Page 104 of Waiting Game

Me: How old is she?

Her bottom lip wobbles some more. “Seventeen.”

Me: Got plenty of matchmaking ahead of her then.

“Wishful thinking but I can live in hope.”

I want to reach through the screen and draw her into a hug.

In fact, fuck that. I want to sit her on my knee, hug her close, make the damn vet fix her cat, and hold her until she knows her family is safe—because that’s what her cats are to her.

Over the months of talking to her, little things have cropped up here and there and nothing about the woman I’m communicating with is anything like the clout-grabbing social media whores that I’m used to coming across in my world.

She doesn’t have puck bunny vibes either.

She’s shy. A geek. Those cat ears she wears? She has forty-three pairs of them. I asked because I saw her wear a new one every day for six weeks!

There’s sticking to a character and then there’sthat.

Her favorite movie isPhantom of the Opera,and her fingers are rough and callused from hard work. The moment I moved to the city, I drove past the bar to see if it was for sale—it wasn’t. Which means she's struggling through her grief and the money issues to keep the family legacy alive.

This woman, for whatever bewildering reason, betrayed Gracie.

The words ‘betrayed Gracie’ should be the only ones that matter to me about this whole situation, but they…

Damn, they’re starting to mean less and less to me.

Not because I don’t want to defend Gracie to the grave, but because something doesn’t add up here.

I cut ties with her because Liam was right—I needed to.

Then I blew that, and months later, I’m so fucking certain there was a reason for what she did that we don’t?—

“Are you there still?”

I blink at her when I realize she’s talking to me.

Me: Sorry, my phone rang.

“Is everything okay?”

Me: It’s fine. Have you eaten this morning?

“We… We don’t have to do this. You can pretend that I’m the same old KillerCatQueen7 and we can?—”

Before she finishes that sentence, I type:

Me: No.

Me: Cupid matters to you.

“She really does.” The words are a whimper and it breaks my fucking heart.

Me: Tell me how you found her.

“You mean last night?”

Me: No, I mean originally.

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