Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Dangerously hot…
My panties just caught fire and I’m pretty sure I would have planted one on Sam’s sexy lips—appearances be damned—if Handsome hadn’t chosen that moment to bat the kitten off my leg with one fat paw. A beat later, he drapes himself across mine and Sam’s laps like a black-and-white movie heroine collapsing onto a fainting coach and lets out a plaintive meow that makes us both laugh.
“I don’t think he wants to share you with the world, either,” Sam says, scratching Handsome’s scruff. “Or a bratty little kitten brother.”
“Aw, Handsome, why you gotta be like that?” I ask. “Fluff Nugget just wanted to be friends.”
“Fluff Nugget doesn’t seem too broken up about it,” Sam says, watching the kitten pounce on a knitted ball and go rolling across the ground. “He’ll get fostered, no problem. Everyone loves a cute little kitten. A snaggly-toothed old man with part of his ear missing is going to have a harder time.”
Gathering the cat fully into my arms, I stroke him reverently, whispering into his soft neck fur, “Don’t you listen to him, Handsome. You’re a gorgeous beast and I’m going to take you home and feed you and pet you and tell you you’re pretty every single day.”
Sam pulls his phone from his back pocket. “Looks like it’s a match.” He lifts his cell, snapping a few pictures as I kiss Handsome on the top of his precious little head. “I’ll text these over. A souvenir from the day you failed as a foster mom.”
“What do you mean failed?” I ask, sitting up straighter and propping an indignant hand on my hip. “I’ve already been approved. Amy checked all my references in advance.”
“And the chances that you’re going to be open to escorting Handsome to a shelter or his new home in a few months are slim to none. You’re keeping that cat, Cho. I can see it in your glassy, cat-smitten eyes.”
I purse my lips, but have to admit, “Fine. You could be right. But it’s relatively easy to move a cat to the UK. I looked it up last night. Way easier than Hawaii or New Zealand.”
He grins. “Awesome. I’m happy to hear that. I think you’d love London. And I know I’d love having an old friend close by.”
I’m about to remind him of our deal, but as I’m searching for the words to let him down easy, Rich Face opens the metal gate leading into the entry area, reaching for the plastic sliding gate without bothering to shut the other gate behind her.
“Hey, close the gate, lady,” I shout as I shift Handsome from my lap, but she doesn’t seem to hear me.
I’m about to dash for the gate myself, but I’m too late, a fluffy white cat with a sparkly blue collar is already streaking through the entry area and out into the big wide world, summoning a horrified shriek from Amy at the check-in desk.
“I’ll get it, don’t worry,” Sam says, already up and running for the edge of the enclosure. He jumps into the air, clearing the waist-high wall without missing a beat and sprinting after the fugitive.
I rush to the gate, closing it tight and glancing quickly around to make sure all the other foster cats are still inside the pen. When I’m sure they’re all still where they’re supposed to be, I spin, scanning the crowded concrete expanse between the library and the busy traffic circle a hundred or so feet away.
For a moment, I don’t see a sign of Sam or the cat, and my heart pounces into my throat and thrashes there, like a pair of wrestling kittens. Then, suddenly, I catch a flash in my peripheral vision. It’s Sam, sprinting down the sidewalk toward the trees at the edge of the park, the white cat only a few feet in front of him.
I rush to the edge of the pen, clutching the top of my t-shirt in my fist and willing him to catch the fluffster before she disappears into the woods. If she ends up a stray, she won’t be safe in the park. There are tons of dogs that run loose off their leashes, and not all of them are as well behaved as their owners would like to believe. I was nearly mauled in the park last summer, all while Rabid Fido’s owner stood a dozen feet away, insisting, “Oh, he’s harmless. It’s cool. Don’t worry.”
But I was worried. Fido’s curled lip and slobbery teeth almost had me wetting my pants and I was at least three times his size. A dog like that would gobble up a little floof like that white cat in one gulp.
I bite my lip, torn between the urge to shout encouragement and to hold my tongue for fear of distracting Sam while he’s in the middle of the chase.