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Mikey takes advantage of the opening, claiming my spot on the couch and burrowing closer to Bell. He flicks his tail straight up, and I swear it’s his version of giving me the finger.
Fucker. After all I’ve done for him, he throws me over for a woman.
I rummage through my pants on the floor, finding my phone. I don’t know why this woman curled up with my cat makes me happy, or maybe I do and I don’t want to jinx it, but I want to remember it. Especially if I only have two days.
I angle myself so I can’t see her breasts, as it doesn’t seem right taking naked pictures without permission, but rather the profile of her face and the long column of her neck and bare back. I focus the screen, Mike’s head resting on her hip like the creepy fucker he is, and snap the picture.
Bell shifts in her sleep, sinking to one side, looking like a toddler passed out in a car seat. In a word: uncomfortable.
I take one more picture, this one for laughs, and lift Mike out of the way. He flicks his tail up again in annoyance, but otherwise gives me room to slip my arms under Bell and pick her up.
“Whaaat?” Her head lolls against my chest, her warmth instantly surrounding me, filling me up.
“Shhh. I got you,” I murmur, my lips against her temple.
I want to tell her I mean that in more ways than just carrying her down the hall. I want to tell her I mean it in all the ways. And for much more than two days.
But I don’t.
19
BELL
“Want to grab a cab or walk?” Chase wraps his arm around my shoulders as we near the end of the park.
It’s a beautiful Sunday afternoon. Ice cream and hot dog vendors shout their wares, bicyclists fly by, children play tag, and meanwhile, the glow of the setting sun mirrors the warm feelings growing inside me. Even though they are dangerous feelings, I want to prolong this moment as long as possible.
My arm circles his waist. “Let’s walk.”
He smiles at my decision, as if my reasons are his reasons, and directs us toward the crosswalk.
In Texas, my typical Sunday afternoons are spent previewing the agenda for the following day. I make lists and draft emails so that I’m ready to tackle Monday head on. Though it isn’t an opinion shared by many, I love Mondays. For eight years, my work life has been my entire life, so thoroughly preparing for the workday on a weekend never felt strange. It just made sense.
What doesn’t make sense is the sinking dread I’m feeling just thinking about tomorrow. When Chase will go back to leading Moore’s into the twenty-first century and I’ll go back to being the marketing specialist helping him get there.
Today, I haven’t so much as logged on to a computer. Besides a quick scan of my inbox on my phone to make sure nothing urgent has come up (it hasn’t), I haven’t even opened an email.
Instead, I woke up, not from the annoying buzz of an alarm, but to the warm, soft, wet feel of Chase’s tongue on my clit. After he rewarded me with an orgasm, he followed it up with a toasted New York bagel and a piping hot latte.
It was my most perfect morning ever.
I was positive I could sex Chase out of my system within our two days together. I’ve never been so wrong. Besides still wanting to use him for his body, I’m equally enjoying the other stuff, stuff I didn’t even know I’d agreed to. Talking, holding hands, comfortable silences, learning new and interesting things about him.
Like the fact there seems to be nothing Chase can do to dampen his sexual appeal.
“How’s your pussy doing?” I ask, a man jogging past nearly tripping when he overhears my question.
“Just fine, thank you.” Chase smiles, patting the lump secured to his chest. The lump hisses and snuggles deeper into the sling.
That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, Chase Moore, billionaire, playboy extraordinaire, is carrying around his hairless cat in an honest-to-goodness baby carrier on the streets of New York. And managing to look sexy as hell doing it.
We’ve had another great day in the city, doing all my favorite things, and things I’ve never thought of—riding a double-decker tourist bus, sex, browsing books at the Strand, sex, and then playing honest-to-goodness shuffleboard in an indoor club in Brooklyn. I’ve missed all the interesting and quirky things to do and find in New York.
And now we’re “walking” the cat and people-watching.
But really, when you’re strolling around hand in hand with a guy carrying a hairless pussy in a baby sling, people watch you.
“Thanks for doing this.” Chase squeezes my shoulder. “Mike gets pretty pissed without a weekly outing.” He adjusts himself, no doubt thinking of Mike’s attack on his nether regions yesterday.
