Page 62 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

“Oh! There’s Max.”

“Who?” Dalton asked.

I dropped to my knees, ice cream cone still in one hand, and held out my other hand toward the tabby cat I’d spotted the other day. “Max! Come here, baby.”

The cat’s ears perked up and he started trotting over, tail high in the air.

“Don’t touch it,” Dalton groaned behind me. “It’s feral. Probably has fleas and God knows what else.”

But Max had other ideas. He completely bypassed me and went straight to Dalton, weaving between his legs and purring loud enough to hear over the distant music.

I burst out laughing. Dalton looked like he’d been betrayed by his own body as he squatted down. His hand automatically reached down to scratch behind Max’s ears.

“Oh my God, you already know this cat,” I said, grinning up at him. “Look at you trying to act all tough.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dalton said, but his voice had gone soft and he was definitely petting Max.

“Uh-huh. Sure you don’t.” I stood up, brushing dust off my knees. “How long have you been feeding him?”

“I haven’t—” Dalton started, then stopped as Max headbutted his leg affectionately. “Fine. Maybe I’ve given him some scraps. But just so he doesn’t starve.”

“Does he have a name?”

“You named him Max.”

“The cat needed a name,” I said.

“Why?”

“Stop. Don’t act like you don’t like him. Clearly, you’re buddies.”

I knelt to get a closer look at Max, who was still purring and rubbing against Dalton’s legs like they were old friends. The cat turned his head toward me, and that’s when I spotted it.

“Wait,” I said, pointing at Max’s left ear. “Look at that little clip. See how the tip is cut off in a straight line?”

Dalton crouched down beside me, his brow furrowed. “Yeah, so?”

“That means he’s been trapped, neutered, and released. It’s how they mark feral cats that have been fixed.” I gently scratched under Max’s chin, and he leaned into my touch. “He’s probably not as feral as you think. TNR cats can be pretty social once they get used to people.”

“TNR?”

“Trap, neuter, return. It’s a program to help control feral cat populations.” I looked up at Dalton, who was watching Max with something softer in his expression than I’d seen before. “Someone’s been taking care of him. Getting him fixed, making sure he’s healthy. He’s probably been around people enough to know we’re not all bad.”

Max chose that moment to flop down on his side right between us, exposing his belly in the ultimate sign of trust. I couldn’t help but smile.

“See? He trusts you. You must have been feeding him for a while.” I tilted my head, studying Dalton’s face. “How long have you been pretending you don’t care about this cat?”

“It’s not like that. I just didn’t want him to starve, okay? He showed up about a week ago, skinny as hell.”

“So you’ve been his guardian angel,” I said, grinning.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

But the way he was looking at Max, with genuine affection he couldn’t quite hide, told a different story entirely. The big, gruff guy had a soft spot for a kitty.