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Em shook her head. “So basically you’re going to join witness protection soon so Mom can’t find you another Nellie Musselbottom.”
“That was not her name.” Was it? My memory had deliberately wiped away some of my past dating experiences to protect my mental health.
Emma shrugged. “Close enough. Good luck on your date.”
I started to correct her as she sailed out the front door, then decided maybe itwouldturn into a date. Maybe Kitty with the sex voice could save me from my mother’s secret hatred of her eldest son.
Hell, she wanted to rent a cat. I needed to rent a girlfriend.
FOUR
Shit,what had I just done?
I paced around my apartment, still wearing my heels from the editing session I’d cut short when I messaged him. I couldn’t wait any longer. All week, the need to talk to him again had been an anvil pressing against the base of my skull.
Or else it was PMS, that wily bitch. She was never convenient.
I shot a glance at my phone. I could text him, say I had cramps. Or that I was having a mental breakdown. That made sense, right? Especially since I was a borderline agoraphobic—though probably no one but me would tack on the borderline part.
All of this was out of character for me. I didn’t troll for men online.
No, you troll for cats. To rent. You weirdo.
I paced around long enough that Princess Goldrenrod uncoiled herself from her fluffy pink bed and blocked my path to remind me it was treat time. I sat on the window seat and stared out into the snow swirling on the other side of the glass. Snowing again. Cozy for a first date—ha.
Assuming he ever showed.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
The cat stared at me unblinkingly with her wise green eyes.
“I didn’t say it was a first date for me. It’s actually for you.”
She lifted a paw and began to wash.
Feeling like a chump, I gave her three more fishy treats than normal.
“You don’t have to like him. You have the right of first refusal.”
She sashayed off and disappeared into my bedroom, probably to curl up on my pillows as she did most nights.
I glanced down at my robe. I should shower. I had this morning, but I couldn’t meet him like this.
The dude was seriously hot. And he was seriously late.
Not that we’d set up a time or anything, but we were now closing in on midnight.
Maybe he hadn’t been able to corral Lucky into his carrier. It wasn’t easy to get Princess into hers, that was for sure.
Maybe Lucky was hiding under the couch. That was one of Princess’s favorite hiding spots when the vet was imminent. Most cats assumed a carrier meant vet.
“I’m not looking for a hookup,” I said into the silence.
So I didn’t need to shower. I’d just throw my wild hair in a topknot and meet him as I was. No artifice, not even lip gloss.
That would send the clear message I just wanted him for his cat—ifPrincess liked him.
Not him.
