Page 47 of Winning Brynn

Her face flames four shades darker, but she doesn't stop what she's doing. Doesn't look at me at all, really.

"Brynn," I say slowly. "Why is there a rodent on my rug?"

"Not a rodent." She tuts, rewashing a dish that didn't need rewashing. "That's Gordon."

"Gordon?" I peer closer at the thing in my living room.

"Yeah." She finally has the good grace to look me in the eye. Her expression is one of both mirth and trepidation. "After the chef. He kind of looks like him, don't you think?"

From where I'm standing, it appears that Gordon only has three legs and approximately 1.5 ears. "I'm sure Gordon Ramsay would be chuffed by the comparison."

She has the sheer fucking audacity to mutter "chuffed" under her breath with a laugh.

"You wanna tell me what Gordon is doing here?" I ask. "And what animal he’s supposed to be."

"Oh, sure, yeah, um..." She trails off, looking around wildly to find something else to busy herself with. Finally, her gaze settles on my daughter. Taking out a handful of baby wipes, she begins to wipe up the mess Salem made of her dinner. "Yeah, so...you have a cat now."

I blink.

What the fuck?

I fucking hate cats.

"He's missing a limb and half an ear, so I'm reluctant to call him that," I say with a derisive snort.

Brynn's mouth drops open as she looks at me, aghast. "How incredibly discriminatory of you." She leaves my daughter in her highchair in the kitchen and rounds the kitchen island, her eyes like daggers. "If a soldier loses a leg in battle, does that make them any less of a human?"

I'm not sure that's a fair comparison, but whatever.

"No, it would make them a hero."

"Exactly!" Her face takes on a victorious smile as she steps onto the rug and lifts Gordon into her arms. Scratching him behind the ear, she tells him, "You're a hero, aren't you, sweetie?"

My brows lift, incredulous. "Oh, well, if you'd told me he's a military vet, I might have given him a warmer reception."

Setting Gordon back down, she shoots me an unimpressed look. "Hardy har har."

"We can't keep the cat, Brynn." I'm gentle with my words yet firm with the sentiment.

There’s no way in hell I'm keeping a cat, especially not one who looks as if it's been dragged from some corner of an alley and is infested with rabies. I can't even remember if Salem has been vaccinated against rabies.

Brynn's expression collapses. "What?"

"It's a health hazard. Who knows how many contagious diseases it has, and,oh my god,has Salem touched it?" Anxiety swells like a storm, and my mind begins to spiral. "I need to take her to the hospital. She could have already caught something."

There's a touch on my arm. Soft, barely there, but I feel the heat of it like a burning steel rod that has been placed directly onto my skin.

It surprises me just enough to jolt me from my panic.

My eyes drop to Brynn's hand wrapped delicately around my forearm, her pink-painted nails so pretty against my tan that still lingers from the summer.

"Salem is fine," she says quietly, slowly, like I'm a small animal, and she's worried about spooking me. "I took Gordon to the vet. He's fully vaccinated and clear of disease."

Relief soars through me. My chest deflates, my heartbeat stops thundering, and yet, Brynn's hand remains on my arm.

"See?" she says with a grin. "We can keep him."

I say nothing, taking a step backward so her hand falls back to her side. For a moment, an expression of confused hurt flashes across her face before her mask goes back up. She shoots me one of her signature fake smiles and walks back into the kitchen to start fussing with Salem once more.

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