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I rose to go outside to summon Mag when my phone buzzed with a text.
From Clint, of course.
Clint
Guess what? I got your lunch delivery—thank you—but I can take an actual lunch break to stop by and see you. On my way.
“Oh no no no noooooo,” I moaned to my empty apartment.
Magnus took the stairs obviously two at a time and was at my door in seconds flat. “The cat is in the hallway ripping apart a bag of food.”
Of course he was. Alas, I had another concern at the moment.
“Look, Clint is coming home for lunch so can I trust you not to make this awkward?”
Judging from the near growl that left his mouth, I was pretty sure that answer was no.
“Clint? What kind of name is that?”
“Is it any worse than Magnus?” Before he could answer, I brushed by him and went into the hall to see where Lucky had found a bag of food.
Turned out it wasn’t actually the bag, just the spoils he’d absconded with.
I crouched to run my fingers over the carpet to try to get his attention. Lucky swiped out as I grabbed for him, and I let out a shocked screech as I fell back on my ass.
Magnus blew out a breath and set down his carry-on bag to offer me a hand. “C’mon, let me help you up.”
“I’m okay.” I blew out a disgruntled breath and took his hand to get to my feet. “Just make sure Princess doesn’t dart by you.”
“Oh, am I allowed to stay? I thought you were about to tell me to get a hotel room so you could shack up with your gigolo.”
Gigolo? Was he serious?
I didn’t respond. I simply didn’t have the energy to deal with him right now.
Feet thundered on the stairs and I braced, expecting Clint. Just in case, I snatched up a flailing Lucky and tucked him against my hip like a radioactive football with claws.
The mailman charged up the last flight, his hand extended with a wrapped package. “Oh, Ms. Armitage, this is for you.” The mailman passed the box to me while looking curiously at Mag. “What a cute kitty,” he said, instead of addressing Mag, holding out his fingers for Lucky to bite.
To his credit, the mailman only sucked in a breath as he backed up. “He’s had all his shots, don’t worry,” I said as I hustled Lucky toward my apartment. I didn’t know that for sure, but I had to assume he had, considering Clint’s profession.
I carried a now subdued Lucky and my wrapped package into the apartment. The vacuum still sat in the center of the room because I hadn’t put it away yet, but Lucky must’ve thought it could reanimate at any moment because he ran past it and did a flying leap onto Princess’s rarely used cat tree, crash-landing on the top level hard enough to send the cat tree onto its side.
With a sigh, I put away the rest of the treats, put a note on my refrigerator grocery list to get more the next time I ordered, and tore into my package with absolutely no chill. Princess wound between my legs, obviously unconcerned Lucky had come in like a wrecking ball and knocked over her kitty furniture. He was now sharpening his massive paws on the side of my couch while Mag watched the chaos unfold with a bemused expression.
And I did not care. I wanted to see what I’d received. Chaos be damned.
I tore off the brown paper wrap and swallowed hard as Clint’s glossy abs wavered in my vision. The book was thick. And man, that rush shipping had been worth it.
“You ordered a book?” Mag plucked it out of my hands before I could even properly stroke—err,appreciatethe cover. “Do you like this author?” He frowned and turned it over. “Since when do you read pirate romance?”
“Since her guy is on the cover.”
I blinked, then blinked again as Clint crossed the apartment. So much for remembering to close the door, which he did with far more force than necessary. “Remembered to bring you my key,” he added, dropping it with a ping on the table by the door.
SEVENTEEN
Somehow I had cometo Kitty’s for lunch and stepped solidly into a love triangle. Or some bizarre approximation.
