The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men #7)(72)

I pointed toward the bed, squinting because I couldn’t be absolutely certain I’d just seen what I’d really just seen. “That was a squirrel.”

Asher grinned with pride. “I know, right? Pretty cool, huh? I went to all the pet shops in town, looking for one until I came across him. I guess he was a rescue case they found with a broken leg in the park one day. After fixing him up, it didn’t seem safe to let him back out into the wild, even though he seems to have healed okay. He’d been returned three times by customers before I came along, because he scratched the hell out of all the other owners.” Asher shrugged as if he couldn’t figure out why a squirrel would scratch anyone. “But I’ve learned that if you just don’t try to touch him and give him his space, he’s fine.”

I shook my head, trying to get over the fact that Asher Hart had a pet squirrel. But then I flared out a hand and said, “I mean, yeah...why would anyone buy a pet, thinking they could actually pet it.”

“Shut up, smart-ass.” Asher grinned and shook his head as he moved to the kitchen to open some cabinets and pull out a handful of peanuts. Immediately, Mozart’s head appeared from under the bed, his nose twitching as he watched Asher toss the nuts into various parts of the room. “I like him because he’s cool as hell to watch. Squirrels are geniuses. Just watch.”

Darting out from his hidey-hole, Mozart jumped and shimmied his way into retrieving every single peanut, all the while making it impossible for any humans around to get close to him.

“Pretty cool,” I had to admit, setting my hands on my hips as I watched Mozart disappear back under Asher’s bed, a really comfy-looking queen-size with the blankets rumpled out of place as if he’d just crawled from those warm white sheets.

Damn, I shouldn’t look at his bed. “Personally, I would’ve gone with a dog or a cat,” I said, forcing myself to stop thinking naughty thoughts about what I’d love to do on that bed with its owner. We could totally shock Mozart into having a heart attack with all the thoughts that ran through my head. “You know, something I can actually touch, but yeah, okay.”

Asher shook his head. “Just because I can’t touch him doesn’t mean he still can’t be taken care of and loved,” he argued. “I swear, those are the souls who need a little TLC the most.”

I blinked at him, realizing he was talking about himself. Maybe. It fit, though. After he admitted to me in Chicago that he would like to be in a relationship with someone, it struck me that he had no one to touch...and that seemed to be what he wanted most.

I wasn’t lucky enough to ever be able to touch him—really touch him—but I decided right then and there, I would give him a little TLC, because I could still be his friend.

“Why the name Mozart?” I asked.

“Because the original Mozart was a genius too. You know, he was only fourteen when he wrote his first opera. A freaking opera.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Why would you even know something like that?”

He shrugged. “I cruise the web a lot, looking at music sites. And I was reading an article about him one night when I clicked on his music. Put the squirrel right to sleep...so, I named him Mozart.”

I eyed the tree rat warily as he peeked out from under the bed to watch us as if he knew he was the topic of discussion. His beady brown eyes stared back with a wise yet nervous certainty.

“Okay, I can see how he might grow on you.” Then I glanced at Asher, frowning. “You said he, right? It’s a boy squirrel?”

Asher wrinkled his brow before admitting, “Oh, hell, I guess I really don’t know. He’s never let me get close enough to actually look.”

“So, he could be a she?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m just going to go with he. It…fits.”

I shook a finger at him. “You should never assume shit like that, you know.” I was living proof.

Asher laughed and waved a hand at me. “Whatever, dork. As you can see, my dad isn’t hiding out with a machete, or gun, or chainsaw. I’m perfectly safe down here with my wild pet squirrel. So...”

I knew that was my cue to leave. But I felt bad about abandoning him, even though it was late and he probably wanted to go to bed...on that snuggly-looking mattress. I just kept replaying his words in my head, feeling as if it was a call from a lonely guy. So when I glanced down and saw the Play Station game sitting on his coffee table, I gasped and clutched my chest. “You have the new Black Ops 3 edition. Holy...shit. That’s so sweet. I only have the original and zombie versions.”

Asher’s eyebrows arched with interest. “You play Call of Duty?”

I sent him a look to let him know he was insane for even having to ask. “Oh, hell yes. My cousin Big T—Tomás—he has officially refused to play against me. Little crybaby whiny boy. I’ve kicked his ass one too many times, I guess.”

“Oh, so you think you’re good at it, huh?”

“Think?” I snorted and sent him a get-real glance. “Honey, you don’t know what a real whoopin’ is until you’re beaten at Call of Duty...by me.”

As soon as I said the words, I remembered that he did know what it felt like to be whipped...by both his parents. Gulping, I glanced at him to make sure I hadn’t hit a sore point, but he only grinned. “Challenge accepted, *. You’re on.”