Page 7 of The Jinglebell War
He grabs my finger and pulls it away from his chest. His hand is warm and calloused, and a small gasp slips from between my lips at the feel of his skin against mine.
My cheeks heat and I want to be swallowed up by the floor, because there’s no way he didn’t hear that gasp.
He gives no indication that he’s noticed anything. He shakes his head sadly, not letting go of my finger. “Unfortunately, there’s no one else. Everyone I know already has a pet and, as I’m sure you can tell, this cat doesn’t play well with others. You’re her only hope.”
I hate him. I hate Garrick Evergreen with the hatred of a thousand hell fires. But I won’t mind if he never stops holding my finger. It’s been way too long since I’ve been laid. “Why are you doing this?” Was that my voice sounding all breathy? What the hell is wrong with me?
His eyes widen and his lips curl up into a wicked smile as he squeezes my finger to the point just before pain.
He leans in close like he wants to breathe me in or kiss me.
A dog barks somewhere outside and he blinks like he’s waking up from a dream.
He finally lets go of my finger and takes a step back. “I found the cat in the alley behind the bar and she needs a home. Barry found her. It’s not safe for her out there in the middle of winter.”
Barry is his dog. A giant mutt with a personality - affable, friendly, and playful - that matches Garrick’s so well it’s almost comical. Well, matches Garrick’s personality with everyone who isn’t me. Garrick goes out of his way to help every single person in this town. Except me.
There’s no good way out of this. “Fine, but if this cat kills me in my sleep, it’ll be on your conscience.”
I hate him for looking so good when he laughs. The lines around his mouth and eyes crinkle, his hazel eyes seem to glow like amber. He throws his whole being into the laugh, enjoying the moment, even letting his eyes slide closed like he doesn’t need to watch out for trouble.
With me in the room, that’s probably pretty stupid, except I’m enthralled.
The laugh rolls over me and I want to lean into it, to rub my body against that sound, to wrap it around me and curl up on the couch. That sound is what my apartment’s been missing.
“The cat isn’t going to kill you in your sleep, Mayor. She just needs some time to know she’s safe here. If there’s anyone who can handle her, it’s you.”
“Mr. Evergreen.” I lift my chin and bat my eyelashes. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”
He pulls out a pocketknife and slashes open the bag of kitty litter far enough to be able to dump a layer of it in the bottom of the plastic bin. His forearms flex as he works, because of course he’s walking around in December in the mountains of Colorado without a coat, the sleeves of his flannel shirt rolled up to reveal tanned skin and muscular forearms. How does he still have a tan in December?
The man is infuriating on so many levels, not least of which is his effortless beauty.
He stands and gives me a charming smile. “That wasn’t a compliment, just a statement of fact. You and that cat share a very similar personality. You’re both raging lunatics with sharp claws and anger issues.”
“I don’t have anger issues.”
“Uh-huh.” He grabs two small bowls and a mat he pulls from seemingly nowhere and carries them into my kitchen. He sets the mat out and fills the first bowl with water.
“I don’t have anger issues, Garrick. You are just the most entitled, infuriating man I’ve ever met.”
He sets down the water bowl on the mat, walks back through the living room and grabs the bag of cat food. He uses the same pocket knife on the bag of food, carries it to the kitchen, and dumps a bit of dry food in the second bowl. “Keep her on dry food for about a week until you’re sure she’s tolerating it. Then you can try the wet food. Where do you want me to store the food and litter?”
“In the pantry.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the cat also glaring at him and I huff. I am nothing like that damn cat.
Garrick puts both bags in the pantry and heads for the door.
“Wait,” I say. “You haven’t even heard about the favor I need.”
He stops and turns, crossing his arms over his chest, those damn forearms flexing. “From the most entitled, infuriating man you’ve ever met?”
“You owe me, Evergreen. I’m babysitting your damn cat.”
“It’s your cat now. And I don’t do favors for folks who call me names.”
Folks? How old is he? I stare him down, but he’s not budging. “Fine. I’m sorry your feelings were hurt when I called you out for being entitled and infuriating.”
He smirks. “Have a nice night, Mayor.” He turns and reaches for the door.
