The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(111)

Fuck off, cat.

“Where do you come from, Christopher?” Harvey asks.

Bryan grabs my legs between his two claws and bites my shin. “Ahh.” I jump and look under the table. “Bryan’s getting a little vicious down there.” I frown as I watch the sneaky fucker. “Little-jaguar-for-real kind of thing.”

“New York,” Hayden replies for me. She sips her coffee casually.

Sharp, vicious teeth sink into my anklebone through my socks, and I inwardly wince, pretending that nothing is wrong.

Ahh.

The fuck is going on down there?

Harvey carries on the conversation. “Busy damn town, that place.”

“Yes, yes, it is.” I peer under the table to see Bryan winding up to attack me again. His tail is whipping side to side as he leans back, ready to launch, and I begin to sweat.

A little help over here, Hayden?

“Where do you live?” Harvey asks.

Do you catch rabies from cats? Sharp pain shoots through me as Bryan attacks for real. “Ahh,” I cry.

“What’s happening?” Hayden frowns.

“Don’t he like you?” Harvey asks dryly.

“Oh, he likes me.” I smile as razor-sharp teeth sink straight to the bone. “Maybe a little too much. My mother is allergic.”

“You don’t like cats?”

“Love them,” I lie with a smile. “Looking forward to snuggling with little Bryan later tonight.”

Not an actual lie. I am a pussy whisperer from way back. Small inferior jaguars with attitude problems, maybe not so much.

Harvey’s cold eyes hold mine.

“Let’s go unpack into our room.” Hayden stands, breaking the moment. “It’s so good to be home, Dad.”

Harvey pulls his daughter in for a hug.

“Dinner at six.” Valerie smiles.

I follow Hayden out the front door and over to the car. We grab our bags, and I go to go back into the house.

“This way,” she says.

“Where?”

“I have my own house on the property.”

“You do?”

Thank fuck for that.

“Great.”

We walk about 150 yards up the road and come to a pretty little cottage. Hayden opens the door, and I smile.

Now this . . . is more like it.

It’s decorated in pastels and homey, comfortable furniture, and instantly I can feel Hayden’s calming presence. “This is beautiful, babe.” I smile as I look around.

“I like it.” She looks around as if seeing it for the first time. “My bedroom is upstairs.” She leads me up the stairs, and the entire top floor is her bedroom. It’s feminine and sweet and romantic . . . just like her.

And unlike my bedroom, where she can hear the moans, all I can feel in here is the love she had with her ex.

I look at the bed as I imagine another man in it. Did he have her in there? Of course he did. I snap my eyes away angrily.

I fucking hate that he had her.

“It’s a new bed,” she says as if reading my mind.

I nod, grateful. “Good news.” I take her into my arms and kiss her softly. “Your father hates me.”

She giggles. “My father hates everyone.”

We kiss again, her tongue curling around mine, and I walk her backward. “We need to christen this bed.” I smile.

She looks up at me, all gorgeous and fuckable. “How did I know you were going to say that?”

I throw her onto the bed. “Lucky guess.”



I pull the razor down my face as Hayden gets dressed in the bedroom behind me.

“So you know the plan?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“Let you do all the talking.” I roll my eyes as I wash the razor out.

Hayden is freaking out, and I have to admit it’s catching. I’m sure dear old Harvey has a shotgun or two around here.

And then there’s that feral cat who wants to eat me alive under the table. Let’s just hope that fucker is out hunting what cats hunt at night.

“And whatever my mother dishes up, you eat it.”

I look up from shaving. “Huh?” I stare at her as my brain misfires. “What do you mean?”

“My mom is real country. Just . . . if you want to stay on the good side of my father, eat whatever she plates up.”

“Like what, what would she cook?”

“I don’t know.” She rolls her deodorant on. “She likes to cook with offal.”

“Offal?” I frown.

“You know, like brains and kidneys and stuff.”

“You’re joking, right?”

She shakes her head. “Nope.”

I stare at her as I begin to sweat. I imagine organs all laid out on a table, and I feel faint.

“Just. Eat. It.” She widens her eyes.

“Of course I’ll eat it. What kind of wimp do you think I am?”

Fuck me dead.

“Move out of the way while I do my hair,” she says.

I leave her to it and walk downstairs. I text Elliot.

Just about to have dinner with her family.

Her father hates me.

Her mother cooks organs and the cat wants to