Hosed (Happy Cat #1)(14)

He’s watching me like he’s not sure if I’m going to fall apart or tell him where he can stick his lemonade, and something about the uncertainty is a kick to the gut.

Neither of us are the same people we were in high school. And he can’t hurt me again, because I’m leaving to go back to my normal life in San Francisco.

As soon as Savannah gets back.

Which will hopefully be before I run out of vacation time at work.

I give him a small smile. “I’m not the one who almost died, so I think I’m pretty okay.”

“She wasn’t going to die.”

“Not on your watch?”

“No, not on my watch.” He grins, oozing with self-confidence, making him about ten thousand watts hotter than he was two seconds ago.

I remind myself that he can’t help that he was born with a smile that could ignite a thousand panties and a natural charm that makes him popular without even trying. But I can control how close I let him.

Though surely there’s nothing wrong with accepting a friendly lemonade.

I mean, he brought it all the way over from his house to mine. And he’s checking on me, when it’s basically my fault that a woman went into anaphylactic shock at the farmers’ market—not to mention what happened to his raccoon—so maybe we can be friends.

Because this is ridiculously sweet of him.

I open the door wider and accept the lemonade. “Thank you. Did you want to…” I gesture inside.

His smile broadens, and he steps past me into the house. “Sure. Thanks.”

“I’m sorry about George running off,” I say.

Ryan takes a seat on a lavender settee, legs spread wide, holding his own mason jar. “He really will be back,” he assures me. “The leash is just for show when he follows me out of the neighborhood. Special town ordinance just for George.”

I shouldn’t be surprised, but my eyebrows still shoot up.

He laughs. “Been in San Francisco so long you forgot how things work around here?”

“Apparently.” I sip the lemonade. The sweet, tangy liquid hits my tongue, and my eyes slide shut. “Oh, wow, this is delicious.”

“Yeah?”

“Please tell me it’s not iced lube.”

He laughs. “Not unless my grandma was way ahead of her time. Old family recipe.”

“Right. That makes way more sense.” I take a big gulp, because wow, this really is the best lemonade I’ve had in years.

“Don’t tell me they don’t have lemonade in San Francisco.”

“Not like this. But they have sourdough bread and Peet’s Coffee on every corner, so I get by.”

“You like it out there?” He’s watching me with that friendly grin, his gaze occasionally dipping down to my breasts, and I glance down too, just to make sure I’m not dribbling anything.

I appear to be in the clear, but I refuse to read anything into his wandering gaze or the fact that he knows where I live. I’d think it was weirder if he didn’t. Even I can tell you where ninety percent of my graduating class and all their siblings ended up after high school. It’s a Happy Cat thing. We gossip.

“I do like it,” I tell him. “There’s a ton to do in the city, I’m an hour from wine country, and the weather’s perfect all year round. At least for me. I love jackets and unpredictable fog.”

He smiles, appearing amused and bemused at the same time. “That’s all it takes to make you happy?”

Maybe it’s the lip-loosening lemonade effect, or those blue eyes I’ve never fully been able to resist, but I find myself telling him more than my standard answer. “Well, no. I miss being close to family. But Mom and Dad retired to Florida last year, so it’s just Savannah here, and I like the anonymity of the city. Between all the press when we were kids, and the gossip here, it’s nice to be in a place where nobody cares who I am. My coworkers are awesome. We all get super spun up when we’re in the early stages of putting a new game together, or when we’re launching, or when we’re battling the bugs in the trenches.” I shrug. “I fit there. We can hit a comedy club or a gaming convention or a concert without driving an hour into Atlanta and battling for parking. The mass transit system is so much better. Not perfect, but….” I trail off, suddenly keenly aware that I’ve been word-vomiting all over him. “Sorry. I’m being boring, aren’t I?”

He shakes his head with a wistful sigh. “Not at all. It sounds amazing. I wish I knew what that felt like. That kind of…freedom.”

What? What was that in his tone? It couldn’t be jealousy? No way. Surely not. I am a person who experiences that emotion, not one who inspires it in others. “Well, it has its downsides, too. Parking is the worst and if I have to watch one more naked dude cruising the Tenderloin on his bicycle, I’m going to take to wearing a blindfold full time.”

Ryan grins. “Seriously? They ride their bikes naked?”

“They do,” I confirm. “But most of them wear a helmet so at least one head is protected.”

He laughs harder this time, letting out a rich, lovely rumble that makes me feel warm all over.

“San Francisco is one of a kind.” I lift a shoulder and take another sip of the lemonade. “But it’s awesome here, too.”