I’m not falling for you, buster. “Yes,” I snap, knowing he’s more likely to get struck by lightning. Señor Mittens will never love Noah, or anyone other than me. He doesn’t even love my friend Yuna, who fed him premium cream. There’s nothing Noah can do.
“Deal.” He smiles.
My foolish heart does a funny thing that feels like a little pirouette of joy. It better not start dictating to me because I’m not listening. When it comes to Noah, I’m only relying on my head. And my head says it’s unfair that I don’t have the superpower to make him spontaneously regurgitate the apple pie he already ate.
He hefts the hogtied Lorcan with one hand and carries him out like an oversized toolbox, banging him a couple of times against the doorjamb and a corner of the hallway. More muffled screams. I remain in the bedroom with the cat. I don’t want to do anything stupid to let Noah know he can still affect me, especially not when my heart is still doing that ecstatic spin.
The front door shuts. I wait a few minutes, then go to the kitchen and put away my Glock.
Señor Mittens hops onto the island.
“Hey, get off there. You know better than that.”
He meows, pawing the smooth marble surface.
“I’m going to feed you, don’t worry.” I rub the spot behind his ears which should settle him down.
He smacks the counter harder. If he could talk, he’d call me an idiot.
“What’s the deal?” I look at my annoyed cat, unsure what to do to soothe his temper, then realize what’s wrong.
That son of a bitch stole my bag of croissants.
Chapter Seven
Bobbi
My first instinct is to run outside and snatch the croissants from Noah, assuming I can catch up to him. But I don’t have the time to get ready for my date and deal with him.
The date matters more, my mind says.It could be your future. Noah’s your past.
Right. I inhale, then go back to my bedroom. My hands shake with rage as I try to curl my hair and reapply my mascara and lipstick. It’s all Noah’s fault. Closing my eyes, I breathe, trying to settle my temper. But it isn’t easy. I’m imagining wrapping my hands around his neck and squeezing.Hard.
Except he’d just laugh. He got a minor scratch in Mexico when the trio of thugs attacked me, but he’s no pushover.
Before rage can consume me further, I look at my vision board. The photos of a hot guy and four kids—I’d be okay with two, but four seems ideal—a house complete with a yard and white picket fence, beautiful baked goods, and Señor Mittens. I’d love a big, loving family that has dinner together every night and laughs, cheers when things are good and hugs and cries when things are bad because I never had that growing up. And firm roots. No moving all over the place. We constantly relocated all over the world due to my father’s job, and Mom was always busy trying to adjust to a new place, a new language and culture.
The photos make a perfect vision for my future. And hopefully I’ll be closer to it after tonight’s date.
Señor Mittens comes over and meows in that secretive I-know-something-you-don’t kind of way. I scratch his head. “Don’t worry. My future includes you.”
He shakes his head, then sits in front of my vision board. His tail swishes in front of the picture of the guy—the one representing my future husband. I smile. “That’s the one I’m going to get tonight. Hopefully.”
Señor Mittens stares at me disdainfully, his tail swishing faster.
“What? I’m sure he’s not allergic to cats. You’re on my board, too.” I step forward and put my finger on the board. “This is you… Hey, wait a minute…”
I look closer and realize thatNoah has pasted a photo of his own face and taped it over the hot model. He did it so slickly that the colors and shadows blend together almost perfectly, which probably contributed to me not realizing earlier.
“Son of abitch!” I snatch the picture from the board. Noah’s head is smiling, his eyes crinkled. That bastard. He must’ve done this before he decided to raid my fridge for the apple pie!
Okay,that’s it. I’m going to murder him. Isofucking will!
Señor Mittens’s eyes turn to slits as he yawns and stretches. Obviously, he’s annoyed at the lack of proper appreciation for pointing out the problem with my vision board.
“Thank you, buddy. You’re the only one I can count on.”
He purrs. Even though he can’t speak, I know what it means: “Pay me with tuna.”
