Page 41 of From Nowhere

Not seeing anything, I glance up at him.

He brushes his hand over his neck and chest by his collarbone. “You have scratch marks.”

“Oh.” I cover my neck. “They’re from my cat.”

He nods. “Well, thanks for not telling Lola that you have a cat. I thought for sure that the incident was headed south. I think she held it together because you were there. However, I never heard the end of it this afternoon. Even when I tucked her into bed, she was still hypothesizing about that kitten, guilting me for not bringing it home. Mourning its inevitable death. Calling me a kitten killer.” He shakes his head. “I can’t win with her.”

I trace the foot of my wineglass with my finger. “I’m sure the kitten is fine.”

He returns a raised eyebrow while eating another chip. “Or dead.”

I shrug. “Or fine.”

“I like your optimism.” He adjusts his body, and his leg brushes mine; then he stops, leaving his leg touching mine.

I don’t move, because I like it when our bodies touch, and from the twitch of his lips, I’d say he does too.

“Where was your cat the night I was at your place?” he asks.

As much as I want to play this out for a while, I’m dying to see his reaction. “I didn’t have him. He’s new.”

Ozzy dips a chip in the cheese sauce, letting it linger while he coats it. His eyes are hyperfocused, like his mind is reeling. “What made you decide to get a cat?” His eyes meet mine while he shoves the chip into his mouth.

“It was an impulse,” I say.

“And your roommates are okay with that?”

I sip my wine to hide my grin. “No. I recently discovered Will is highly allergic to them, so Bandit is staying in the she shed.”

“Where’d you get him?” Ozzy asks.

This is so hard. I rub my lips together, fighting to hold back my laughter. What if he doesn’t find this funny?

“I found him. He got separated from his litter.” I resort to chewing on the inside of my cheek while he eyes me with a scrutinizing gaze.

Finally, with a slight chuckle, he rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, where did you find him?”

My fingers drum the table. “On a hiking trail.”

Ozzy doesn’t move beyond several slow blinks, lips parted. “When?” he murmurs.

“This afternoon.”

He squints for a few seconds while we have a silent stare-off. “What color?”

He knows the answer, but I like the game, so I play along. “Gray, black, and white tiger stripes. White chest and paws.”

Ozzy scans the bar before taking a long swig of his beer.

“I can’t wait for you to see him ... again.”

“Why would you do that?” He pins me with narrowed eyes.

“The kitten needed a home.” I shrug.

“Had we not been there, and you found the cat, would you have taken it home?”

“No. I would not have picked up the kitten. But Lola picked him up, and then I petted him. He imprinted on us, so since you wouldn’t let her take him home, it felt like my duty.”

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