Page 17 of The Labor Date
I couldn't care less. But she has had a few, while I made sure to have only one drink. I slide my keys into my fist. “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”
On the ride home, her one hand glues to my thigh, squeezing and kneading, brushing over my bulge. I fight off a hard-on, with all kinds of sexy thoughts in my head feeding the beast, until she screams for me to pull over. I make it in time, and she vomits into the grass like a champ.
Once we’re home, I carry her inside, set her on the bed, and tug her heels off. She’s half-asleep before I tuck the duvet up under her chin.
I flip on the bedside lamp. I press hair off her face, and kiss the temple like an idiot who’s already in too deep. “God, you’re beautiful,” I whisper and almost crawl in behind her to spoon.
I hit my room instead, kick off my shoes, brush my teeth. I backtrack through the house, lock the front door, and turn out the lights. When I return to her room and see her sleeping there, I figure screw it. I’m sleeping with her.
Only on the other side of her, I find Winston has sprawled himself out, molded to the small of her back like a lumpy, vindictive asshole.
My shoulders drop. “Winston, buddy. Think you could give me a break and let me watch over her tonight?”
He hisses and curls his claws in a slow menace. I don’t dare move him. The cat probably spent the evening sharpening his weapons. Instead, I tuck my tail between my legs and sulk back to my room.
So much for waking up with morning wood next to sweet Holly pussy. Instead, I lie awake thinking of a million ways to get back at a cat—and planning how to win.
14
WINSTON
A new scentrides through the air of my kingdom—soft, floral, and unmistakably feline. My ears perk despite myself as I stalk down the branches of my tree. I freeze, tail twitching.
There she is, peering out of a pet carrier Scott came home with, eyes wide and bluer than the Montana sky.
Scott calls Holly over, introducing the invader. She goes nuts for the thing, cooing, and calling her “Duchess.”
I flick my tail, unimpressed.
What is this? A peace offering? As if Scott thinks a pretty face and a plume of tail will distract me from my war.
Then the newcomer mewls. The sweetest sound draws me like sunlight. I creep closer, ears forward, nose twitching, and finally get an eyeful of her.
We match with the same snowy coat, and gray ears. We’re both of royal blood, no doubt—a destiny for ruling over these humans, side by side.
I narrow my eyes at Scott.
Clever human. Very clever.
He watches us, chest puffed out, and clearly believes this distraction equals forgiveness and could buy my love. He underestimates me.
This doesn’t mean I like him. At all. But perhaps, I’ll allow him to live another day, for now. After all, a companion who shares my glorious fur and impeccable disdain could be a useful ally.
Fine. I’ll let him have his moment in the sun. But the game is far from over.
The scoreboard in my head blinks: Cat 2, Scott 3.
15
SCOTT
I’m notsure bringing Duchess into the house was my best idea. It’s been a few hectic days. Winston has been reminding everyone who runs the place, like he’s in full campaign mode, on high alert. He slinks around with that slow, intent stare that saysI’m the alpha cat, and don’t anybody forget it.
Duchess, though, takes everything in stride, all his hissing, all his lifting of his claws in the air, threatening to strike her at any second. But the way she turns her tail up and walks away from his threats is like she mocks him, confident at some point she’ll win him over with her feminine ways.
Holly’s been frazzled. She even called off filming today because Winston was particularly wound tight. She texted me toward the end of practice. As much as she adores Duchess, she wants me to take her back to where I found her.
I rush home and immediately pick up Duchess, giving the cutie some pets and even bringing out my adoring daddy voice, something I didn’t know I had in me.
