Page 16 of Star-Crossed
“Nope.” Cy stroked the little blaze of fur between the now-purring kitty’s eyes before the creature shoved her face into his hand and ground her cheeks against strong, stroking fingers.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Why was that doing things to her?
Like,inappropriatethings!
“Larry’s not pregnant. He’s a boy,” she blurted.
His chuckle lifted every hair on her body to vibrating attention. “These nipples say otherwise.”
Don’t say nipple,she silently begged, wishing hers would calm the hell down.
“People our age know better than to assume gender,” he teased gently.
Lyra scoffed. “I mean, the owner called him Larry— I mean her— You know what, doesn’t matter—is he—she—they?—going to be okay?”
“Oh yeah. She’s doing fine.” Cy made a soft, pleasant sound as he gently tested Larry’s belly with his other hand. “I can feel the kittens in there—you want to try?”
“I’m good.” Lyra turned sideways to avoid touching him as she dove into the hallway and retreated toward the open kitchen space and living area.
She immediately flipped on all the lights until it was noon-bright, and not even a little sexy, before grabbing one of Gemma’s oversized sweaters from the coatrack by the stairs and belting it over her flimsy night attire.
“What Larry is going to need soon is a safe, dark place to give birth,” Cy said as he drifted into the room and set the cat down.
Lyra groaned, dragging a hand through her hair. “This isn’t a complication I need right now.” She shifted from foot to foot, acutely aware of Cy’s proximity in the intimate space. His earthy scent enveloped her, stirring up a confusing mix of desire and trepidation.
She cleared her throat, avoiding his gaze. “Well, thank you for your help. I can take it from here.”
“Are you sure?” Cy eyed her doubtfully.
“Are you kidding?” she shot back.
Larry chose that moment to crawl under the couch, meowing irritably as if they’d woken him—her—up from an anxious sleep…
Sleep that she really should get back to.
“Hey, um… Thank you for coming over here so late and lending your…expertise.” Was it absolutely necessary to wear a shirt that couldn’t seem to contain your biceps? At this hour? “Tell me what I owe you for the emergency visit.”
“It’ll cost you a cold beer.” Cy moved toward the kitchen and rested a hip against the counter as if he belonged there. “Unless you can’t cover the bill, then I’ll steal one of Gabe’s and repay him when he gets back from camping.”
Lyra bit back a retort, realizing he was teasing her. “Fine, if it’ll get you out the door.”
“Harsh.” Cy kept his light tone, but they both knew she’d meant it.
Lyra grabbed a couple of porters from the fridge and popped the tops before handing him one.
“To impending cat parenthood,” Cy said, gently clinking the neck of the bottle with hers.
“May the kittens be healthy and quickly find good homes that are not mine.” To keep from staring at him, she tipped her head back and drained half the bottle in one go, feeling warmth bloom in her belly.
Cy watched her with an arched brow but didn’t comment as he sipped at a more leisurely pace. His gaze eventually drifted around the room.
Gemma’s décor was a maximalist mash-up of cottagecore, dark academia, and a slapdash but kinda pointless shot at hygge.
Somehow it worked to create a startlingly intimate atmosphere.
Lyra tamped down her impatience, willing her heartbeat to slow. Any minute now, he would finish his drink and bid her goodnight.
