"Back at ya, boy scout."
I let myself fall asleep to the steady rise and fall of his chest.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
I woketo a sharp poke in the ribs.
"Brody. Brody, don't panic, but you have a cat sleeping on your feet."
My eyes shot open, but I held statue-still.
"You can still breathe," Calvin whispered. "I don't think that'll startle it, seein' as you've been breathing all night."
"Can I talk?" I asked, barely movin' my lips.
She laughed softly against my chest. "I'm gonna try to sit up. See if it'll let me… I don't know. Say hi."
"Say hi?"
She shrugged against me as sheever so slowlypushed herself upright.
I didn't mind.
The sight of her naked body risin' above me in the early mornin' light had my dick tentin' the makeshift blanket we'd thrown over ourselves sometime in the night. It barely covered the important bits—more for protection from sharp kitten claws than modesty. Summer nights were warm enough, and what we lacked in blankets, we made up for in body heat.
She twisted carefully, bracin' one hand on my stomach as she peered down toward my feet.
"There he is," she whispered.
"Don't antagonize it."
"It's not a grizzly bear, Brody."
"Debatable."
She peeled the blanket back an inch. A tiny black head popped up, ears too big for its body, green eyes blinkin' slow and unimpressed.
The kitten stretched.
Which meant claws.
Which meant?—
"Jesus Christ," I hissed as tiny needles grazed my ankle.
Calvin dissolved into laughter. "You're such a baby."
"I am not. That thing's armed."
She scooped the kitten up before I could protest. It fit in one hand. One. Damn. Hand.
"Okay, first of all," she said, cradlin' it against her chest like she'd been born doin' it, "this is not a cat."
"It ain't? Then what is it?"
"This is a kitten."
"That's worse. Means it'll grow."
