Page 8 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

“Someone who doesn’t understand boundaries.” I pass my fingers through my hair.

“Ex-girlfriend?” She blushes. “Sorry, none of my business.”

“No.” Something compels me to continue. “Family. The kind that only calls when they want something.”

Understanding softens her expression. “Ah. I’ve got one too. My cousin only remembers I exist when she needs a ride to the airport.”

I nod, grateful for her misinterpretation. Better she thinks it’s some distant relative than the man who was supposed to protect, raise, and love me. The man who stared at his eight-year-old son and hissed, “She’d still be here if it weren’t for you.”

The phone buzzes again. This time, I pull it out and power it off. Let him drown in his desperation for once.

“Won’t they worry?” Emily asks.

Bitterness escapes in a laugh. “He doesn’t worry about anyone but himself.”

My revelation surprises me. Something about this girl breaks my carefully constructed walls, brick by brick.

Emily nods, and her eyes linger on me, curious and somehow knowing, as if glimpsing something beneath my surface I thought well-hidden.

I turn away, uncomfortable with being seen so clearly.

She slides off the table, steadier now, and pulls on her pants. Her gaze weighs on me. “So I guess I’ll be on my way,” she says tentatively.

I finally allow myself to look at her. She isn’t my type at all. Too young. Small breasts. Narrow hips. Auburn hair, not that I care about that, but still. No makeup, unlike the women I date, who wear more cosmetics than a drag queen. She embodies the classic girl next door, dreaming of suburban houses, picket fences, devoted husbands, and a houseful of children.

Nope, not my type at all.

Serious relationships aren’t for me. I’m not that man. I can’t be that man.

Yet I hear myself say, “You can’t go.”

What the hell am I doing?

“No?” Those large, dark eyes fix on me as she shifts her weight.

“No,” I repeat firmly. “I need your information and the cat’s name. She needs a chip, and I’ll need insurance details for billing.”

Color drains from her cheeks. “It’s not my cat. I shouldn’t pay for its treatment. It’s not mine.” Her chest rises and falls rapidly. She puffs her cheeks and exhales. “I can’t—” Her stammering fades to inaudible.

“Pardon? What did you say?”

“I-I can’t pay,” she whispers. “And I-I c-can’t take the c-c-cat home. It’ll meet with the s-same fate as the goldfish!”

Words fail me. What the fuck is she talking about?

“I don’t have insurance,” she continues. “I don’t have money for that stupid cat, and I don’t want to take her home!” Her voice rises as tears stream down her face. “I can’t.”

She seems smaller. Frightened. Lost.

Guilt pricks at me for pushing her. “It’s okay. Don’t worry?—”

She cuts me off. “No! It’s not okay! I couldn’t deliver my last pizza, I wrecked my scooter, and I don’t think begging my boss not to fire me will work!”

Without thought, I blurt, “You could work here.”

Regret follows instantly. The words escaped before I could stop them. I know nothing about this girl. She could be a psychopath for all I know.

“Here?” Her eyes widen to impossible proportions as she scans the room, taking in the animals in their cages. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she whispers conspiratorially.