“Its feet. They don’t look normal.”
I happen to love Beef Wellington’s irregular feet, so I take offense to that. “They’re called toes, Crocodile Dundee. You have them too.”
Logan turns his head to roll his eyes at me, and that’s when Beef pounces, leaping straight into the man’s chest and knocking him onto the couch next to us. My shout matches Logan’s as I instinctively shrink back, but before I can get a hold of myself and rescue Logan, the unthinkable happens.
Beef Wellington startspurring.
Logan, sprawled at an angle with his arms flailed out, is barely breathing as he stares at the cat who has latched himself onto hisshirt with his claws and settled in, purring like a freight train. “Get. It. Off. Me.” Logan growls each word through clenched teeth and keeps his gaze on the cat like before. Terrified to blink or move.
I reach an unsteady hand forward, moving cautiously. Beef has never been violent with me, but he’s been acting strangely the last couple of weeks and could do anything. His eyes are closed, so I just have to move slowly enough that he doesn’t hear me.
“Ow!” Logan holds a hand up. “Stop. Claws…”
Beef turns yellow eyes to me and blinks slowly.
I take a step back.
Both cat and Logan relax.
Just to make sure I know what’s going on here, I step forward again, stopping when Beef digs his claws into Logan’s chest. If I step back, he retracts them. All the while purring like a diesel.
On my next step forward, Logan growls low in his throat and glares at me. “Will you stop?” he grinds out. “It clearly doesn’t want you coming close!”
“Itis ahe,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “And he’s polydactyl, which means he has extra toes. Six instead of five on the front, and five instead of four on the back.”
Logan’s eyes shift to the rumbling cat, and to my shock he picks up one of Beef’s abnormally large front paws. The cat doesn’t react, closing his eyes again now that I don’t seem to be a threat anymore. “I think you may be overcompensating, mate,” Logan mutters as he gently squeezes Beef’s toe beans, spreading his paw out between his fingers and looking at what I call Beef’s “thumbs.”
“Um.” I glance at the oven behind me, realizing I forgot to set a timer. I’ll have to guess when it’s done, but in the meantime, there’s a rugby player stuck on my couch, and I don’t know what to do with him. “I’m sorry about my cat. Again.”
Logan grunts. “He’s not so bad when he’s not being a devil.” His fingers move from Beef’s paw to his head and start scratching, and the cat’s purring somehow getslouder. “He’s proper heavy, though.”
Laughing weakly, I settle on a stool and watch as my cat stretches out along Logan’s torso and rolls, presenting his belly for scratches. It took over two weeks before Beef did that to me. “Yeah. On the days he decides to like me, he practically suffocates me every night by doing what he’s doing to you. I don’t have a ton of muscle to protect me from his girth.”
“You seem to think I have plenty to spare,” Logan mutters.
“Oh, you know full well how beautifully built you are.”
His eyes meet mine, dancing with amusement. He actually looks a lot like my cat, with his rusty brown hair and light eyes, and they’re both monstrously large without being overweight. They’re quite the sight together, and I wish my phone was closer so I could take a picture. Two giant grumps who think way too highly of themselves.
But then, for the first time since I met him, Logansmiles.
I nearly fall off my stool becauseholy crap that’s a smile. It transforms his entire face, lighting it up and turning him from a miserable egomaniac to someone I might actually stand to be around. He’s gorgeous. He was pretty before, with that mess of russet hair and scruffy jaw, but slap a genuine smile on his faceand I apparently forget how to breathe. It might be harder to remember he’s a client if he keeps looking at me like that.
“Do you want me to try to get him off now?” I ask, hoping for a distraction.
Logan’s smile fades, his eyes shifting to the cat as he rubs his fingers in Beef’s favorite spot under his arms and elicits a stronger purr. “No.” The word comes out more Australian than normal, a heavy “naur” in his growly voice. “He’s fine. And if you have work to do while the food cooks, I’m…” He looks at me again, a furrow appearing on his forehead. He seems just as confused as I am when he says, “I’m fine to wait here.”
Apparently my guard cat has won over the Aussie, and I’m not sure what that means. Just as I don’t fully understand why a spot of warmth bursts to life in my chest at the thought of someone keeping me company while I work.
Even if that someone is Logan Callahan and his ego.
Chapter 7
Logan
There’snothingbetterthanthe high of a game. The crowds, the camaraderie, the endorphins. And the Thunder are only nine points behind this time, which is a far cry better than our last match where we were thoroughly trounced. With the ball currently in our possession, we have a chance at earning a second win of the season.
But only if everyone plays their part.
