Page 56 of Cat’s Guide To Romance

Wren lowers his smoothie. “During the kiss?”

“Yes.” I point at him because at least someone understands why that distinction is important. “We’re having this really sweet moment. I’m kissing him. He’s kissing me. I’m purring. Everything is wonderful. And then the fucking ceiling explodes.”

Beau’s mouth drops open. “What?”

“Fireworks.” I throw my hands up. “Purple and gold magical fireworks. With cannon fire.”

Lark presses both hands over his heart. “Okay, but that’s kind of romantic.”

“I thought we were under attack.” I lean forward and lower my voice, even though no one around us cares what we’re talking about. “My tail puffed up. Completely. I looked like a fucking bottle brush.”

Wren snorts into his smoothie. Beau covers his mouth, but his shoulders shake, and even Gabe loses his battle against a smile.

“I’m glad my trauma amuses everyone.”

“Did he do it because of the Guide?” Gabe asks.

I point at him. “Yes! Apparently sixteen-year-old me writing kiss me slow, fireworks, cannon fire means Lucien thinks he should provide actual artillery.”

That breaks Wren. He laughs hard enough to lean against Lark, who’s not doing much better. Beau has gone pink from trying to hold his laughter in.

I stab another piece of tart with my fork. “For the record, we kissed again afterward. Without attempted murder. It was much better.”

Beau reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “I’m happy for you.”

The laughter dies down, and something warm settles into my chest. “Thanks.”

“So you like him?” Gabe asks.

I open my mouth with an immediate sarcastic answer ready, but Gabe’s expression stops me. He isn’t asking whether I think Lucien is hot or whether I enjoy kissing him. He’s asking if this is becoming something.

I look down at my plate and drag my fork through a smear of apple filling. “Yeah. I do. More than I expected to.” Saying it makes my stomach flutter.

Lucien is ridiculous. He’s dramatic and loud and entirely too confident. He calls me his kitty cat even though I’ve repeatedly informed him that I’m not his anything. But he listens when it matters. He gives me space when I ask for it. And when he looks at me, I never get the feeling that he wishes my ears would disappear or my tail would stop moving. I think he likes them more than I do.

“I went to The Rot because I wanted to see him,” I admit. “He was having a terrible night, though. One of his bartenders called out, their blood delivery got screwed up, a register broke. Just a bunch of shit happening at once.”

Wren tilts his head. “So, what did you do?”

“I helped.”

Four faces stare back at me.

“What?”

Lark’s grin slowly spreads. “Of course you did.”

“I bartended for a while, but then I might have helped with some other stuff, too. Their sections weren’t balanced right, one of the servers desperately needed a break, and Lucien was trying to ration blood instead of just pushing drinks made with the types they had plenty of.” I shrug and take a sip of my coffee. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Gabe sets his mug down. “That sounds like you managed his club.”

“Lucien said the same thing.” I roll my eyes. “I did not manage The Rot. I just noticed things.”

“That’s what managing is,” Wren says.

I frown at him.

He shrugs. “You notice what needs to happen, figure out how to make it happen, and get people where they need to be.”