“Maisie, why is there a cat in my house?”
The she devil spins around a few times before plopping in my lap, smashed between us, as Maisie still straddles my waist.
“Aww, look. She likes you,” Maisie squeals, petting down her back. Little hairball bombs float up to my nose, and I sneeze. “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” she coos.
“When did she even get here?” I told her not to leave last night, and if I find out she did, then she’s going to get punished.
She looks up at me through her lashes, trying to look innocent. I won’t lie: it's adorable. “I may have…maybe, potentially, stolen your truck last night after you fell asleep to go grab her from my cabin.” I attempt to open my mouth, but she halts me with a finger to my lips. “She’s in a new place, and she doesn’t like being left alone. I morally couldn’t leave her alone and scared for the night, okay? I was back and in bed within minutes, and you never even knew I left. No harm, no foul.”
I chuckle through her finger, incapable of being mad at her. She’s just too darn cute and selfless. “I’ll let it slide this time, but this is your only warning.”
My arms weave behind her back, drawing her closer. The cat doesn't enjoy being smashed between us and takes the hint to sprint out of the room.
“Gray,” she squeals while I tickle her sides, dragging her back into the puffy comforter wrapped around us.
“Five more minutes,” I murmur against her skin.
I know it can’t last, but whatever this is…I want an eternity of it.
maisie
. . .
TWENTY-FIVE
I decidedto wake up early this morning to get some writing in before starting my day. I’ve finally been inspired, and the words are flowing out of me. I’m not exactly sure how the love story will play out, but I’m having fun getting there. I connect to these characters deeply, in a way none of my other stories have so far.
It’s been a week since I found Grayson beaten and drunk, a week since I spent the night wrapped in his arms like it was a normal occurrence. It should have been weird to be spending the night with him. Usually, adult sleepovers involve hooking up and getting hell out of high water before the sun rises the next morning.
This was the opposite of that. There was no explicit touching of any kind. There may have been a morning kiss and a few steamy glances when I was changing, but that was it. I was there for one reason, and that was to make sure Grayson was okay. I can’t continue to lie to myself and say it wasn’t nice. It was like we were playing pretend house without the awkwardness.
That’s not normal, especially for me. I may cling to attention, but I don’t gel easily with others. I don’t mold myself to them soI feel complete relaxation without a hint of anxiety in the mix. Never, not even a single time.
So tell me why I jumped into Grayson's arms and melted against him like butter? He held me the entire night like I was sacred. It felt too easy to fall into that role with him.
I know I should be more mad at him for all the secrets he’s been keeping and the ones I know he’s still hiding from me. I could tell he was picking and choosing which pieces he wanted to share. I was just happy he was opening up to me at all.
I’m not an idiot, though. It’s one of the reasons I’ve been taking things very slow with him this past week. Sure, we’ve shared stolen glances while working and exchanged flirty banter, but Grayson is confused and fragile right now, and I’m not ready to hop on that train just yet. Not with me leaving soon and the secrets between us. It was nice living in that little bubble for the night, but we both have a long way to go before anything serious could happen between us. I still want to jump his bones every time I see him in a pair of tight Wranglers and tee, though.
I want to help him so badly. He keeps saying he’s in deep and there’s no simple way out. If only we could raise the funds to cover the debt. That’s another thing I’m curious about. Does he have some secret gambling addiction or something I don’t know about? How much money are we talking about? Surely it can’t bethatbad, right?
“Hey, daydreamer, are you going to finish what you’re doing or just keep staring off into space?” Chesney jokes, knocking his shoulder into mine.
“Shit, sorry,” I mutter, getting back to chopping up the melon.
I’m helping Roxy today in The Den for lunch. She makes lunch every weekday for the ranch hands as part of their room and board. Opening day is only one week away, and the men are hard at work getting everything ready. Roxy has a lady who helps her out with lunches, but she’s out sick today, so I volunteered. Apparently, Chesney volunteered his mouth to be thetaste tester, because every two slices of melon I put into the bowl, only one of them survives.
I smack his hand away, aiming the pointed tip of my knife at him. “Take another, and see what happens,” I threaten him.
He backs away slowly. “Jeez, sorry. I’m just a starving, overworked man,” he cries, swiping a berry from Roxy’s bowl.
“Son,” she scolds, “you are not too big for me to still bend you over my knee and teach you a lesson.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got the hint. I’m not welcome here.”
Roxy swats her towel at him when he swipes a second berry before planting a kiss on her cheek and then sprinting out the door. “That boy is going to put me into an early grave.”
“Don’t I know it,” I laugh, slicing the last melon.
