Page 51 of Hate You Up Close

“What is it, Spooky?” she mumbles in a gravelly tone that goes straight to my dick. I was not prepared for her morning voice to be that damn sexy.

She reaches up to pet the top of her cat's head.

“Your cat,” I clear my throat, breaking the ice. “I uh…I don’t think it likes me.”

She turns her head, squinting through the sun as the light hits her bright green eyes.

“Oh, you’re up,” she smirks.

“Bright and early,” I scoff. “Looks like I made it through the night,” I chuckle. “I live to torture you another day.”

“Yay me,” she replies sarcastically, directing her gaze back to her cat and kissing the top of its head.

Never in my life have been jealous of a fucking cat…until now.

“And his name is Spooky,” she clarifies. “We don’t usually have guests over, so he’s a little shaken up.”

She pets his ears with all the gentleness in the world. This cat is spoiled rotten, I just know it.

“Well, I guess Spooky suits him because he scared the ever-living shit out of me this morning,” I laugh, pointing at the little fucker.

“Good boy, buddy,” she coos, her lips turning up in a cute smile.

The little shit actually grins at me as Roxanne continues petting his furry body.

A beat of silence passes before Roxanne moves into a sitting position, her eyes hesitant to meet mine. Spooky jumps down from her lap and scurries off into a room that I’m assuming is her bedroom.

That little shit, getting free reign of her bed and her kisses.

I guess I officially have beef with a little black cat.

“So, uh,” she mutters, staring down at her hands clasped together in her lap. “How are you feeling?”

“Like hell,” I say without hesitation. “But not just because I’m hungover. I feel like shit for putting you through that last night. The last person you should be taking care of is your damn boss. It’s embarrassing and pathetic.”

Her eyes flicker between mine.

“Well, if there’s anyone you shouldn't be embarrassed around, it’s me,” she chuckles. “Trust me, I’ve been exactly where you are right now.”

I hate her for still trying to make me feel better. I wish she would call me an asshole or a worthless piece of shit. Anything other than trying to make me feel better.

“Yeah, probably when you were twenty,” I snort. “I’m a thirty-five-year-old man, and your boss on top of that. So thanks for trying to make me feel better, but it’s not the same at all.”

She purses her lips together as awkward silence fills the room.

“How um…” she trails off. “How often does this happen?”

I hang my head, resting my elbows on my knees, and rub my palms together.

“I’m at the bar pretty much every night,” I say quietly, unable to meet her eyes. “But this is the first time I’ve been escorted out like an alcoholic.”

Her eyes track my every movement.

“Elliot…I have to ask,” she pauses, clearing her throat. “Do you think…Are you an alcoholic?”

I scoff.

“Oh, I know I’m an alcoholic. I’ve known it for years. It’s the one thing in my life I don’t have control of.”