“Yeah, just like that,” Leo grunts.
“Okay, youhaveto stop.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
I stand back, taking a look at my work from the front.
“Andyou’re wearing those pants?” Leo says in shock. “You’re really trying to butter her up. Good for you.”
While I didn’t intentionally wear these pants, I can’t say I didn’t glance at myself in the mirror, impressed with how absolutely large and scrumptious my ass looks.
I really hope she notices.
“Alright. Everything look good?” I ask, desperate to get off the phone. Ineedto get curtains.
“Yeah, it looks perfect. I wish you luck, dude.”
Hanging up before Leo starts anything else, I take one last look before finishing breakfast.
I hear her before I see her.
“What’s this?” Amara asks suspiciously, stopping the second she gets into the kitchen.
I shove my hands into my back pockets to keep myself from itching nervously. “I figured I owed you a little something,” I tell her simply. “Flowers and breakfast are the least I can do.”
She looks from me to the breakfast on the counter, puzzled. “Oh,” she replies softly. “Thank you.”
Amara takes a seat at the counter, pulling one of the plates toward her.
I stand on the other side, shoveling egg into my mouth as I watch her pick at her toast.
“So, what’s on the agenda today?”
She shrugs. “Isla has her showing today. I was going to get there early.”
The one she didn’t want me at,I remind myself.
We donothave to spend every waking moment together. In fact, it’s probably much, much better for my health that we don’t.
“Oh, I got Fluffernutter something,” I say quickly, reaching into the bag next to the door.
I toss the small pouch of treats into her hands, and she smiles. “He loves this flavor.”
The admission makes my heart swell.
Amara looks around. “Watch this.” She shakes the bag once, ripping the tab at the top off to open it.
She shakes it again.
I can’t even really make out the shape of her cat as he barrels into the room like a bat out of hell. He comes to a quick standstill in front of us, his legs slightly spread and his eyes wild, only slightly resembling what I probably lookedlike when I was little and had to tell my mom I threw up all over my bed.
Do all cats look like that?
Is it guilt, or gluttony?
Amara quickly picks a couple of treats out of the pouch and tosses them carefully to the floor, where they’re instantly gobbled up.
“Why does he sound like a turkey with rabies?” I mutter under my breath.
