Brad came in with jam, maple syrup in a real glass bottle, and whipped cream, and he set his armload on the tabletop. He kept frowning at me as he sat on the opposite side, but I grabbed the strawberry jam and a knife. It was easier to concentrate on food right now. This conversation we were going to have wasn’t going to be a comfortable one.
13
Harley slapped a lot of toppings on his pancakes. Syrup and jam droplets spread out on the table around his plate and he didn’t bother wiping them up. He then proceeded to huff at his food, giving the pancakes the sourest stare—one that I wouldn’t even level on someone who had insulted my mother. Suffice it to say, he didn’t eat much. In fifteen minutes, he swiped the tines of his fork through the mound of whipped cream and took one dainty lick that barely got him a dollop in his pretty mouth. His antics were amusing at first; however, the longer they went on, the more I realized he was getting into some bad habits. The rest of the time he didn’t spend not eating, he very obviously ignored me. He didn’t have his kitty contacts in and his brown eyes gleamed beautiful as the morning sun poured in the window next to him, setting him aglow.
There was no way I could let this go on. I power ate my food, not really tasting it, though my stomach stopped yelling at me to eat eventually.
“What do you want to do today, Brad?” Kwan asked, and I appreciated his spirit. He also mostly picked at his food but had at least eaten half of one of the pancakes he’d helped make. He’d responded so nicely to a little gentle encouragement, which was the reason I’d had him help make the food to begin with. Everyone needed small successes in their day, and he’d been missing out on that. Clearly he was still down in the dumps, his tone was forced, but I could appreciate someone who was trying.
“Not sure yet.” Harley… had he been getting those boosts with me? I’d thought he was, but he was acting like none of the fun things we’d done yesterday mattered. “What do you want to do, Harley?”
“I might go home.” He stared at his fork like he wanted to use it to stab someone, and I didn’t have to take a wild guess to know it was probably Kwan, or maybe me, for being nice to the pup he’d decided he hated yet again. But why? This shit had to stop, now. I felt myself getting pissed off, something I wouldn’t let myself do much around my pets, but Harley wasn’t a pet right now. He wasn’t a kitty who spilled his milk, he was a man who was being a shit. The only question was whether or not he knew how he was acting.
I slapped my fork down. “Running away? I thought we talked about that?” Fuck, so much for not getting mad.
He glared.
“Okay. Come on. Let’s go.” I slid my chair back and it made a racket as it dug into the wooden floor.
Harley shot to his feet, eyes widening a smidge in a tiny nonverbal “fuck you,” again all man and no kitty cat, and the part of me that liked having an obedient sub roared to life. I could shove this down when I had a sweet kitten, but not now. I was done with this behavior, cat or not. Even cats could be trained—maybe not easily. I was always ready for some hard work, though, especially if the payoff was an end to Harley being scared and enraged with me over nothing.
“You’re kicking me out?” he asked and glared again at Kwan, as if this had anything to do with him.
Carefully I leaned forward and planted my hands on the table so I wouldn’t go over to him and do something I’d regret without fully thinking first. I knew he didn’t respond like a dog. He didn’t even respond like someone who was used to saying “yes, Sir.” I let out a long, ragged breath. Harley flushed all the way to the tips of his adorable, pink human ears. With a jolt, I realized I liked this Harley as much as kitten Harley. I had to get this under control.
“You’re coming out to the barn to talk with me in private. I’m not doing anything right now, except ask you to have a conversation with me, which you already said you wanted.” I tried to sound stern, but he only stuck his nose in the air in a maddening way that I might have thought was cute if I wasn’t close to losing my temper. “Now.”
He flinched but shook his head.
“That was not a request, Harley.”
Kwan stared between us, his fork halfway to his mouth. His face flamed a deep rose and he bit his lip.
“What?” Harley asked, almost like he was confused.
Kwan tilted his head Harley’s direction.
“Let’s go. Now. You said you needed to talk. I said now .”
Kwan angled his head in my direction and frowned, the closest thing I’d seen yet to a pout from him. “Can I come too?”
“No,” Harley spat, at the same time I tried to say it as nicely as possible. We spoke over each other.
Harley glared.
Kwan’s head dipped and he lowered his fork like I’d just smacked him.
I pointed toward the hallway, and Harley shoved his plate in frustration. He wasn’t trying to do it, I don’t think, but he knocked over the bottle of syrup and the top spun off because it hadn’t been screwed on. The sticky, sweet mess oozed out everywhere. Kwan stood up in a hurry.
“I’ll get it, Brad.”
“Of course you will, you sniveling, ass-kissing mutt,” Harley sniped and then stomped around the table. I followed him and kept back while he put his shoes on at the front door because my heart was pounding in my throat. I was very close to dragging him back by the neck to apologize, but I seriously doubted that would help.
Once his shoes were on, he walked like he was marching off to battle, right out of the front door. We hit the grass and he let me take the lead to the barn. When I got there, I pushed open the door and flipped on the overhead lights. The setup inside the main barn area was like the makeshift playroom at Black Out in some respects, though I obviously had mine before they did. I had a wide fenced-in spot for a pup, to go along with the more traditional BDSM pieces strewn around the room. Nothing scary because that wasn’t what I liked, but I did have a stockade that might be upsetting to someone who’d never played with one. Harley stepped around me to get inside and gasped, then stalked a few more steps toward the middle of the room. His hands flew out to his sides like he was trying to decide if he should run or not, and then he whirled around. His eyes practically sparked with his fury.
“This is setup for a dog! Still! You’ve had plenty of time to get rid of it.”
Shrugging, I glanced around. “I just never took it down because that would be a pain, and I have no one else coming in here.” I pointed toward the corner at the half-finished Harley-sized cat tree, and he scowled at it.
