Page 57 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

His hand strokes my hair, the rhythm soothing and hypnotic. I fight against the pull of sleep, wanting to stay in this moment a little longer, to savor the rare peace between us. But eventually, my eyelids grow heavy, and I drift off, lulled by his warmth and the tiny hope that maybe tomorrow might be different.

I wake with a start,feeling intensely uncomfortable. In fact, I’m suffocating. Something presses against my face. My eyes fly open. I’m blind! I panic. Did I die during the night and thisblackness is the void beyond life? Then I recognize the weight on my face and the unmistakable smell of cat fur.

“Goddammit, Demon!” I throw the cat off me, spitting and hacking like a crazy person. Cat hair coats my tongue like a fuzzy carpet. The little monster has been plotting my death since day one, and sooner or later, she’ll succeed in smothering me in my sleep. She lands perfectly as always, staring up with offended dignity as ifIdid something terrible.

Sighing, I look around the room through the pale morning light. My eyes automatically go to Logan’s side of the bed, and my stomach knots up hard. Empty space mocks me. Again.

“Fucking son of a bitch!”

My shout startles Demon, who arches her back with a nasty hiss before racing from the room. The goddamn coward disappeared again.

I launch myself up, swinging my legs over the edge before standing and dragging the sheet behind me. I storm out of the bedroom, fury burning through my veins so hot I swear it might burn me up from the inside.

How dare he? After everything we shared last night, after those tender moments and whispered conversations in the dark, how could he just leave? Again?

Un-fucking-believable! Teeth clenched until my jaw hurts, I mentally put together all the things I’m gonna yell at that asshole the second he shows up. My rage pumps out an endless list of insults and curse words at an amazing rate.

How could he do this twice? How could anyone be such a jerk? He doesn’t want a relationship or anything serious? Fine! But for Christ’s sake, how long can he pretend nothing happened? How long can he ignore me?

Last night, I thought we turned a corner and found some new understanding between us. But this morning proves it was all inmy head. Just another stupid fantasy I created because I wanted it to be true. I’m such an idiot.

I march toward the kitchen, each step feeding my anger. One hand curls into a fist while the other clutches the sheet around my body. Coffee is my first priority. Before confronting Logan at work, I need caffeine’s clarity, and a double dose might help me figure out whatever the hell I’m supposed to do next.

Maybe it’s time to face reality. This arrangement isn’t working. I need to find my own place, establish some boundaries, and protect what’s left of my dignity. How am I supposed to face him at work after this?

Lost in my thoughts and fury, I don’t notice right away that someone else is here. The rich smell of coffee gets stronger, along with sizzling sounds from the stove. Turning the corner into the kitchen, I freeze mid-step, my prepared rant disappearing instantly.

“Good morning!” Logan says, and my jaw drops as I take a sharp breath. My brain needs several seconds to process what I see.

Logan stands at the stove with a spatula, dressed in nothing but low-hanging sweatpants. His hair is all messy from sleep, and there's almost a smile at the corners of his mouth. The kitchen island has neatly arranged plates, silverware, and steaming coffee mugs.

“Good morning?” The words come out like a confused question. Am I dreaming? Have I fallen into some weird parallel universe?

“Come, sit. I made breakfast.” He points toward the stool opposite the island before returning to the pan.

This sentence sets off every alarm in my head. I approach cautiously, still looking at him from the corner of my eye, then slide onto a stool at the counter.

“Bacon and eggs. My grandmother's recipe,” he adds when I don't respond. I just stare at him, my mouth half open. “If you'd prefer something else?—”

“No, no,” I hasten to say, waving my hand dismissively. “It's perfect, thank you.” This whole situation is bizarre. “Um, is there something you want to say to me?”

His mouth opens, but no words come out, so I try again.

“Do you speak my language? Do you understand what I'm saying?” I jab my finger at him.

“Huh?” He looks genuinely confused.

“You,” I repeat, pointing to myself, speaking with exaggerated clarity like he's hard of hearing. “Do you understand me?”

“You're crazy,” he mutters, turning back to the eggs.

“Phew, for a second, I feared the worst,” I whisper. I'm still not convinced aliens haven't replaced him with this bizarrely domestic version.

While Logan finishes cooking, I focus on the coffee before me. The first sip is perfect, strong and sweet, which is exactly how I like it. I can’t remember ever telling him how I take my coffee.

There can be no doubt now that aliens have kidnapped him, and the man who stands before me is just a nicer clone of the real Logan. I shudder. Stupid aliens. They definitely need to improve their cloning skills. I mean, don’t they know that Logan Price is anything but kind, smiling, and sunny?

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

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