Getting off the couch, I head to the kitchen, because I’m going to catch this furry little shit if it’s the last thing I do.
Nothing near the radiator, not even a tiny hole. Bases of the cabinets are next. I groan as I drop to my hands and knees, crawling around. If my friends could see me now.
No evidence so far.
But when I sit back on my heels, a pair of mismatched eyes stare down at me, one green, one blue. Just like Beckett's. “Jesus, fuck!”
The white furball starts yowling like the mother of all angry cats.
Didn’t know Becks had a pet, one that’s not supposed to be here. The building owner—a by-the-rules, animal-hating dictator—would flip if he knew. Yeah, I made it my business to know every detail about this place from the layout to obtaining a copy of the lease.
Which has a strict no-pet policy.
I narrow my eyes and stare at it. “Make some noise next time, would you?”
It hisses, tail lashing.
Oh, this one sure has some attitude.
I lean in closer, my nose scrunching. “Why does he even have you? What kind of cat are you letting a mouse run around? Isn’t that what you’re bred for?”
The cat growls, then bats me in the face three times.
Note to self: do not challenge a cat face to face. I should’ve known better, but most of the time I’ve learned every lesson the hard way because I do in fact fuck around and find out.
I roll my eyes, getting to my feet. “Some hunter you are, letting rodents run around like they pay rent.”
The white furball looks thoroughly unimpressed. With a disdainful sniff, it turns its back on me, tail held high.
“Fine. Be that way. But don't come crying to me when the mice take over.”
I resume searching again, grumbling under my breath. Stupid cat, stupid mouse, stupid Beckett and his stupidly perfect dick that's turned my brain to mush.
After a few fruitless minutes, I sit back against the cabinets, sighing. The cat's now lounging on the counter, watching me with a bored expression.
“You could help, you know.” I point an accusing finger. “But no, you just want to sit there and judge me. Lazy ass.”
She yawns, showing off her sharp little teeth. I swear she's laughing at me.
“Guess the supervisor's supervising, huh?”
A snort from behind makes me twist around. Beckett's leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed over his bare chest—his very muscular, very bite-able chest. “What are you doing?”
“I was, uh . . . looking for the mouse?” It comes out as a question, my confidence wilting under his gaze.
His eyebrows shoot up, a smirk tugging at his lips. “The mouse?”
I nod, gesturing to the cat as I get to my feet. "Yeah, but this one's not being very helpful."
Beckett laughs, a rich, warm sound that makes my toes curl. He pushes off the doorframe, coming over to scoop the cat into his arms.
“Viktor, meet Mouse.” He scratches the cat under its chin. “Mouse, meet Viktor.”
I stare at him. Blink. Stare some more. “I'm sorry, what? You named your cat . . .Mouse?"
He shrugs, still grinning.
I shake my head slowly, my lips twitching. “And they call me unhinged. Seriously, Beckett, what is wrong with you?”
