by Hope Ramsay
“I’ve never seen you in here before,” she said, looking up into the endless blue of his eyes.
“I like to cook my own breakfast.”
Wow. Rory didn’t look like someone who could cook. She imagined him rolling out of bed naked and heading immediately for his refrigerator and a beer. Or maybe some weed.
“Okay, so why are you here?”
“Looking for you. You haven’t been down to the bar in a while now. Why not?”
Had she been avoiding him? Maybe. A little. She’d also been working overtime on Matt’s side project. She shook her head. “I’ve been busy at work.”
“So you haven’t been avoiding me?”
He wasn’t going to give up, was he? Did she want him to give up? Her pulse quickened. No. But he needed to understand that she wasn’t one of those easy girls.
She leaned forward. “I meant what I said the other night. You know what I’m looking for. I want old-fashioned romance, Rory, not party time, not—”
She was interrupted by the arrival of her waffles, smothered in syrup and butter. Her stomach growled just as Gracie turned toward Rory. “Hello, handsome,” she said. “Can I get you something, or are you just visiting?”
Damn. Arwen had never actually heard Gracie ask a customer what they wanted.
“Cup of tea?” He turned those baby blues on Gracie, and she wasn’t immune.
“Nothing else? Really?” Gracie asked. “No eggs, no bacon, no sausage, no potatoes? No wonder you’re so thin.”
Rory’s face softened, and the bad boy disappeared for a moment. He might even have sighed.
“I thought so,” Gracie said, then turned and bustled away.
“You’ve never been to Gracie’s before, have you?” Arwen asked.
He shook his head. “I have a feeling I’ve been missing something.”
“You have been. And I have a feeling that your full Irish breakfast will arrive momentarily.”
He eyed her waffles. “I’m surprised to see you eating waffles. I always took you for a cereal and fruit sort of person.”
“I indulge myself once a week,” she said, cutting a piece of waffle and popping it into her mouth. The burst of sweetness on her tongue almost made her groan.
“I have a feeling that’s your problem.”
Arwen swallowed her waffle. “You think waffles are a problem?”
“No, but eating them only once a week is.”
“What, and you eat a full Irish breakfast every morning?”
“Bacon and eggs are not the same as waffles.” He delivered this line as if he were handing out some kind of deep philosophy. But hey, what the hell, the guy was a bartender. It came with the territory.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“To seduce you into doing something different. Whatever it is you’ve got planned for today, I want you to give it up and do something crazy. Have you ever ridden on a motorcycle?”
Her girl parts, which had always longed for that quintessential bad-boy experience, were totally down with the idea of a motorcycle ride. And her brain, which was probably drunk on maple syrup, suddenly thought a ride on his bike sounded like heaven. “No, I haven’t. Is this an invitation?”
He gave her a winning smile. “Only if it sounds like more fun than whatever you were planning to do today. What were you planning to do today?”
“Errands. And then a DIY project.”
“On a beautiful Sunday in June? Love, you need to get out and live a little.”
Yeah, she did. It was a tiny bit pathetic that her one and only weekly indulgence had become a habit, like everything else in her life. “Okay. I’m game,” she said.
The smile on Rory Ahearn’s mouth sent her girl parts into an ecstatic happy dance, which was both wonderful and scary at the same time. She could see where this was leading, and she almost wanted to go there, but not quite.
Rory wasn’t the man of her dreams. He would never court her or send her flowers or take her to a restaurant with cloth napkins. He wasn’t safe or sane or stable.
But he was incredibly exciting. And maybe that was enough for now.
Another late Sunday night at the Jaybird Café, unwinding from a long weekend at Eagle Hill Manor. It was well past ten o’clock, and Courtney sat at the bar facing the fact that her life had settled into a definite rut. Nobody needed her, unless she counted the endless lineup of demanding brides.
Leslie had called her tonight at ten o’clock to say that Sid had retired for the night and it would be best not to disturb him. Clearly Sid didn’t need her.
Nor did Willow, Melissa, or Amy. They were home with their husbands. Gone were the days when Courtney and her friends would gather here at the Jaybird after work and commiserate about single life.
Even Arwen seemed strangely absent. She’d been putting in long hours at work lately, and she hadn’t answered her cell phone this evening. Maybe Arwen had found someone too and didn’t want Courtney to know about it.
She stared down at her Manhattan and wished she’d ordered something different. Something she’d never tried before. Something without cherries maybe. Or without whiskey.
“You’ve hardly touched your drink. And your aura is ominously gray.” Juni leaned on the inner side of the bar and gave Courtney a gentle, dark-eyed gaze. Juni’s curly brown hair seemed wilder than usual, probably because of the killer humidity outside. Her vintage lace top fell low over her shoulders and exposed a tiny bit of midriff above her faded jeans.
“I do not wish to talk about it,” Courtney said, lifting her drink and taking a sip.
“Okay, but I’m just saying that a thread of dark gray is threatening the yellow around your head.”
Courtney put her drink down with a thump. “Not tonight, okay? I concede that my life is crap. I don’t need anyone to read my aura to give me that newsflash.”
“What’s wrong?” Juni asked, cocking her head to one side. Real concern radiated from her sober gaze.
“All my friends are married, and all of them are expecting babies, and my kitten fell for a lothario. I mean, how pathetic is that? I’m even a failure as a crazy spinster cat lady.”
“Ah. I understand.” Juni nodded.
Courtney hated when Juni behaved like some kind of Buddha, enlightened but unwilling to share. “You know, Juni, I don’t see you going out on any dates.”
“Maybe I don’t want to go on dates.” Her eyes drifted to the left.
Courtney wanted to get right up in her face and say, “Liar, liar pants on fire.” Instead, she said, “That’s what we all say.”
Juni nodded. “Yeah, I guess we do.”
Courtney pointed at the Jaybird’s owner. “You need to find a manager. As long as you’re stuck behind that bar, you’re never going to have a life.”
Juni nodded. “I’ve come to that conclusion myself, and I’m already taking steps to change my life. So the question is: What about you?”
“Well, I tried to adopt a cat.”
Juni rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t count. That’s just trying to conform to some stupid meme that isn’t true anyway. And besides, not everyone is a cat person.”
“I was making progress with Aramis until Matt Lyndon moved in next door. Honestly, the guy seduced my cat.”
“Really? I don’t see him with cats.” Juni’s eyebrow arched, and for some reason—probably Courtney’s frustrated libido—the angle of that arch reminded her of Matt. She envied Juni’s ability to move her eyebrows in two different directions at the same time. Oh, the things she could accomplish with recalcitrant brides if she could stare them down that way.
Courtney pulled the cherry from her drink and popped it in her mouth. A moment later she said, “Now that Aramis has moved into his house, Matt has two cats. And you know what?” Courtney picked up her drink and took another healthy swig.
“What?”
“Single guys with cats is a thing. Who knew?”
“Really? I always thought guys with cats were,
I don’t know, kinda wimpy or something. But I guess you’re right—if the single cat lady meme is stupid, then so is the single cat man meme, right?”
Courtney nodded her head. “I kid you not, there are articles all over the Internet about men with cats. The new consensus is that these men are hot. I don’t know what to do with this. I mean, Matt is clearly a Hook-up Artist, but he also classifies as a Cat Guy. And according to many sources, a girl could do worse. I mean, think about it. A Cat Guy would have to clean the cat’s litter box and pick up hair balls. That has huge implications.”
“You’re right. I never thought of that before.”
“And a guy with a cat isn’t always trying to prove how macho he is either.”
Juni nodded. “Uh-huh. That’s true. Matt’s very confident in his masculinity.”
“And, when you think about it, a Cat Guy is probably super sensitive to people’s moods.”
“You mean like when we get grumpy on a monthly basis?”
“Uh-huh. I think that’s important.”
“Yeah, it probably is.”
“And a Cat Guy isn’t super needy either. I mean he has a cat, not a dog, right?”
“Yup, definitely.” Juni continued to nod with a goofy smile on her face. The evil eye had disappeared.
“Damn. I could probably go for a Cat Guy, if it weren’t for the cats.”
“Since when do you have a problem with cats?”
“Since Aramis. The little stinker.” Courtney propped her head on her fist and drew circles in the condensation from her glass. “He ran away after only five days in my care.”
“You know, that’s not long enough to draw any conclusions.”
“You’re probably right. And Matt said he’d tried to return him. But who knows if he was truly sincere. Maybe he only tries when he knows I’m at work. Maybe I should assert my rights to the cat.”
“Honey, I think you should do more than that.”
“Really?”
“What have you got to lose? And besides, if Cat Guys are a thing, then research is required. And who’s going to do the research if not you? I mean, you may have to add Cat Guys to your list of man types.”
“I never thought of that before.” Courtney sat a little straighter in her chair.
Just then Ryan Pierce strolled through the front doors. “Okay, my work is through here,” Juni said. “Let me know how it works out.”
The Jaybird’s owner turned, her lacy top billowing as she moved to the far end of the bar, away from Ryan Pierce’s usual spot. A moment later, Steve, the Sunday bartender, returned from the stockroom, and Juni disappeared into her office.
Ryan watched this ballet, his eyes focused on Juni with a yearning that was so clear it was hard to ignore. Courtney had seen him look in that direction before, but he never did anything about it. And Juni was clearly uninterested.
Courtney gulped down the last of her drink and then glanced at her watch. It was almost eleven o’clock. Did Cat Guys go to bed early on Sundays?
She hoped not.
Chapter Ten
Matt left the family brunch at Charlotte’s Grove determined to head off his mother and aunt before they foisted some kind of sissy decorator on him. Neither of them seemed to understand that he didn’t want their help or their money. For once in his life, he wanted to be a normal guy, furnishing his first solo apartment the way anyone else would. By taking a trip to IKEA and buying some stylish but inexpensive furniture.
Just because he had a trust fund didn’t mean he had to behave like a trust fund baby. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Mom pay for his furniture. If he wanted to earn Dad’s respect, he would do this on his own.
The way Dad had. Mom came from a wealthy family, but Dad had never touched one penny of Mom’s money. This explained why Matt and his brothers had grown up in a modest split-level home instead of a big mansion like Charlotte’s Grove or the sprawling hilltop compound that Uncle Jamie had built for himself.
Dad would appreciate the fact that Matt stood up to Mom and Aunt Pam. And even though it might hurt Mom’s feelings, he had to do it. He had to be independent.
So he asked Uncle Jamie if he could borrow his truck a second time, and Jamie agreed, no questions asked. Matt drove down to the IKEA in Woodbridge and filled the truck with a ton of boxes containing housewares, a dining room table, four dining room chairs, a coffee table, two end tables, and two reclining chairs. The couch would be delivered on Thursday.
It took all day to buy the stuff and haul it up the stairs. By eleven o’clock that evening, Matt had managed to put together the basic rectangular dining room table and straight-back chairs, but everything else sat stacked in boxes, and his living room had become a sea of discarded cardboard—a veritable playground for Dr. Doom and Ra’s al Ghul. To be precise, Doom hid, and Ghul stalked and pounced. The cat formerly known as Aramis had attitude, ex-Porthos did not. Doom was destined to become a fat, lazy lap cat.
Matt pulled a Coke from his mostly empty fridge and watched the cats for a long moment. He ought to take Doom across the hall as a peace offering. Doom and Ghul looked a lot alike. Maybe Courtney wouldn’t notice the switch. All in all, Doom would make a much better chick’s cat. Ghul was the sort of cat that didn’t give a damn what his human did, so long as food arrived on a regular basis. A perfect guy cat.
He let go of a long sigh and rubbed his eyes. He was tired, and thinking about Courtney wasn’t much better than thinking about the tenants of Dogwood Estates. His mind flashed back to that moment in the gazebo when he’d first tasted her. Sweet. Salty. Hot. Like fudge and nuts on creamy ice cream. She was delicious, and he had a craving.
He checked his watch. It was too late. Maybe tomorrow.
He finished his soft drink and tossed the can into the recycling bin. He was too tired to clean up. Too tired to finish the job. “Come on, you guys, it’s bedtime.” He chased after the kittens, snagging Doom without much trouble. Ghul tried to hide behind the unopened boxes, but Matt managed to corral that kitten too.
He was about to take them back to the bedroom when someone knocked on his door. He didn’t have to guess who it might be, not at this hour.
Well, damn. When he’d kissed Courtney and walked away, it was with the hope that she might make the next move. But he hadn’t expected her to come knocking. She’d built a big wall around herself and then dug a moat. A single kiss seemed unlikely to breach those barriers. But maybe he’d underestimated her.
He tucked the kittens under his arm and opened the door. Courtney stood in the buttery glow of the hall lights with her big, slightly asymmetrical eyes wide. She wore a little black dress that did nothing for her curves, and she’d pulled her hair back into a tight granny bun. Her shoes were flat, and she looked as if she hadn’t slept well last night.
The last detail gave him reason to smile. “If you’ve come to borrow a cup of sugar, I’m afraid I don’t have any.”
Her gaze traveled down and then up, stalling at the kittens cuddled in his left arm. “Cute,” she said. “I have a question.”
“The answer is yes.”
“I haven’t even asked my question yet.”
“The answer is still yes.”
She sighed, the sound conveying her exasperation. Man, he loved pushing her buttons. “Okay, wiseass,” she said, putting her hands on her hips, “if you want to play Jeopardy that’s fine with me. What’s the question?”
“What is, can I have my cat back?”
She shook her head and made a sound that resembled an obnoxious buzzer. “Wrong.”
“Wrong? You don’t want your cat? Really?”
She shrugged. “I’m willing to negotiate on that point, but that’s not why I knocked on your door.”
His heart slammed against his ribs. Holy crap, was this his lucky night? No, wait, stop. Even if she had come to ask that question, maybe he wanted to play hard to get. Maybe he should make her work for it.
No. Bad idea. Besides, if she’d knocked
on his door looking for sex, he’d be an idiot to turn her away. He wanted her in the worst way. He wanted to touch those incredible breasts. He wanted to feel the silk of her skin beneath his hands. He wanted to bury himself in her. And not just because it had been a couple of months since he’d hooked up with anyone. This want wasn’t a general longing. It was quite specific. He wanted her because she was Courtney.
“You want to come in?” he asked.
She bit her lip, and even though she wasn’t wearing lipstick, the sight of that plump lower lip caught against her teeth made him hard. She had no idea how she drove him to distraction.
“So,” he asked into her hesitation, “are you coming in or not?”
She straightened her shoulders as if girding herself for battle and then nodded without a word. He stepped aside and let her pass into the cardboard chaos that was his living room.
“You went shopping.”
“Yeah, I’ve always lived with roommates. So I needed a few things.”
“This is a bad idea,” Courtney said under her breath, and turned back toward the door.
He blocked her path and then bent down and gently turned the kittens loose. They scampered away into their cardboard playground. “What’s a bad idea?”
“I don’t know, really. I was at the Jaybird, having a conversation with Juni about Cat Guys, and somehow I came to the conclusion that it would be okay for me to knock on your door tonight. Because I’ve never met a Cat Guy before, and there’s all this stuff on the Internet about how great Cat Guys are. You know, how they’re comfortable with their masculinity, aren’t very needy, and clean up after themselves…” She scanned the mess in his living room. “Obviously I was wrong.”
“Cat guys?”
“Single men with cats. As opposed to single men who are Hook-up Artists. The truth is you’re sort of interesting.”
“Well, that’s nice to know.” He took a step toward her. She didn’t back away.
“I’m babbling, aren’t I?”
He took another step that brought him within kissing range, and she still hadn’t backed up. “Maybe, a little. So I take it you’re here to learn the truth about Cat Guys?”