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I shrugged. “I live alone and make my own decisions. Deal with it, suit-and-tie guy.”
He looked down at himself. “I’m in jeans and a sweater. That I changed into after showering to come meet you.”
“Are you robe-shaming me?” I crossed my arms over my chest in a mock defensive stance, because my heart was beating way too fast from imagining him in the shower.
Even picturing all that thick wayward dark hair glistening with water was making me…glisten too.
“No. Just that someone who wasn’t me might get the idea that you’re conveying a certain message by wearing something like that to meet a strange man after midnight.”
He had a valid point—one I hadn’t considered because I quite honestly did not only not get out much, I did not get out at all.
I exhaled. “It’s only after midnight because you have more sob stories than you have cats.”
Apparently tired of chatting, Lucky shoved his paws against Clint’s chest. Somehow he worked his big head under one of the breakaway straps and made a flying leap for freedom while Clint swore and tried to hold on to him.
He was not successful.
Unbeknownst to me, Princess Goldenrod had quietly crept into the room—and was now hiding under the glass coffee table hissing while Lucky flattened his bulk on top of it and stared at my baby with nothing short of malice.
Clint scrubbed his now reddened hands over his face. “I should’ve stayed for overtime at work.”
Ignoring him, I approached the coffee table and crouched down beside it to try to coax out my girl with soft words and, failing that, a handful of fishy treats from the pocket of my robe. Only realizing when Clint cleared his throat that my robe clung to my upper thighs in an unexpectedly flashy way.
I yanked my robe back into place with one hand and held out treats to a dismissive Princess with the other. “I’m not trying to get you interested in my goodies.”
Doth protest too much, Kitty.
I couldn’t help being very interested inhisgoodies. He was ridiculously hot, and he was a vet, which most likely meant he loved animals. And so freaking hot.
Why couldn’t he have been homely? I hadn’t expected to be confronted with my own baser needs while setting up Princess’s playdates.
My baser needs had been ignored so long I’d assumed they’d gone dormant.
Until tonight, apparently.
“You mean your cookie?” he asked.
“Goodies, cookie, T&A, whatever you call it. I’m not on the market.”
But maybe I could be…
God, I needed a profession that didn’t make me horny. I supposed that proved how skilled my authors were. But did my loins have to be at their whims?
Alexa took that moment to announce the evening’s podcast selection. “Now playing Morbid Murders: Dying for Love, episode 16 by Brothers Grim.”
“Alexa, turn off podcast.”
If I started editing more true crime, would I develop a taste for serial murder? Considering current events, it bore examining.
Clint unhooked the other strap of his cat sack. “Not on the market because your boyfriend is cooling off in the refrigerator?”
I didn’t want to laugh. I shouldn’t have. Especially since he appeared caught between laughter and discomfort, a common reaction from people after meeting me.
My business partner and friend, Magnus, hadn’t balked at my strangeness when we’d first met. Probably why we’d lasted for eighteen months so far.
Professionally, that is.
“Or is your husband stashed in a cold box somewhere?”
