Rusty Nailed (Cocktail, #2)(66)

I pulled him into me and kissed him deeply, winding my hands into his hair. He responded immediately, kissing me back urgently. I kissed along his jaw, along his cheekbones, drawing my tongue along his skin right where his neck met his shoulder. He always tasted amazing there.

He groaned into my ear. “Shit. I forgot to get the blow-up bed.”

“Whuh?” I said, my mouth full of neck and shoulder.

“Yeah, sorry. I was so busy with everything this afternoon, it totally slipped my mind.”

I pulled back and pulled my tongue back into my mouth. “So where are we going to sleep—aghh!” I danced away; something furry had brushed up against my legs. “What the hell was that?”

My mind instantly conjured a task force of mice determined to take the house back from the invading humans.

But it wasn’t mice. It was Clive. Wide eyed and bushy tailed. Now weaving himself in and out of my legs, saying hello to Mommy. I looked at him, then back up to Simon. Who had the decency to look the tiniest bit guilty.

“I couldn’t leave him there; they called him Clyde!”

It took me 120 seconds to fly around the house, closing each and every door to each and every room that had not been kitty proofed. And then another sixty seconds to unclench my fingernails from the inside of my palms.

I returned to the living room. Simon was showing Clive the coat closet.

“I can’t believe you, Simon,” I huffed, pushing past him to grab my bag from where I’d dropped it by the front door.

“Oh, come on, it’s not that big a deal.”

I whirled on him. “It is a big deal when this is something we’d already agreed on. I don’t have time tonight to run around this huge f*cking house and make sure there’s nothing he can get into.”

“I think you might be overreacting here a little. He’s probably going to stick pretty close to us tonight. He’ll snuggle up just like he always does and—”

“Snuggle up with us where, Simon? In the blow-up bed we don’t have? Where the hell are we supposed to sleep tonight?”

Clive wisely retreated to the dining room, where he pretended to explore the window seat. He was totally listening to us.

“I forgot! It’s not the end of the world; I’ll run out and get one. No big deal,” he snapped, grabbing his jacket and starting for the door. I stepped into his way to stop him when I heard a rattling of glass. I turned around and saw Clive, halfway out the big window over the window seat.

“Clive!” I shouted, and he froze, half in and half out. I snatched him up and held him close, Simon right behind me. The original casement windows were rusty, covered in years of old putty, and had no screens. Simon jiggled the window, finally got it shut, and turned back to face me.

Tears were running down my face. Clive was like my child. And like any mother who just saw her child go halfway through a window, I was half scared, half furious, and totally relieved. Clive was an indoor cat through and through; he’d never been outside a day in his life. He’d only seen streets from the comfort and safety of a window ledge. With a real window between him and the streets—not this rickety death trap.

“I’m so sorry,” Simon said, and I nodded. I hugged Clive so tightly he squeaked.

“Where’s his carrier?” I asked.

“I’ll get it,” he answered, and left the room.

I looked down at my cat, who turned in my arms to look up at me. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me?” I warned, stroking his silky fur. He put a paw over my mouth. I kissed it, smiling down at him. When Simon came back with the carrier, my smile faded.

“I’m going to run him over to the pet place, okay?” I said quietly, nudging him into his carrier.

He nodded. “I’ll go buy one of those blow-up beds.”

I started for the door. “Do you have my key? In case I get back before you do?”

“Oh, sure—here it is,” he said, pulling a new key chain from his back pocket and handing me a key. I took it.

This didn’t have quite the ceremony that I thought it might.

I left with my cat.

? ? ?

I checked Clive in to his hotel, bought at least a dozen I’m-sorry catnip mice, and left after he was passed out on a pillow watching Lion King. As I drove back home, thoughts flew in and out of my head almost faster than I could process. Emotions too many to count. I was pissed, no doubt about it. About the bed? Yes. About Clive almost going out the window? Yes.

But there was more going on than just that; shit that I couldn’t even begin to ponder. Too tired to ponder this pickle, I winced once more as the car door squeaked, then plodded up the walk. I was exhausted, I was starving, and more than that, I felt terrible that this very exciting day had been turned into a crapshow.

I pushed open the door and found the biggest blow-up bed that had ever been created smack dab in the middle of the living room. Made up with sheets and blankets and mounds and mounds of pillows. And next to that? A table made out of a box covered with a furniture pad. And next to that? Two bags full of take-out Thai and a six-pack of beer cooling in a mop bucket full of ice.

And next to that? Simon. Sitting on the end of the bed. Which was very low to the ground. And quite squishy. So when he tried to stand? Not so much.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek as my very good looking and oh-so-athletic boyfriend struggled to stand up straight, and when he did? He was beet red.