But there is a perfectly goodnowgoing to waste because the man is determinednotto fuck me.
And for some reason, that bugs me.
Instead of unraveling the mystery, I channel all my frustration into the cookies and bake late into the night.
CHAPTER 6
ELLIOT
“Meow.”
I groan at the annoying sound threatening to pull me from a deep sleep.
“Meoooow.”
“What the fuck?”
I feel pressure on my cheek, and startle awake.
A cat stares down at me, meowing once again, pressing a paw against my cheek. I feel the gentlest scrape of a claw.
“Meatloaf? How’d you get in here?”
I lift my head, discovering my bedroom door is cracked open. I can’t remember for the life of me if I closed it tight enough for it to latch or not.
“What time is it?” I ask the cat, as though he’ll answer.
It’s late.
Or early.
That much is evident by the pitch black of the room. There’s no hint of the sunrise on the horizon.
I reach for my phone to check the time.
“Two thirty?” I stroke my hand down Meatloaf’s back, and he purrs instantly. “I hope this isn’t going to be a regular thing,” I say, not really meaning it. It’s been a long time since I’vehad a pet in the house. I’m notinmy house enough to justify having a house pet. But with Meatloaf standing on my chest, demanding pets, I realize just how much I’ve missed having a furry companion around.
A shrill beep sounds from down the hall.
“What the?—”
Meatloaf hops off the bed, slipping through the crack in the door, and taking off in a run.
The beeping continues.
I toss aside the covers, wasting no time with a shirt or robe. If there’s an intruder in my house, I’ll deal with them whether I’m fully clothed or in my boxer briefs. I have no shame.
Halfway down the hall, I catch the distinct smell of Christmas cookies.
It reminds me of Kayleigh’s vanilla scent, and my head jerks toward the guest room door. It’s wide open, thanks to Meatloaf pushing it open. But there’s no trace of Kayleigh in her bed. I follow the intoxicating aroma into my kitchen.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I grumble, wiping the sleep from my eyes. It’s a mistake, because the second my hand falls away, I catch a glimpse of a red thong. Kayleigh’s bent over, pulling a baking sheet out of the oven.
“Baking,” she announces. “Hungry?”
“It’s two thirty in the morning.”
“You couldn’t sleep either?”
