Page 20 of Desperately Seeking Kitty

My face was flaming enough that I wasn’t sure my vocal cords were still operational. “Give me that.”

“I’m reading.”

“It’s privileged material.”

The winged brow climbed to new heights. “Then next time don’t leave it open.”

He had a point. And me? I was absolutely point-less and smoking in a pile of ash.

I didn’t interact much with the opposite sex anymore since I rarely ventured into society. I had no clue how to behave. Even in the days of yore, when I’d actually been sexually active, I’d fumbled through most of my attempts to be flirty.

“You should have more manners,” I muttered, deliberately stepping on his toes as I lurched up to snag my laptop.

Which I hastily wiped off with my sleeve, closed, and tossed to safety on my sofa.

Sensing a possible opening for escape, Lucky angled his body in an attempt to bite Clint’s neck. But his owner had other concerns at that moment and simply dropped the cat on the couch.

Dazed, surprised to be free, Lucky shook his head and stared down at the floor, where Princess had frozen as if she was playing dead. He jumped down, nabbed her last fishy treat and sniffed in her general direction before trotting down the hall toward my bedroom as if he owned the joint.

Clint inhaled, his nostrils flaring. “Did you write that?”

“I prefer not to say. You should go collect your cat.”

He continued staring down at me, his lids heavy and his full lips too sensual for my liking.

Fine, I liked them altogether too much.

“What were all those bubbles on the side?”

“Edits.”

“You edit it that thoroughly? Wow. I didn’t know people cared about syntax and grammar and stuff in these.”

“You’re thinking they’re just spank-bank material?”

He shrugged. “Well, yeah. Aren’t they?”

I grabbed my Teddy Grahams box and whacked him in his disturbingly firm gut before tossing it back on the couch. He was wearing a thick white fisherman’s sweater under his jacket because of course he was. Snow droplets still clung to his sex hair, his gorgeous warm sweater was built for shenanigans in front of the fireplace I didn’t have, and he flashed his toothpaste-commercial-worthy smile…

And then there was me in my giant plush robe, the kitten heels I habitually wore for editing to put me in the mood, so to speak, and my hair a wild bush only partially tamed by a scrunchie.

We totally fit. If that meant not at all.

He shoved a hand through his hair and left it in spikes, making him look adorable. How could he be sexy and adorable at the same time? “We messed this up, man.”

I blinked, still pondering the mysteries of life. “We did?”

“Jackson Galaxy would be ashamed of us.” He dropped onto my sofa and dug into my cookies. “I should go get Lucky before he decides to use your bed as a scratching post, but you know what? I don’t want to.”

I sat beside him and held out my hand until he passed the box to me. “Who’s Jackson Galaxy?”

“You don’t know Jackson Galaxy? I was sure you must because you’ve catified the hell out of this place. You need some vertical spaces though.” He glanced at my bare walls while thoughtfully popping cookies in his mouth. “Does your landlord allow you to hammer shit into the walls?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but are you on drugs? I won’t notify your job, as long as you keep it recreational during your non-work hours.”

His laughter burst out of him, crackling like that fireplace I didn’t have on a cold winter’s night. Like, oh, tonight. I told myself the shiver that went through me was because the place was drafty. Not because I really liked the sound of his laughter.

You couldn’t be lonely or sad with someone laughing with you—or even at you—so deeply and richly. It just wasn’t possible.

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