Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
I laugh, but Leo doesn’t.
“I’m serious,” he says. “He’s awful, but he’s up on all his shots, so don’t worry if he breaks the skin when he bites or scratches. You won’t catch rabies. Just keep him away from your face if you can. I want to get some close-ups of you while you’re skating tonight.”
I swallow and nod, still not sure if he’s kidding. Vivian never said anything about Greg becoming a problem cat, and he was always sweet when I hung out with him in Vermont.
But then she also may have faked Greg’s death, so…
Leo steps inside. I follow him into a narrow hallway that smells of burnt toast and evergreen needles, with a slight overtone of cat litter. But it’s clean, fresh cat litter, and the smell makes sense once I realize the litter box is in the closet by the door.
Leo sees me looking as he hangs up our coats and nods toward it. “Sorry about that. Tiny New York apartment. There’s no room to put it in the bathroom. And when I had it behind the couch, Greg would save up his poop all day and start copiously shitting as soon as I sat down to eat a sandwich.”
I fight another smile. “What did you do to this poor cat to make him hate you so much?”
“I’m not Vivian,” Leo says. “And I nicknamed him Satan. But I think he likes that part. The only costume he ever consented to wear for Halloween was a red hoodie with devil horns on top.”
I sigh and clasp my hands together. “Okay, well, I’m properly intimidated. Let’s go meet this ruthless beast and hope I can get close enough to get a look at his back paw.”
“This way,” he says, nodding down the hall. “He likes to hang out on his play structure in the evenings and fantasize about bird murder.”
“Don’t we all,” I murmur as I follow him past the entrance to a small, but tidy kitchen with a yellow teapot on the stove. It’s cute. Homey. Much more so than I would have expected from a big city bachelor.
Leo glances back at me with a grin. “You’re funny.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Jokes help with the existential dread.”
“Agreed,” he says, stopping at the edge of a combination living room/dining area with large windows on one side. The giant cat structure beside them overlooks a tree full of birds and the brownstone on the other side of the street. “And your laugh is great.”
I huff in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
He frowns. “No, I’m not.”
“My laugh is awful,” I say. “I’m so loud. Kayla’s always reminding me to keep it down so I don’t scare the guests.”
“What? She’s crazy. Your laugh is perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect,” he grumbles, seeming to genuinely believe it. Which only makes me like him more—damn it!
I have to stop falling for this man. Right now.
It’s almost enough to make me hope he is lying about the cat.
If he’s a liar, I can leave New York tomorrow morning, bail on the reality show and the conference, and spend the rest of the weekend wrapped up in fleece on my bed. There, I can watch my favorite Christmas movies, eat peppermint-fudge-drizzled popcorn, and force myself into the holiday spirit before work on Monday.
But I don’t want to go home, and I don’t want peppermint-fudge-drizzled popcorn. I want peppermint-fudge-drizzled Leo. Even those few seconds pressed against his chest during our kiss were enough to make me want more.
A whole lot more.
Apparently, Greg feels the same way. Mere seconds after Leo turns toward the window, calling softly, “Greg? Satan? Are you awake, you despotic feline?” a gorgeous orange tabby races out from under the coffee table and leaps into Leo’s arms.
Leo catches him, but his eyes are wide with horror. He flinches instinctively and shifts his face to one side, as far out of claw-reach as possible, making me believe he truly fears for his safety with this animal.
But Greg seems to be in a sweet, snuggly mood this evening.
When I reach out a cautious hand, whispering, “Hello there, Greg. Aren’t you the most beautiful boy?” he cranes his neck forward to meet my fingers, butting his head affectionately into my hand.
I scratch gentle fingers into the fur around his collar, my heart melting as he begins to purr. “Aw, what a sweetheart. You’re just a big softie, aren’t you?”
“He’s doing this on purpose,” Leo whispers, his eyes narrowed on Greg’s happy face. “He’s doing it to fuck with me. The second you’re gone; he’ll claw my eye out and laugh about it. He has a very mean laugh. Nothing like yours. Polar opposite, in fact.”
“Oh, come on, this boy is clearly a lover not a fighter,” I say, gathering Greg into my arms and cuddling him against my chest. He lifts his face to mine, sniffing my nose and purring louder. “You’re a precious little prince. Yes, you are. And you have the best purr and the softest fur and the prettiest eyes.”