Page 49 of Unless It's You
I look around and a high-pitched giggle escapes my throat. What am I doing alone with Ethan Fraser in his flat? Did I really come here to meet kittens?
I let my laptop bag slip from my arm onto the floor nextto Ethan’s backpack and wander toward the bookshelf, my heels clicking on the hard flooring. A bunch of nonfiction titles are on the bottom shelves, with labels likeHistory of BritainandThe British Conquerors. One of the two men who live here is obviously a history buff. But the top two shelves are filled with bright, happy, pink and blue and purple kissing books. Exactly the kind I love. Just because I haven’t had my own happily ever after doesn’t mean I don’t like to read about other people’s. It’s all made up, anyway.
I half snort and glance down the hallway. No way do the romance books belong to Ethan, but I adore the fact that his roommate reads them. I drag my finger along the spines and pause atLove to Hate You, the same book I picked up at Waterstones the other day, currently sitting on my nightstand. Ironically, it’s an enemies-to-lovers romance, which I scoffed at because of what Chloe had said early on about me and Ethan.
Before he finds me snooping, I wander back to the comfortable gray couch and sit on the edge, low-level panic heating my core. I want to slip off my heels, but that feels way too comfortable. Too personal. What am I doing here? I shouldn’t be in this flat, right?
Ethan’s aclient.
Ethan’s myex-boyfriend’s best friend.
Ethan might beseeing someone else.
I want nothing to do with any of that mess. Right?
Suddenly, a small, furry, black ball lands on the couch next to me. A meow squeaks out of the little creature.
“This is Nessie.”
I gasp. “Oh my god.” I’ve never seen such a tiny cat. Her face is the most adorable little floof. “Awww.”
“She’s six weeks old.” Ethan comes around and squats on the floor next to the couch, tossing his phone screen side up on the coffee table.
Nessie taps my thigh with her paw and immediately gets her nails stuck in my jeans. Mewing, she looks up at me accusingly.
I hesitate before gently lifting her, detaching her sharp kitten claws from the fabric. “Don’t get your nails stuck on my leg, silly.” She squirms in my hand and swipes at me, so I lift her right in front of my face—out of eyeball-gouging distance—and give her an understanding nod. “I get it, Nessie. You don’t want to be told what to do.”
Ethan snorts, and I put her back down on the couch. She stretches her body before creeping toward Ethan and the edge of the couch.
My heart swells just a bit at the sight. Of Nessie? Or Ethan? Hard to tell.
“The others are sleeping in a big pile, and she was the only one who acknowledged my presence.” Nessie hops right to the edge of the couch, not seeming to understand the danger of a fall to the hardwood floor, but Ethan picks her up and deposits her farther back, one of his big hands easily encompassing the kitten’s entire body. “She’s my favorite.”
“Why?”
He appears to think for a minute, staring at Nessie, who is attacking a string stuck to the couch cushion.
“Maybe because she’s dark and kind of grumpy.” He shrugs and looks up at me, his chocolate eyes beckoning, serious and deep. “Maybe a bit like me?”
I smile and press my lips together. “Sounds about right.” But I have the urge to try to convince him that dark isn’t always a bad thing. Maybe it’s just a cover for being strong. After what he’s been through? To get where he is today? He’s gotta be.
“They’ll be ready for adoption in about two weeks.”
Some kind of look must’ve crossed my face, because he holds up one hand.
“I know, I know, you’re not a pet person. But wecouldplace a kitten with you temporarily, in a foster situation.” Ethan has his hand out to Nessie and she’s biting his fingers, her teeth not digging in too deep. “We can’t keep all of themhere.”
And all at once, I know whyI’mhere. Not to meet kittens or adopt Nessie or talk about the bucket list.
I’m here to kiss Ethan.
Whether I like it or not, that’s why I got in an Uber to his flat. To feel his lips on mine. I want to see what it’s like, again. I want to remember how his beard feels against my chin. I want to touch our lips together and know how soft his are, find out if they feel the same as they did that last time, so long ago.
When I don’t respond, Ethan keeps talking, but his voice sounds muffled, far away. “This is a better answer toAdopt an Animal, even though you’re already the proud owner of a polar bear.” He eases up from his squat and scoots onto the couch, the kitten trapped in the space between our thighs, climbing on me, then climbing on him, then finally sitting between us in the narrow space, licking a paw.
My eyes flick down to Ethan’s lips, then his inked arms, one of which is draped across the back of the couch, the other on his far knee, presumably ready to save Nessie from throwing herself off the edge. I want nothing more than to run my hands over his forearms and up his biceps, to touch his tattoos with my fingers. A fire sparks in my belly and burns away all the legitimate excuses as they pop up, like thin sheets of dry paper in a bonfire.
Client? Ex-boyfriend’s best friend? Seeing someone else?
