Page 31 of Dead Pretty

“Like I said before, I didn’t mind. She’s a friendly kitty. How is she, by the way? She made any more escape attempts?” I ask because I haven’t seen her in a while so I’m assuming she’s stayed put.

“Nope. She’s decided to take a break from escaping the apartment.”

I laugh, picking my coffee up and taking a sip. “Has she always been an escape artist?” I ask him.

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. I only got her recently. I had just come back to the States, and I found her wandering down the side of the freeway. She’s lucky she didn’t get killed. Anyway, I pulled my bike over, and she came to me, no problem. Practically leaped into my arms. She was scared witless. I took her to the local vet, and she wasn’t microchipped. They thought that she had been dumped by her owner. So, it was either she stayed with me or went to a shelter. There was never any question that I wouldn’t take her home to live with me.” He shrugs, taking a sip of his own coffee.

She was dumped? And he rescued her.

Sweet Jesus.

An unexpected lump appears in my throat. “I hate people sometimes. Well, most of the time,” I say. “Humans really don’t deserve animals.”

He’s watching me with those sharp, knowing eyes of his, and I suddenly feel like I said too much. When, really, I haven’t said much at all.

“I would agree with you on that. We don’t deserve animals. But I wouldn’t say I hate people. There are some shitty ones. But overall, most people are good.”

I say nothing. Because I don’t have anything to add.

I pick at my bagel, putting a piece in my mouth. “So, you said you came back to the States recently. Had you lived abroad?”

I don’t know why I’m asking questions and being this nosy; it is out of the norm for me. When I ask questions, they usually get asked back, so I don’t put myself in that situation. But something about Jack has me intrigued.

“I had just come back from Syria. I was in the military. It was my last tour.”

“Oh, wow. Well, thank you for your service.” The words immediately bounce back at me, and I cringe. “Was that as patronizing as it sounded in my head?”

He laughs. “No. And my service was my pleasure.”

The smile on his lips and the look in his eyes make those words sound a whole lot less clean than he said them, and it makes me feel flustered. And hot.

I take another sip of my coffee.

“So, you’re out of the military. What are you doing now? Aside from sitting around in libraries and coffee shops.” I smile so that he knows I am teasing.

“Writing. I’m an author. I’ve been doing it for years, even while I was still in the military.”

He’s an author. Makes sense why he was spending so much time in the library. Probably doing research for his next book.

“Wow. A real-life author.”

I see a slight blush on the tops of his cheekbones. I find myself thinking it’s adorable, and then I want to slap myself.

And I also might work in a library, but I have never actually met an author. Well, not that I know of. It’s not like I actively try to get to know people. Avoiding people is my specialty. And yet, here I am, chatting with Jack.

“I’m assuming you’re published?”

He nods.

“Would I have heard of you?”

Something dark flashes through his eyes. “Probably not.” He lets out a laugh that sounds self-deprecating and out of odds with the expression I just saw in his eyes.

“Hey, I work in a library. I’ve read a lot of authors. What genre do you write?”

“Crime.”

And a chill cuts into the warmth that he unknowingly placed in my chest.