“Me and my boyfriend spent all weekend figuring it all out,” she says, strumming gently with her fingers. “I even did my best to learn how to read tabs, in case this theory stuff doesn’t work out.”
At the wordboyfriend, my stomach sinks.
Of course she has a boyfriend. I scented him.
So, what the hell is my problem?
Maeve is here for music, not for me.
And she’s doubting herself, which is not a good sign.
She knows more than she thinks she does, and it’s impressive what she’s picked up in less than a week.
When I tell her as much, she wrinkles her nose. “If you say so. My fingers are kind of sore.”
“Calluses.” I hold out my hand, palm up. “You’re going to get them from this.”
She stares at my hand, her pink tongue darting out to lick her lips. “They look rough,” she says, her voice low.
I thought I was used to her scent by now, but I’m suddenly assaulted with a sweet, syrupy aroma.
I force myself to keep my breathing even, but if I didn’t know any better, I would think it’s her arousal.
This is a dangerous line to walk, I think to myself.Very dangerous.
“I really like your cat tattoo,” she says quietly. “I know I said it before, but it’s really stunning.”
I look down at the tattoo of Eevie, smiling to myself.
“Thanks. She really was the best. She’s actually the reason I go by Fang, now. Instead of Adrian.”
“What, really?”
“Yeah. When I was a kid, I would imitate her. I would meow, do the whole thing. When I would hiss, I would stick out my teeth, so my mom called me Fang and the nickname stuck.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize how ridiculous they sound.
Smooth.
Maeve blinks, then her mouth falls open in delight. “Oh. I thought it was for a cool reason,” she teases.
“Hey! She was great.” I point to the tattoo. “I would have done anything for that damn cat.”
Her smile turns soft. “I know the feeling,” she sighs heavily. “I feel like half the time I’m worried about all the cats in the world at once.”
“Your brother said you work at a cat rescue.”
“I do. It’s the best job I’ve ever had. There’s always another cat to help, another cat to save.” Her expression falls. “Always more to do, and never enough time.”
I want to wipe that distant look off her face.
“So, you saw Stormie then, right?” I try.
She tilts her head curiously. “Who?”
“Round black cat, shaped like a bowling ball,” I say. “Usually hangs out around the music building. She’s easily spooked.”
Maeve’s amber eyes widen, and joy returns to her face. “Yes! I saw her earlier!”
