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She smooths a hand down her front, sighing again. “The world’s worst boyfriend met another woman while I was away for a week. Moved her in, tossed me out, and stole my cat. Now I need to steal her back. But the only way I can get her is to go through that pet door, and they could be back any minute,” she says, then points to the balcony. “And I’ve been trying for twenty minutes to climb up there. I’m totally desperate.”
I step back, surveying the wooden balcony with an Adirondack chair and a grill. For fuck’s sake, that barbecue is against the fire code. The scofflaw.
But that’s not why I say the next thing.
I say the next thing because she’s Briar, I’m a little into her, and I’m very good at fixing things.
“We’ll help save your cat.”
3
THE PLAN
Gavin
Of course Rhys has a plan. He’s a center on the second line for the Golden State Foxes, so he’s a key playmaker.
With dark, assessing eyes he scans the deck, the parking lot, then the three of us, before saying decisively, “We need a lookout, a boost, and a bodyguard who’s ideally an acrobat.”
Tapping his sternum, Hollis wastes no time taking on the second-in-command role. The tallest of the three of us, and the most agile, he pats his chest. “I’m like a motherfucking cat.” Also the cockiest. Hollis swivels to me, pointing. “You’re the boost.” Then he turns to Rhys. “And you’re the lookout. You can sweet talk that jackass if he shows up. Or the neighbors. Or the cops for that matter. Your accent fools anyone.”
“Yes, that’s why I got the accent. For trickery,” Rhys deadpans.
“Let’s put it to good use,” Briar says urgently, clearly ready to get on with it, then sweetly to him and Hollis, she adds, “And thank you.”
Admittedly, it was damn impressive the way Rhys and Hollis delivered that one-two punch. But that’s how they play the game too, the laidback California surfer guy and the quick-witted guy from London trading off the puck most nights.
And I know how to spot opportunities as well. That’s my role on the team and I take it very seriously—on and off the ice. I lift the bag of leftovers, brandishing the remains of the superstitious sushi, complete with tuna. “Might need a little something to lure the cat to the door.”
Briar beams, those big blue eyes sparkling my way like I’ve given her the sun. “You’re brilliant,” she says, and for a hot second, I think she’s going to come in for an adrenaline-fueled pre-heist kiss.
And I wouldn’t mind if she did.
But that’s a crazy thought.
I brush it off, then hand her the smaller of two takeout boxes. She drops it into her pack as Rhys recaps the plan. When he’s done, he points to my bag. “And give me that.”
I smirk. “You want my sushi now?”
“It’s just for show. A decoy.”
“Yeah. Sushi’s your costume, Viscount. Keep telling yourself that,” I say, then hand him the bag with the bigger box.
Rhys jogs through the lot to the street, scans the sidewalk, then lifts his free arm, giving a go sign.
Like he’s doing a how-to video on Spider-Man moves, Hollis hops up on the gnarly gnome, then jumps, grabbing the edge of the balcony with sure hands.
“You’re a fucking monkey,” I say with a low whistle, and his height helps but so does his bendiness. In seconds, he’s clambering over the railing and standing on the balcony.
“That’s…impressive,” Briar says, and I want to impress her too.
Here goes. I squat, pat my right thigh. “Hop on,” I tell her. “And hold my hands.”
I lift my hands above my head.
“Got it,” she says, moving quickly behind me, curling her fingers around mine. Then with the limberness of a, well, a yoga teacher, she sets one sneakered foot on my right thigh while the other scales my back, then lands on my left shoulder. She shifts the foot from my right thigh to my right shoulder and stands up like a cheerleader on the pyramid of me.
She’s eye-level with the balcony now. She could probably execute the rest of the operation herself, but she’ll need help getting down with a cat on her back. She climbs over the railing on her own, but Hollis offers a hand just in case.
