“That boy likes you.”
“Okay, Mari, he’s at least ten years older than me, he’s not a boy. That is a fully grown man.”
“All of you are young to me,” Mari says, shaking her head. Her shoulder-length grey hair swishes, and the lavender highlight I helped her put in peeks out from the curtain of locks. “And all of you are being ridiculous.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” I bat my lashes innocently.
“I’ve already told you, I can see a pack before it’s formed,” Mari says proudly. “I said it about Piper, andyouwere here when I said it about Blair. I have a gift for this.”
“Mari, they werescent matches,” I whisper. “As far I know, that hasn’t happened with either Ivan or Logan.”
But at mentioning both Alpha’s names, my mating gland throbs underneath my shirt collar.
“So?” She motions to me. “You have plenty of time. Just because it hasn’t happened yet, doesn’t mean it never will.”
Another yowl sounds from the back room, and I ignore Mari’s comments to check on Alvin, the sense of urgency all-encompassing.
But once I see him again, perched on a cat tree, I know he’s fine.
He’s just making noise for attention.
At my presence, I’m rewarded with slow blinks and a wide yawn.
But that panic is still there, the feeling lodged in my chest.
“He needs a friend,” Mari says from behind me.
“Who? Logan?” I turn around to face her, my thoughts disjointed.
I realize my mistake as soon as the words leave my mouth.
Mari’s eyes twinkle in delight. “Probably, but I meant Alvin. It might be boring for him to be out here all alone.”
I frown. “He doesn’t like the playroom, though. And if he gets attached to a cat and they get adopted out, that would be rough for him.”
Alvin’s the office cat. He lives in the building, and every time Piper, Blair, or Mari have tried to take him home, he makes it very clear he’s more comfortable in the building.
“I have a gut feeling we’ll find another office kitty for him,” Mari says.
“You seem to have a lot of gut feelings, lately,” I tell her pointedly, and she chuckles.
“Oh, let me have my fun. Let me live through you girls. My time for dating is over—but you? You have a world of opportunities.”
I shake my head. “It’s not over for you, Mari,” I insist, but she holds up a hand to stop me.
“Nope. I’d sooner become a cat than find a partner at my age, dear.”
“I know for a fact that’s not true,” I say, but a long, dramatic whine sounds from the playroom.
I turn to see our newest resident, Maple, leaning against the door and pressing brown furry paws against the glass.
Breakfast is late, and soon, every single cat will make it known the travesty we have committed.
“This conversation isn’t over,” Mari murmurs as I head toward the playroom.
“It is for now,” I hum. “And if you’re going to continue to discuss my love life, I’m not letting yours go, either.”
Mari lets out aharrumph, and I grin in triumph.
