“It’s all you, Web. That makes it sexy as hell to me.”
A lowmrowrfloats from the corner. Queenie. She’s in her crate between the bed and window, watching her person with the intruder she tolerates.
Lot walks over and unlatches it. “She’s getting better. Only screamed twice this week.”
“Do I need to spritz on some chamomile?” I joke.
“Just might.” Lot laughs. “But let’s see how she does first.”
Queenie stretches her charcoal-gray body and pads out. She gives me a long, discerning blink, as if she’s thinking,Oh, this fool again.
“Hey, Queenie.” I crouch low, and to my surprise she purrs like a tiny motorboat and nudges my hand. “Is this a truce?”
“Meow.”
I stroke her head, letting her decide how much affection she wants. For now, it seems we’re cool. “Guess she knows nuked eggs are on the menu.”
“Probably. Girlfriend’s a user. But I think she missed you.”
I stand and dig in my bag. “Brought her something.”
I pull out a cat plushie. “It makes purring sounds. Supposed to calm anxiety and help with crate training. Good reviews.”
“That’s so sweet, Jones.”
I shrug and set it in front of Queenie. She sniffs, then snatches it like a trophy. The contact activates the purring. Queenie startles, then goes feral, pouncing like the plushie picked a fight.
“So much foroffering comfort.”
“Point is, she likes it,” Lot says, laughing at Queenie locked in on a one-sided MMA match.
I reach into the bag again and pull out a small gift-wrapped box. “For you.”
Lot raises a brow. “You charming all the women today.”
“Just two.”
She tears it open. Inside is a delicate gold necklace with two charms: a dice and a spiderweb.
Lot’s face softens. “This is… I don’t even know.”
“Does that mean you like it?”
“I love it. Thanks, Jones.”
“You’re welcome.” I fasten it around her neck. The charms dangle, resting in the dip between her collarbones.
She checks it out in the mirror above her dresser. “It’s perfect.”
I gotta agree.
“I have something for you, too,” she says, going to the closet and returning with a limited-run vinyl. It’s a house compilation by a New York City Mixmaster, DJ Soulidify.
I run my thumb over the sleeve. “Damn, Web. How’d you get your hands on this?”
“Client of mine. The one I told you I designed the album cover for. He hooked me up.”
I press a kiss to her lips. “Really appreciate it, baby.”
