Page 5 of A Taste For Trouble

There was no sign of his sweet side right now, though, because right now, he was very, very hangry.

“Don’t you growl at me, you little furball,” I said sternly. “The vet said you’re getting far too chonky for your own good. How are you going to chase delivery men if your little legs can’t carry your fat body?”

Sweetpea lived to terrorise delivery guys and the postman. And any unsuspecting male who wandered into his orbit, because my sweet boy hated all men. Including Trevor, who was practically a cat himself.

I picked him up and put him on my bed before I took a quick shower, and put on a layered black tulle skirt and a forest green knitted sweater. Long, golden dangly earrings and a stack of my favourite bracelets completed the outfit. I dabbed on some purple and gold eye shadow, swiped on a coat of mascara, and some lip gloss, and examined myself critically in the mirror, wishing I could magick away some of my curves. Sadly, no workout could compete with my steady diet of gooey chocolate and peanut butter cookies and chips.

Sometimes, I wondered what Joe saw in me. He’d asked me out when I went to the car dealership as Trevor’s backup when he discovered his new car was just one breakdown away from being scrapped. And even though I didn’t usually go for the overconfident, salesy type, his interest was a balm to my bruised ego after Dominic’s continued disinterest.

I wished Sweetpea would relax his equal opportunity hatred of all men in Joe’s case. My life was going to be unbearable if my cat hated my soon-to-be husband. Although I had to say the hatred was mutual. Joe had ordered me to give my cat away ever since Sweetpea attacked his balls. Well, that was never going to happen, of course, but I didn’t know if I could take his constant complaints for the rest of my life. Still, it was a small price to pay for being married and having a little family of my own. And I was sure Joe would come to love Sweetpea just as I did.

Lately, Joe had been hinting that he wanted more than a casual relationship with me. He was hinting at marriage and a happy ever after. One taste of my lasagna, and he’d be on his knees, begging me to marry him.

Can’t wait to see you tonight,I texted him before I could change my mind.

Me neither,came the reply. Just keep the mangy cat out of my way.If he goes for my balls again, I’ll rip his fat head off.

I set my perfume down on the dressing table with a thump that made Sweetpea squint at me balefully.

What in the name of Puss in Boots was that?

Did Joe Cheney just threaten to hurt my cat? And what was I doing trying to wrangle a proposal out of a man who hated my cat? Was I so desperate to be married? Alsoohmigod!Was it too late to cancel tonight’s dinner? My head began to spin with so many questions having zoomies inside it.

My insides began to twist with anxiety at the thought of calling Joe to cancel. Oh, he was going to be so mad. And I hated it when people were mad at me. Besides, it was more than just dinner. Joe and I had never done the dirty. He’d always wanted to take it further, but I’d always stopped him when the making out took a heavier turn because I wasn’t sure I was ready for it. But today, I was planning to take it all the way, and Joe knew it. Darn it!

But the more I thought of it, I knew for sure that I couldn’t go through with it. Not with the sex, and definitely not with the marriage. I knew I would never find a man who’d love Sweetpea the way I did, but could I trust a man who openly hated him?

As if he knew I was trying to keep him safe, Sweetpea strolled over to me and jumped onto the dressing table. He went up on his back legs and put his front paws on my chest, purring like an engine as he kneaded his paws against my sweater.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” I promised, as I dropped a kiss on the top of his big, furry head.

He gave me a look as if to say he’d like to see anybody try to hurt him. Which was true. If he wanted to, Sweetpea could rip a man’s face clean off in three point seven seconds.

With shaking hands, I dialled Joe’s number. He sounded out of breath, for some reason. And his voice sounded odd.

“Can’t talk now, babe. But I’ll see you in a bit,” he choked out.

“Joe, wait! I’m very sorry to do this over the phone, but I don’t think you should come over tonight,” I said hesitantly.

“What? You’re joking,” he exclaimed.

“No, I’m sorry, but I don’t think this is working out.”

“But, babe…you’re making your famous lasagna!”

Shoot! I’d clean forgotten the pasta I’d left baking in the oven. A burning smell began to emanate from the kitchen, and I ran towards it.

“It’s ruined,” I cried. “I burnt the lasagna.”

“Oh! Too bad. But we can always order pizza. Let’s not overreact about a burnt lasagna,” he said heartily, and I wished I could thump him with a broomstick.

“I’m not overreacting, Joe,” I bit out. “This relationship isn’t working for me, and I think we should end it. I cannot marry a man who hates my cat.”

“Let’s not be hasty, honey,” he squeaked, and I frowned at the sound. “I’ll tell you what…I’ll come over right now, and we can talk it through.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Joe,” I began, when there was a loud thump at my door.

CHAPTER 4