I narrow mine. “That was a warning.”
He slowly blinks at me, judging me as always.
I hate that damn psycho cat. Or so I tell myself.
A man who hates a cat doesn’t buy him the expensive salmon treats he likes. Unfortunately, no one told my Amazon order history.
As I take my first sip of coffee, nearly scalding my tongue, all I can think about is the way Violet looked at me like I was the only person in the bar. Like I mattered.
I lean back against the counter, frowning slightly.
Why didn’t I ask for her number? What kind of idiot doesn’t ask?
Apparently me.
An even better question:Why would she want to give it to me?
I stare into my coffee like it holds the answer.
She could’ve had anyone in that bar.
Why me?
It doesn’t make sense.
“Wow,” Sebastian says dryly, looking up from his phone. “You look like you’re having a crisis.”
“I’m not.”
His eyebrows raise. “You are.”
“I’m just thinking.”
He smirks. “About a redhead?”
I glare at him, feeling the need to justify myself. “It’s these damn—Ouch! Jesus.”
I stumble against the counter, barely catching myself. Coffee sloshes dangerously close to the edge of the mug.
I look down. Mr. Pickles stares up at me victoriously, still hanging onto my pants leg by his claws. I swear he’s smirking.
Maybe cats can’t smirk, but this little bastard looks like he can.
“Get off my pants leg,” I command, pointing at him.
He stares at me, his tail flicking. Unbothered. Unimpressed. Completely unrepentant.
“Mr. Pickles,” Ivy says. “Get off Drew.”
He calmly jumps down, then looks up at me like I was the one who did something wrong.
“I won’t deal with judgment from you,” I tell him.
Ivy snorts, her fingers stopping. She closes the lid of her laptop and stands.
“Mr. Pickles,” she says sweetly, scooping him up. “Come on. Let’s go write. You’re clearly a distraction.”
He settles into her arms like he didn’t just try to take me out.
