getaway with an unexpected sidekick.

“He been gone for a while?” Jake finally says as we reach his door.

I look down at his matted little head. “No.” I adopt a grave tone. “He’s just sick.”

I feel like I’m cursing poor Professor X by implying he has a serious illness, but surely Jake will stop asking questions if he thinks my friend is on death’s doorstep.

“What kind of sickness?” he asks, proving that an asshole will do whatever it is he wants. He unlocks the door and waits for me to step inside. I do and glance back as he follows me in and shuts the door behind him.

Frowning at him from over the cat’s head, I say in an undertone, “I don’t like discussing it in front of him.”

Two minutes too late, it occurs to me that I should have told him that I’d only adopted Professor X a couple of weeks ago, which would have been a much more convincing story.

Jake lifts his eyebrows, probably teetering back toward his “she’s crazy” estimation, then says, “You can take a look at the containers of food under the sink. See if there’s something you think he’ll eat.”

Probably every last can Jake has, and the sink too, but I just set the little cat down, and he follows me into the kitchen.

“Would you like a beer?” Jake asks as he enters the kitchen behind us—it’s open concept, so I guess we were technically in the kitchen as soon as we entered the apartment. That makes things easier, because I won’t have to struggle to pretend I’m familiar with the layout of the apartments in this building.

Cleo told me she thinks he’d keep the necklace in his bedroom, and I have to agree. It’s the only really private place in here, other than the bathroom, and most people wouldn’t keep valuable belongings next to the toilet.

Which means I have to think of some excuse to go in the bedroom. By myself.

I glance down at my red sweater, covered in cat hair, and think,You were a good sweater, and you didn’t deserve this. But we all have a part to play.

“I’dlovea beer,” I say brightly. “Thank you so much.”

---