The What If Guy - Lauren Blakely Page 0,38
apologetically. “In five minutes.”
I look to the clock, running my hands along my pants. “Of course. I’ve kept you too long anyway. This has been a good . . . meeting.”
“Yes, a very good meeting. One of the better ones.”
“Definitely,” I say warmly, and then cool reality drapes over me again. This isn’t happening. We can’t happen. “Hey, Bryn. About Friday night—I will miss it immensely.”
She smiles sadly. “Me too. I will definitely miss our date.”
Yet it feels like we just had one.
This past hour in her office—from the getting to know you, to the sexy talk, to the family conversation—it’s unfolded exactly like our second date would have. It had all the ingredients, plus extra—it left me wanting a third.
14
Bruce
Day 892 in Prison
Yet another day.
He feared he was losing track of them.
That soon he would succumb to the madness that eventually consumed most house cats.
Liking their humans.
He sensed it happening already, could tell he’d been softening. Food and companionship were—it pained him to admit—making him weak. Making him actually enjoy human company.
He had to stay strong. Had to be ready when the cat revolution arose someday. Had to be ready for freedom.
But there were beds in his prison, soft, comfy beds perfect for his body. And there was food. And patches of sunlight. Not to mention drugs. She’d hooked him on the good stuff—the best catnip he’d ever had.
No matter.
He had to resist.
He arched his back, stretching his lithe body, then reached for the arm of the couch, to mark the time. His reminder of how long he’d been trapped inside these four walls with this person who smelled better than a person ought to smell.
“No!” the woman shrieked. “Don’t scratch the couch, my love. Use the scratching post . . . darling.”
She always spoke to him this way. Adding some strange little sweetness to her voice at the end, as if that would get him to fall for her.
He’d heard of those tricks.
And dammit, it was working.
He was falling for his captor.
Such weakness was unacceptable.
He was not the kind of a cat who just . . . gave in.
Who enjoyed humans.
What would the other cats think? If they knew he’d allowed her to stroke his fur, to scratch his chin, to touch his belly? If they knew he’d once gone an entire week without eating a houseplant? Or worse—why.
He hadn’t wanted to upset her by vomiting it up.
He’d refrained. To make her . . . happy.
For so long, he’d tried to deny the lure of the human. But that was getting harder, especially as she bent down next to him, scooped him up, and carried him to the scratching post. Trouble was, she was so warm and so kind.
“Use this, my love. I got it for you.”
He scratched the post, notating the day in his cell, but then, as she stroked him, he feared he’d already forgotten how long it had been. Her touch was strangely enjoyable.
Against his will, he felt a rumble in his throat.
What was that?
A purr? Dear God, he was purring. For his jailer. This was so wrong on so many levels, yet when she carried him to a plush bed in a ray of sun, he flopped onto his back and accepted her attention.
“Oh, you look so handsome like that.”
State the obvious, much?
Of course he looked handsome. That was his J-O-B.
“Your stripes look fabulous. I should take a picture. I bet Logan would find it amusing.”
She sighed, tapping her finger against her lips as she held the device above him.
“I can’t send him a cat photo though. I mean, that would be wrong, right? Or would it be right? Maybe cat photos are acceptable? It’s been almost a week in the same office with him.”
He stared at her, daring her to take his picture, then did something thoroughly uncharacteristic. He stretched for her, posing just so.
This was his best side.
He would look good as he languidly gave her a view of his full, lush body.
“Ah, look at you! It’s like you’re posing. And you look like a handsome devil. I’m going to send this right now. I’ll title it When your cat poses for the very first time. There. Sent.”
She scratched his chin, and oh, dear Lord, that felt good. So good he might stop coughing up hairballs to irritate her. This was better than trying to taunt your captor. So much better.
“Oh! Look. He replied already. And he sent us a picture of Queen LaTofu. Oh, and she is a stunner. Check her