Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
“Are these for me?” I pick up the six-stemmed bouquet of purple flowers. “Do you have all these wildflowers in your yard?”
“I cannot reveal my sources.” He winks while I read the note.
Shooting stars are pollinated by bees using sonication to release pollen from the flower’s anthers. Hope you love them!
Ozzy x
“I do love them,” I whisper, blushing because he’s so sweet and innocent, yet sexy beyond words.
My out-of-control mind imagines kissing him, sliding his white T-shirt over his head, and slowly unbuttoning his dark blue jeans. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve had sex.
“What can I get you to drink?” he asks.
“Pinot noir.”
Ozzy nods and makes his way to the bar. I feel like such a guy when he turns just before the counter, catching me staring at his ass. I quickly shift my attention to the nachos and toss a chip into my mouth.
When he returns with my wine, I catch his scent of bourbon and oak.
I’m in trouble.
“Thought you didn’t eat after eight,” he says.
“I’m not eating. I’m sneaking a few chips.” I nod to my glass of wine while shrugging off my jacket. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” As he sips his beer, he narrows his eyes. “What happened?”
I glance down at my blue blouse. Please don’t let there be food on it. I just want to be with this man and put together at least once. No coffee spills. No cookies stuck to my shirt. No begging for tampons.
Not seeing anything, I glance up at him.
He brushes his hand over his neck and chest by his collarbone. “You have scratch marks.”
“Oh.” I cover my neck. “They’re from my cat.”
He nods. “Well, thanks for not telling Lola that you have a cat. I thought for sure that the incident was headed south. I think she held it together because you were there. However, I never heard the end of it this afternoon. Even when I tucked her into bed, she was still hypothesizing about that kitten, guilting me for not bringing it home. Mourning its inevitable death. Calling me a kitten killer.” He shakes his head. “I can’t win with her.”
I trace the foot of my wineglass with my finger. “I’m sure the kitten is fine.”
He returns a raised eyebrow while eating another chip. “Or dead.”
I shrug. “Or fine.”
“I like your optimism.” He adjusts his body, and his leg brushes mine; then he stops, leaving his leg touching mine.
I don’t move, because I like it when our bodies touch, and from the twitch of his lips, I’d say he does too.
“Where was your cat the night I was at your place?” he asks.
As much as I want to play this out for a while, I’m dying to see his reaction. “I didn’t have him. He’s new.”
Ozzy dips a chip in the cheese sauce, letting it linger while he coats it. His eyes are hyperfocused, like his mind is reeling. “What made you decide to get a cat?” His eyes meet mine while he shoves the chip into his mouth.
“It was an impulse,” I say.
“And your roommates are okay with that?”
I sip my wine to hide my grin. “No. I recently discovered Will is highly allergic to them, so Bandit is staying in the she shed.”
“Where’d you get him?” Ozzy asks.
This is so hard. I rub my lips together, fighting to hold back my laughter. What if he doesn’t find this funny?
“I found him. He got separated from his litter.” I resort to chewing on the inside of my cheek while he eyes me with a scrutinizing gaze.
Finally, with a slight chuckle, he rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, where did you find him?”
My fingers drum the table. “On a hiking trail.”
Ozzy doesn’t move beyond several slow blinks, lips parted. “When?” he murmurs.
“This afternoon.”
He squints for a few seconds while we have a silent stare-off. “What color?”
He knows the answer, but I like the game, so I play along. “Gray, black, and white tiger stripes. White chest and paws.”
Ozzy scans the bar before taking a long swig of his beer.
“I can’t wait for you to see him . . . again.”
“Why would you do that?” He pins me with narrowed eyes.
“The kitten needed a home.” I shrug.
“Had we not been there, and you found the cat, would you have taken it home?”
“No. I would not have picked up the kitten. But Lola picked him up, and then I petted him. He imprinted on us, so since you wouldn’t let her take him home, it felt like my duty.”
He brushes some crumbs off the table. “Imprinting, huh? You’re going with that?”
“I am,” I say, swirling my wine.
“Now you’ve put me in a predicament.”
“How so?” I adjust my leg, and he adjusts his, but he keeps it touching mine.
“We’re supposed to be sneaking around. But that cat has partially imprinted on my daughter, so now I feel like she’ll deserve visiting rights at some point.”