Page 29 of The Revenge Game

I can’t help feeling weirdly proud when Drew’s eyebrows lift at the sight of the perfectly diced tomatoes and the sprinkle of cilantro on top.

He uses a chip to scoop some of the guacamole. “This is amazing.”

“Thanks.”

He obviously senses my pride because his eyebrows rise. “You made this yourself?”

“Yeah. I mean, I like to mess around in the kitchen.” I think of the microwave meals I saw in his bags and can probably guess the answer to my next question, but I ask it anyway.

“Do you cook?”

Drew shifts his weight back on the couch. “My cooking skills extend to knowing exactly how long to microwave different brands of ready meals to get the best results. I’ve got spreadsheets and everything.”

His deadpan delivery makes me chuckle.

“And here I thought I was being fancy with my homemade guacamole, but you’re out there revolutionizing microwave science. Do you have graphs? Please tell me there are graphs.”

Drew’s mouth does that quirky thing again, where it looks like he’s wrestling back a smile.

“I’m not going to confirm or deny the presence of graphs,” he says.

I laugh, which seems to be the magic ingredient for letting Drew’s smile win the battle, transforming his entire face like someone’s flicked on a switch.

My cats apparently decide my laughter means the interloper isn’t a threat because Tabitha appears from her fortress behind the couch while Cassie materializes from wherever she’s been conducting her latest surveillance operation.

Drew croons to them as they weave around his legs.

“Who do we have here?” he asks.

“The black one is Cassie, and the tabby is Tabitha,” I say.

My cats aren’t much to look at. Tabitha’s missing an ear, and Cassie’s got a permanent squint that makes her look like she’s judging everyone’s life choices. Drew doesn’t seem fazed, though, scratching under her chin until she tilts her head back and closes her good eye in bliss.

“Don’t let their friendliness fool you. They’re just trying to recruit you into their ‘convince Justin to feed us more treats’ campaign.”

Drew chuckles softly as he continues to pet them. “I admire their tactics. Multiple operatives, coordinated approach, targeted manipulation.”

“Their contract negotiations mostly involve strategic purring,” I say, and I’m rewarded with another Drew smile.

“How old are they?” he asks.

“They’re both rescue cats, so we’re not exactly sure. The vet thinks Cassie is probably about five or six. But Tabitha wasn’t fully grown when I got them two years ago, so she’s probably not quite three.”

“Two years of treat negotiations? No wonder they’ve perfected their technique,” Drew says.

“It’s hard not to spoil them. I actually got my fish tank so the cats would have something to watch during the day.” I duck myhead, slightly bashful at revealing how far I’ll go to keep my furry overlords happy.

Drew doesn’t reply, and when I raise my gaze, he’s studying me. There’s something in his expression that I, with my salesperson experience of reading people, can’t quite work out.

Confusion? Curiosity?

My heart starts to beat faster.

He looks away from me, his eyes scanning my apartment.

“So, besides the cats, you live here alone?” he asks.

“Ah…yeah.” I scratch my neck. “What about you? Do you live alone? No girlfriend?”