“Then I accept. I can meet Moses and hear the story behind his name.” He offered me a wicked grin.
“I’ll give you the code for the parking garage.”
Chapter Fourteen
Malik
Spencer’s condo was…cozy.
Somehow, I pictured him in something more upscale. Not a fifty-year-old building. He assured me that the roof had recently been replaced and his unit’s soundproofing had been increased when it had been renovated just before he bought it. And that the place cost him more than comparable units, but with the upgrades done during the reno, the investment was worth it.
In fact, he rambled like a nervous teenager as he gave me a tour of the kitchen, living room, bathroom, and the micro room he called the bedroom. The open Murphy bed was literally the only thing in the room except a nightstand.
Moses lay in the middle of Spencer’s navy-blue comforter, shedding his orange hair. The tabby gave me a long look, blinked, then jumped off the bed with a decidedly impatientmeowas he headed to the kitchen.
Obediently, Spencer followed. “I know it’s dinnertime. I’m sorry I’m late.”
Slowly, I followed. “You’re usually home before dinnertime?”
He glanced at me as he opened a tin of wet cat food that, admittedly, smelled pretty gross.
“What? Oh no. This is about the time I always get home.”
“So why are you apologizing to him? He doesn’t appear horribly hard done by. A little scrawny, but I’m going to assume that’s not because—”
“Oh no.” Spencer dished out the food onto a nice plate and put it on the floor.
Moses attacked it as if he hadn’t eaten in a million years.
I arched an eyebrow.
Spencer met my gaze. “He just, like, almost died as a kitten. He’s always been…scrappy.” He scratched his cheek. The light stubble under his nails made my fingers itch—I wanted to be the one scratching him. “I give him plenty of food, but he never seems to gain weight. His vet says not to worry, so I try not to.” Even as he said the words, his hand fluttered against his chest.
Slowly, I advanced toward him.
He didn’t retreat.
I grasped his hand and used it to lever him toward me. “I’m not judging you by the size of your cat.” I gripped his hip.
Then replayed my words in my mind.
“That came out wrong.”
He laughed. Perhaps a little more forced than natural, but I’d take it for a win.
“Sweetheart, why are you so nervous?”
His gaze shot to mine—those luminous-green eyes sparkling in the bright lights of the kitchen. “Sweetheart?”
I shrugged. “You don’t like it? I’m certain I can come up with something else.”
Slowly, he shook his head. “I like it.” This time, the laugh was genuine. “I shouldn’t…but I do.”
“Because it shows a level of intimacy you wouldn’t ascribe to us?”
“Frankly?”
I nodded.
