Page 62 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

Time seems to slow as Logan lays me on his bed, his body covering mine.

“Do you want to know what I think?” I ask, breathing hard.

“I have a feeling you're going to tell me regardless of my answer,” he replies, but I can hear the smile in his voice.

“I think you're a better man than you believe you are.”

His expression sobers. “You don't know?—”

“No, let me finish,” I insist. “I'm not saying you don't have baggage. God knows we all do. But the way you care for your patients, the way you stepped in when I had nowhere to go, even how you stood up to your father just now...” I pause, gathering my thoughts. “Those aren't the actions of someonecursed or broken. They're the actions of someone good who's been convinced he isn't.”

He stares at me for a long moment, searching my eyes. I can't tell if my words have reached him or just bounced off those walls he's built so carefully over the years.

“You're the most challenging, frustrating, captivating woman I've ever met. You've turned my ordered life upside down from the moment you crashed into it. I should want you gone, but the thought of you leaving—” He swallows hard.

“What about the thought of me leaving?” I press.

“It terrifies me.” The raw admission seems torn from him.

My heart pounds so loudly, I wonder if he can hear it. “So what do we do now?”

“I don't know,” he admits, and the vulnerability in that simple confession nearly undoes me. “All I know is that I'm not ready to let you go. Not yet.” He reaches for me again, his touch gentler now as he cradles my face. “Can that be enough for now? Just knowing I want you here, even if I can't promise what tomorrow looks like?”

“Yes, it is.”

I was serious when I told him I didn’t think about having a family of my own. And even when I said I didn’t care about putting a label on what there is between us, I was being sincere.

The only problem is that I’m not sure I can keep myself from falling in love with Logan Price.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Emily

One month into whatever this thing is with Logan, and my body hums with the rhythm we've created. Days spent at the clinic dodging the longing stares of lovesick clients. Evenings sharing takeout containers across his granite countertop. Nights exploring the ridges and valleys of his body until we collapse, breathless and sated.

We exist in this unnamed space. Not lovers, that word carries too much weight. Not friends since friends don't memorize the sounds each other makes when they come. And not even roommates, though technically, that's what my bank account believes we are.

The arrangement works seamlessly behind closed doors. But at work? That's where the façade crumbles.

Monday morning, sunlight spills through the clinic's windows while the waiting room overflows with Manhattan's elite.

A Yorkshire terrier yaps beneath my desk as I file Friday's charts. Yeah, I'm way behind, but what can I say? Fucking the boss has its perks.

The sound pierces my skull, yet his owner seems oblivious to the noise. Mrs. Lopez stands before me, impatiently tapping her manicured fingers against the counter.

“Good morning,” I offer, lips stretching into my professional mask. “What brings Droolius in today?”

Her nostrils flare. “Julius. His name is Julius, not Droolius.” Her voice drips with disdain, and I know I'm being mean, but come on! Who the hell names a dog Julius? Mrs. Lopez, that's who. “He's been listless. Barely touching his food. Dr. Price needs to see him immediately.”

The dog in question currently gnaws on his leash, his tail wagging with unmistakable vigor.

“Dr. Price has an opening next Thursday at?—”

“Thursday?” Her hand flies to her throat, clutching a string of pearls worth more than my annual salary. “This is an emergency!” Her voice elevates to a pitch that makes several other dogs in the waiting area perk up their ears.

“He seems rather... spirited to me.” I gesture toward the terrier.

“Are you a veterinarian? I think not. Fetch Dr. Price. Now.”

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