What will the bachelor pad look like?
He pulls open the door and draws me inside.
“Should I take my shoes off?” I pause just inside the threshold.
“Please. And you’ll want to put them in the closet.” He points to a closed door in the short entry hallway.
I hum an understanding noise as I toe off my footwear. “Is someone a neat freak?”
“Someone doesn’t want spiders in his shoes.” George says this with a straight face.
I pause with my hand on the closet doorknob.
“Is your condo infested with spiders?” Maybe I don’t want to jump his bones here.
“No.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “In fact, spiders don’t last long here. Jet takes care of them.”
“And Jet is your…cleaning person?” George is rich, and rich people tend to have those.
“Jet is my cat roommate.”
Ah, yes. That makes more sense. I tuck my five-dollar slip-ons in his hallway closet beside a collection of polished shoes. “Was the addition of ‘roommate’ necessary? You couldn’t just say that he’s your cat?”
I totally forgot about that detail he shared while eating at the diner with Marge. George is a cat dad.
“First off”—George sets his hands on my waist but only to nudge me to the side so he can put his shoes away, too—“Jet identifies as female. And secondly, I’m not the one who originally adopted Jet. And she makes sure I know that.”
Why would George be living with someone else’s pet?
“Is she your ex’s cat?” He’s divorced. Maybe she got the house, and he got the cat?
“No. Jet was my mom’s.”
Oh.Oh. Well, what do you even say to that?
“And your feline sibling is not a fan of yours?” That’s probably not what I should have said, but I couldn’t think of any other words that might’ve fit the situation.
Luckily, George’s first response is to snort.
“Jet has never been a fan of me. Hence why she often leaves spiders in my shoes.” George settles his hand on my lower back, guiding me forward.
“Live ones?” I press.
“Dead ones. Or at least they’re dead after my foot squashes them when I put my shoe on.” His lips curl with a grimace. “I’ve had to throw away at least five pairs of socks because I found spider guts smashed into them at the end of the day.”
“And you think this means that Jet doesnotlike you?”
One of his brows ticks up. “Is there another way I should take it?”
I shrug. “Honestly, a dead spider sounds like a gift when given by a cat. It could be a good luck charm. Her version of saying ‘have a safe flight.’ Maybe it’s a sign of affection.”
“I doubt that.” But I spy a smile trying to claim his stern mouth.
“You need to be more open-minded to the various ways creatures show affection.” With the heat of George’s hand soaking through my shirt, I find myself more focused on his touch rather than the space around us.
“Do you think affection also comes in the form of growls and hisses whenever I make eye contact?”
“Some people, and some felines, don’t like eye contact.” I blink up at him. “Maybe you should stop staring intensely at your sister.”
