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1831 EastView Road on the wooded side of Crescent Lake, but I don’t live in a cabin. You?
I frowned as Princess Goldenrod hopped onto my window seat and started kneading on the bottom of my robe, her sharp nails digging into my leg. “Don’t worry. I’m not giving our address to a strange man with a spray tan and abs for days. I’m feeling him out.”
Then again, how had I expected to have playdates with a rental cat and my cat if I didn’t give out my address? It wasn’t as if we could meet in the park in the middle of winter, even if I had been okay with hanging out anywhere but my apartment. It was only November, but we lived in the snowbelt—proven by the fact that it was indeed snowing.
That left us going to hot-abs guy’s not-a-cabin. But that didn’t feel any safer. Going there held its own dangers, not the least of which was I hated leaving home. At least here I was on my own turf and I could disable him with a two-finger jab to the eyes.
I’m not prepared to disclose that.
Are you prepared to go to bed? It’s five-thirty in the morning.
I squinted at my screen. Now that he mentioned it, I was still tired. But I hadn’t done the work on my docket. I hadn’t set up a playdate for Princess. All I’d done tonight was get halfway to drunk and kind of bantered with a man who’d thought I was soliciting female companionship of a personal nature on a kitten charity site.
Yeah. I’m tired. Good night.
I didn’t wait for him to say anything else. Didn’t make plans to chat later or meet or exchange more photos. Well,he’dbe exchanging more. I hadn’t sent anything yet.
Maybe I never would.
“Let’s go to bed,” I said to Princess, scooping her up before she could argue. She tended to do that with a few well-placed meows.
Wonder where she’d picked up that personality trait.
TWO
I loved cats.Lovedthem. All animals, really.
Women, on the other hand, were trying my nerves.
“Dr. Hauser, my tabby Brutus is constipated. Do you have any appointments? Please. I’ll pay extra. Or!” Mrs. Bianchine’s voice brightened. “I could make you my famous jalapeño mac and cheese. I’ve heard you like it hot. I mean, spicy.” She giggled, her feigned concern for her cat disappearing in a rush of hormones. “You know what I mean.”
“Let me check my schedule. It’s Friday evening, Mrs. Bianchine—”
“Oh, just call me Carla. Can I call you Clintondale?” More giggles.
No.How had she figured out my full name, anyway? I did my best to made sure it didn’t show up anywhere but on official paperwork.
“What time can you make it in? I have appointments at 6:45 and 7:30, and then I’m afraid you’ll have to see if Dr. Thorn or one of the other vets can fit you in.”
“No, it has to be you.”
“Does Brutus have a preference?” I was pretty sure I knew who had a preference, and it wasn’t the cat.
“He’s very particular. I’ll take your 7:30, and then we can go to dinner?”
“I’m sorry, I’m seeing someone.”
Hmm, that was news to me too. Worst of all was, the person who’d entered my mind as I said that had not given me so much as her name, never mind any identifying details.
Ifsheeven was a she. She could be an eighty-year-old male for all I knew. She’d been seeking pussy, after all.
Though that didn’t prove anything either.
My mystery woman was an enigma in every possible way, and now I was telling clients I was dating her? God help me.
“Since when?” The accusation in Mrs. Bianchine’s question nearly pierced my eardrum.
“Recently,” I said pleasantly, noting the appointment on my calendar. “Give my best to your husband. See you soon.” I hung up before she could make up some lame excuse as to why she was hitting on me while she was married.
