Page 140 of Love ad Lib
‘Yes. I don’t have anything in the diary until next Tuesday for the improv night, although I should be doing more to find work. What about you? Don’t you have to get back to the office?’
He hesitated, then shook his head. ‘I haven’t taken any leave for a while, so I’m taking a few weeks off.’
‘Oh. What are you going to do? Go on holiday?’
He looked away. ‘I was wondering if you’d like to, er, hang out? If you can spare the time?’
‘Kind of like a staycation?’
He smiled and nodded.
‘And what did you have in mind?’ she asked, her tummy turning over with excitement.
‘Well, when I wrote the contract, I did lots of research on date ideas, so I thought we could go on some of them?’
‘I am not swimming with sharks at the Sea Life Centre.’
He grinned. ‘But would you be up for a spin on the London Eye?’
‘Only if you hold my hand.’
His fingers found hers and he squeezed. ‘Deal.’
Over the next week,Libby spent almost every moment with Henry. He took her on dates, claiming it was a subsidiary clause of their contract, and also delivered multiple orgasms each day, which had most decidedly not been in the small print.
On the flip side, she’d struggled to find anyone to replace Claire for their Tuesday improv night and was relying on a total stranger for the next performance. Lucas was hassling her to meet up while ignoring her money-back requests, and Mr Pussy was a literal shit show.
‘I don’t understand,’ she cried as the cat rubbed against her, the deep purrs vibrating up her leg.
Libby was standing in the living room, her phone in her hand as she stared at an armchair. How could one animal inflict this amount of damage?In an hour?
Henry poked the stuffing back in the gaping holes as if that might fix the problem, his face lined with worry.
‘According to Google,’ she continued. ‘Mr Pussy is really happy.’
Henry raised an eyebrow, a deep scratch visible over it.
‘I think he’s warming to you?’ she said, hopefully.
He stared at Mr Pussy.
The cat growled back.
‘At least he’s using the litter tray now,’ she said, trying to find any positives.
‘I think that’s because he ran out of rugs.’
She bit the inside of her cheek and glanced around the room. Everything between three feet and ground level was scratched, and all soft furnishings, from the curtains to the sofa and armchairs, had been mauled.
‘Does he do this at the old people’s home?’ she asked, looking back at her phone to search for a local upholsterer.
‘Huh?’
‘Where he’s a therapy cat? Do I need to take him there?’
‘Er—not at the moment.’
‘Let me guess? They’re refurbishing after his last visit?’ She lifted her phone. ‘I’ve found a professional to sort out some of this mess.’
