Page 35 of Royal Desire

Today is Wednesday. Breakfast and lunch roll by with no sign of either version of my past lover—not the asshole or the charming gentleman. He’s thrown me for such a loop since he promised not to be an ass, I’m on edge.

The lunch rush has finally cleared when the bell rings over the door. I was right to be on guard, because when Payne walks through the entrance, the dirty dish in my hand crashes to the floor.

I’m that flummoxed.

Yes, flummoxed.

No other adjective is suitable. Payne isn’t the only one using new F-words.

Today he’s not dressed for business or to take over the world. He’s in a pair of running shorts and a tight athletic T-shirt that reads Winslet Youth Sports. Sweat drips down his glistening skin and stains his shirt. His perfectly overgrown hair curls at the ends, kissing his forehead like the lusty little bitches they are.

And to top off the scene that’s spicier than Carl’s secret sauce, Payne is cradling a kitten against his rock-hard pec. The tiny creature is white with black and brown spots, and so perfect I’d think it was a product of artificial intelligence if it weren’t in the fluffy flesh in front of me. It can’t be more than two pounds and looks completely content held against Payne’s sweaty body.

But who wouldn’t be?

I never thought I’d say this, but I’m jealous of a kitten.

Winnie completely ignores the broken plate at my feet and squeals. “Oh my lanta, it’s a kitten!”

With his free hand, Payne pulls a bud from his ear, lifts the teensy feline up to look it in the eyes, and speaks to it like they’re reunited long-lost lovers. “I found you in a ditch on my jog, didn’t I? You were alone and making the most miserable meows. How could I pass you by?”

If Winnie were in a cartoon, hearts would bounce from her eyes on springs. “You really are a hero, Payne Deacon! You saved that little baby. It’s a wonder it hasn’t been eaten up by coyotes or a hawk. Those hawks creep me out, but I love cats!”

Payne turns his gaze from Winnie to me before glancing at my feet. “You broke a dish.”

I look down at the random fries scattered on the floor and the ketchup that dots my sneakers and jeans.

“She’s too overcome by the precious kitty,” Winnie says.

“Yes,” I lie. I’m way too busy reminiscing about Payne sweaty and naked to think about a feline. “So cute.”

Payne snuggles it back to his chest and strokes it with his other hand. The kitten purrs.

I’m not only jealous but green with envy. Dammit.

Payne turns back to Winnie. “I don’t know what to do with her. If I bring her home, she’d get lost in the house. And there’s the fact I have no idea what to do with a pet. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone that my parents were not pet people.”

That’s an understatement. One time back in middle school when I was at Payne’s house, I watched Tallie Deacon run around the backyard spraying a butterfly with wasp spray. Who kills butterflies?

Winnie agrees and rolls her eyes at the notion. “You’re telling me. No offense.”

“None taken.” Payne cuts the space between himself and Winnie. “I heard Jett and Lennon found a place in town to rent while they build. I know you’ve been taking care of his cat and dog since he got here. I figured if anyone will be jonesing for a furball, it would be you.”

Winnie’s eyes widen. “You’re giving me your kitten?”

The little furball lets out a shrill cry when he hands her over to Winnie.

I don’t blame her.

Winnie nuzzles the kitten to her face.

Payne steps back and smiles, like he’s the matchmaker of the century. He’s downright proud of himself. “She’s hardly mine. I just saved her. But do me a favor, don’t tell Carl I gave her to you. He’ll put arsenic in my omelet.”

During this entire exchange, I haven’t uttered another word and continue to be flabbergasted.

So many F words, yet only one simmers beneath the surface bringing back memories that I should not at all be thinking about.

I snap out of my frozen fascination when Payne rests his hands low on his hips to survey his good deed. “My work here is done. I’ve got the hardest part of my workout ahead of me running up that mountain. I’ll see you around.” He looks back at me once more. “It’s a shame you fucked up your Converse. Good luck getting that ketchup out.”