5. Late Night Chat With A Cat
CHAPTER 5
LATE NIGHT CHAT WITH A CAT
COLIN
J oanie’s standing so close that I’m wrapped in her subtle floral scent. So close that I can see the gold flecks in her warm brown eyes and the few freckles across her nose. So close that if I leaned down a tiny bit, I could put my lips to her forehead, something I’ve been wanting to do since I met her. I crave other, physical things from her, but a vision of me wrapping my arms around her and fusing my lips to her forehead plays on a loop in my mind.
I don’t feel even a little bit bad about using my cat to get close to Joanie. I’m just glad they get along. I shouldn’t be surprised. Joanie gets along with everybody, because she’s chaotic sunshine in human form.
Creative, funny, kind, beautiful Joanie here in my house, late at night. Closer than I ever dreamed, but I’m still full of a dull dread that she’ll figure me out.
“I like your shampoo.” Okay, not my smoothest line, and I kind of want to sink through the floor. But I don’t have a time machine to be able to take it back.
She lets out the cutest snort, and I notice that she’s still slightly glazed over from the handful of increasingly strong gin and tonics Alice poured her. “Thanks. It mixes well with all the cocktails I had tonight. Let’s call it eau de drunk girl .”
“Enchanting.” I’m only half kidding. She’s still giving Gonzo pets, but the cat, being a cat, decides it’s time to launch herself off my shoulder, out of the kitchen, and under the couch. I guess we’re doing witching hour now.
Joanie lets out a little whimper of disappointment when she loses access to the cat and every part of me wants to make her whimper for other reasons.
Like me touching her…
As I blink out of that fantasy, Joanie follows the cat out of the kitchen, settles on her stomach in front of the couch where Gonzo has hidden, and starts a full-on conversation with my cat.
“Why are you hiding, pretty kitty? I’ll give you more head pets and maybe some belly rubs if you come back out here.” To her credit Joanie doesn’t reach under the couch to grab the cat. That would mean me hunting for the first aid kit.
Joanie’s resting her cheek on her folded hands as she tries to coax Gonzo out, and I’m not sure she’s aware of what she’s saying. It’s a string of sweet nothings I imagine her whispering to me. It makes all sorts of delicious visions hit me like a truck.
Joanie in my bed, wrapped in my sheets, her cheek on my chest, whispering things like, “I just want to pet you and love on you.” Fuck, I need to snap out of it .
I stand in the kitchen doorway watching the scene. I can hear Gonzo chirping back at Joanie whenever she says something sweet. Joanie’s words grow quieter and drowsy. Her blinking slows down. She can’t be comfortable down there.
“Hey, it might be time to call it a night,” I say, but she ignores me because apparently her conversation with my cat has gotten deep.
“Gonzo, you ever ponder the meaning of life? Of course you don’t, because you’re a cat and you already have it figured out. Sometimes I find meaning in my writing. Ugh, nope, that definitely sounds pretentious.” She hiccups and I almost sprain something holding back a laugh.
“Speaking of precious,” she continues. “Have you seen yourself? Perfection. I’m going to put you in my next book. Maybe your papa too. He’s so...well, you know. You get to live with him every day, lucky little girl.”
I feel myself blush at her words, my chest squeezing as she keeps murmuring to my cat.
I’m exhausted, feeling the beer, and reluctant to interrupt this very important meeting of the minds. I flop down in my armchair, waiting for Joanie to run out of steam.
She looks so right in my living room, even spread out on her belly on the floor, peering under the couch. I try to keep my eyes from traveling across her body, but her perfectly peachy backside in tight jeans is right fucking there. A sliver of pale skin peeks out above her waistband where her sweater has ridden up. I wonder what that little spot, the indentation of her spine smells like. Tastes like. I’d bet all my flannels that it’s warm and soft.
I grind my teeth when I feel my cock jump behind my zipper. It’s been doing a lot of that tonight, every time Joanie gets close. My mind is lost in thoughts of what she would feel like pressed up against me when I hear a soft little snore.
Joanie’s fallen asleep on my floor, her cheek pressed to her folded hands, her sweet-looking lips slightly parted. I need to decide if I leave her there or wake her up. Gonzo finally scoots out from under the sofa, sniffs Joanie’s face, then goes looking for food.
The night’s taken an unexpected turn, but I can’t say I mind.
JOANIE
Sunlight smacks me in the face, and I let out a miffed little growl at how someone moved the sun because that’s not where it usually is. Or maybe that’s not where the window usually is. Someone moved the sun and my window. What kind of asshole would do that? And are they the same asshole who set up a percussion section in my head? Someone’s manager is getting a very strongly worded email.
It takes a few moments for my brain to catch up to reality. I’m hungover. I’m not in my own bed. I’m wearing last night’s clothes. My breath probably smells like a barn. And there’s a heavy something slung across my hips. Please let it be Gonzo. Or better yet, Colin.
“Morning, Shark. You sleep okay?” the rumbliest voice I’ve ever heard says into the back of my head. I groan at the shot of heat that ignites sparks in my fingers and toes. He withdraws his arm, and I turn over as slowly as my rattly brain will allow.
And there he is.
Colin’s on top of the duvet, but under his own blanket. His midnight black hair covers one cheek and eye, and he peeks at me with a wary look on his face. I can see that he’s wearing a dark T-shirt, but I wonder if he’s got any pants on.
I can’t believe I fell asleep on his floor, but it’s exactly the annoying, too-much thing I would do. I can hear my mother’s voice in my head. That’s just not done, Joanie. Take it down a notch.
“Morning.” It comes out sounding like a question. What happened between last night on the floor and this morning in what I assume is his bed? “How’s it hanging?” Not the question I wanted to ask, and now I have to leave the state of California. I shut my eyes, seeing if the one million and twelfth time I try to erase something inane that’s come out of my mouth works.
Colin chuckles, so I guess it didn’t work.
“I wasn’t sure what to do after you fell asleep on the floor, so I brought you in here. Then I realized I had nowhere to sleep because there’s no bed in the guest room and the couch is too small.” He sounds nervous, like I’m going to be mad that he’s laying in the same bed as me.
“What’s in the guest room then? Is it where you store your thousands of pairs of black Converse? A library with a rolling ladder? Oh, is it a room filled with LEGO sets?”
He huffs out a laugh, and I get a hint of minty breath, which tells me that at some point before I woke up, he brushed his teeth and got back in bed. This is very interesting information. But it also makes me wonder how abominable my breath is. I pull my shirt up over my mouth and he laughs again.
“I love the places your brain goes,” he says with what sounds like affection. “Feel free to explore while I make some breakfast. There’s a spare toothbrush in the drawer under the sink.”
“I knew it,” I cry. His eyebrows wing up. “I knew I had dragon hangover breath.” I hide my face in my hands as Colin laughs and leaves me to my own mortification. I peek out through my fingers to catch a glimpse of him in navy joggers that do amazing things for his ass and my imagination.
Before I get up, I take a moment to get my bearings. I’m in a huge bed under a warm, lofty duvet. There’s a glass of water and two pain relievers on the nightstand next to me. The dove gray walls have some photos and art prints on them, and a tall walnut dresser stands in the corner next to a deep armchair.
Because I’m me and my behave-like-a-human setting isn’t fully engaged, I do something I’m not proud of. I grab the pillow next to me, shove my nose in it, and groan the mightiest groan. It smells so fucking good, just like Colin’s woodsy, fresh cotton smell, but concentrated for my enjoyment. I suck in another whiff, nearly suffocating myself with the pillow over my face. I file away the scent notes in my brain, determined to use them in a future book.
A throat clears, and I scream. Now I really need to go to the bathroom. I slowly peel the pillow from my face and put it back in place like nothing happened.
Colin’s leaning against the door frame like he’s just walked off the pages of the Effortlessly Sexy Man catalog. Lord, I’d order a full dozen. He smirks at me, but I’m focused on how his T-shirt stretches across his broad chest and belly.
“The last I remember, I was chatting up your cat on the living room floor.” This is me trying to change the subject from the embarrassing way I was sniffing his pillow to the embarrassing way I harassed his cat.
“I moved you in here.” His meaty shoulder lifts in a shrug. But his eyes are still twinkling like he doesn’t want to let me off the hook.
“You carried me?” I may be short, but I’ve got a lot of mass in my ass.
“Well, I certainly didn’t roll you.” He chuffs at his own joke.
“And then you slept on top of the covers...” I’m still wrapping my brain around the idea of us sharing a bed, no matter how innocent. “You could’ve stuck me on the couch.”
“But then I would’ve missed you sniffing my pillow.” He says it with such a straight face, but he looks like he’s barely keeping it together.
“Oh my god, I thought we were going to forget that happened,” I shout.
“That doesn’t sound like something I’d agree to.” His body shakes with quiet laughter. My eyes are still a little blurry from sleep, but I’d give anything to see the little laugh lines around his eyes and mouth.
“Let’s never speak of it again.”
“Sure.” He doesn’t sound convincing.
“What’s that smell? And what time is it?”
“Heating the pan for French toast, and almost nine.”
“You’re making French toast?” He nods and I flop back on the bed. “Marry me.” It’s hard to tell with the beard, but I think he’s blushing. He glances down at his feet, his beefy arms still crossed over his chest.
“Okay.” Then he turns around and leaves. Well, looks like I’m engaged now. To be fair, I’d sell my kidney for some breakfast. But marrying Colin sounds heaps better than black-market organ selling.
After taking time in the bathroom to make sure I don’t look like a bridge troll, or smell like one, I make my way to the kitchen. The whole scene is too much for my foggy brain to handle. There stands Colin, Gonzo perched on his shoulder, his joggers revealing just enough ankle to be scandalous, and his bare feet doing something to bits of me my doctor would have to show me on a diagram.
He’s singing “Ring of Fire” by Johnny Cash with gusto and doing a pretty good job of it. He flips a slice in the pan without using a spatula, and I’m done. Absolutely fucking done. Last night’s version of me deserves an award for landing present me in a place where I get to witness Colin’s effortless sexiness.
“Hey, Pipes. Smells delicious,” I say. Clearing my throat, there’s no getting past the come to mama sound of my voice. Colin turns to me and gives me an unrestrained grin, like he’s happy to see me and doesn’t care about hiding it. There go the remains of my ovaries. By the time we’re done eating, I’ll be in total organ failure.
We chat easily, accompanied by Gonzo’s purrs and my yummy sounds. I praise his breakfast making skills but tease him about how bad at pool he is.
“Yeah, but you have to admit I’m the GOAT at karaoke.”
“Wow, cocky much?”
“About that? Absolutely.”
I tilt my head and study him. “You know, for a guy who looks the way you do, I’m surprised you’re not cockier.” My human behavior setting is still not fully warmed up.
Colin slowly sets his fork down and reaches for his orange juice. He doesn’t look at me when he takes a sip, but I see the tension in his shoulders. I don’t know what I said, but the shift in his mood is palpable.
“I’ve matured, hopefully.” He blinks a few times and seems to shake it off.
After that we make our way back into an easy companionship, aside from the distracting buzz under my skin. I desperately need a shower before tackling today’s word count, and I want time to process last night and this morning.
Are Colin and I now officially friends? No more of this amiable coworker bullshit, but honest to goodness friends? Maybe heading for something more? A girl can dream . The idea unleashes something warm and gooey inside my chest.
I clear our plates and put them in the dishwasher, despite Colin’s protests. Gonzo leaps off his shoulder and winds around my ankles, purring endlessly. I fall a little more in love with her when she presents her chin for scritches before she hops back on his shoulder.
“Thanks for breakfast, thanks for introducing me to Gonzo, and thanks for not leaving me asleep on your floor.” Colin’s standing inches in front of me after I’ve gathered my shoes, bag, and jacket.
I reach up and give Gonzo a few more pets, bringing me closer to Colin and his warm coziness. “My pleasure,” he says, his breath coasting past my mouth. “You’re welcome to come back and love on my cat any time.”
I don’t know what comes over me— lies —but I quickly bounce up on my toes and lay a kiss on Colin’s rough cheek. A deep rumble escapes him before I bolt out the door.
My lips tingle for the rest of the day, and that rumble echoes in my ears until I go to bed later that night, dreaming of French toast and a man whose friendship feels monumental.