Page 61 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

A sad smile touches his lips. “Valerie was one of my closest friends in college. That's all we were for months until something shifted between us.” Logan gently pulls his hand from under mine. “She's why I established my rule about never dating young women.”

“Because you still love her?” The question scratches my throat as it comes out, my heart squeezing at the thought of competing with a perfect memory.

“I do love her, part of me always will, but that's not why.”

“I don't understand,” I admit as his eyes meet mine again. They glisten with unshed tears.

“Valerie knew everything about my childhood with Daniel. From the beginning, I told her I didn't want children.” His voicefalters before he steadies it. “How could I be a father when I never had one? It wasn't for me. I expected her to leave, but she surprised me by saying I was enough, that she didn't need anything beyond what we already shared.” He takes another long drink. “Our plans fell apart when Valerie discovered she was pregnant. By the time we realized, she was already in her second trimester.”

My heart sinks, and I already know this story doesn't end well. “What happened?”

“She had an undiagnosed heart condition that the pregnancy worsened. They rushed her to the hospital one night, but by morning, she was gone. Along with our child.”

Tears spill down my cheeks before I can stop them. “I'm so sorry, Logan. So incredibly sorry.”

His thumb gently brushes the dampness from my face. “Don't cry, Emily. Please.”

“I'm sorry...” I swallow hard, embarrassed by my reaction. This isn't my tragedy to mourn.

His strong arms wrap around me, pulling me against his chest. The steady beat of his heart beneath my ear offers strange comfort. “This is why I can't pursue anything serious with you. You're young, with your whole life ahead of you. You deserve someone who can give you everything: marriage, children, and a family. I've closed those doors permanently.”

I push back from his chest, needing to see his face. “Are you serious right now?”

“You don't know me?—”

“Stop,” I cut him off, irritation flaring through my sympathy. “You're right, I don't know you completely, but your arrogance is showing. You think you understand exactly what I want? What makes you so sure you know my desires better than I do? Hell, I haven't even figured that out yet!” I shake my head. “I've never seriously thought about kids or traditional family stuff. Maybesomeday I will, or maybe I never will. I can barely handle myself and one demonic cat! At first, I forgot to feed him for two days straight. Do you know what reminded me? Finding that little monster licking bathroom soap. Soap, Logan!”

His chest vibrates with unexpected laughter. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

“Just that we shouldn't rush to label whatever this is between us. We can work together, live together, and occasionally sleep together. I'm not demanding rings or babies or forever promises. I'm nowhere near ready for that.” The words spill out in a rush, and I hope they sound more convincing than I feel.

But even as I say them, a small voice inside me questions whether I'm telling the complete truth. Am I okay with this undefined arrangement, or am I just accepting it because it's all he's willing to offer? I push the doubts away. It's not like I'm lying, I'm terrified of commitment too. My dating history is a slideshow of disasters.

And yet, with Logan, something feels different. When he looks at me like he's doing now, I can almost picture what forever might look like.

“And if that day ever comes when I need more than you can give, I'll tell you, and we'll go our separate ways.”

His gaze locks on mine with an intensity that steals my breath. “You're unlike anyone I've ever known, Emily Baker.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Price,” I respond with exaggerated formality, trying to keep things light despite how his words make my pulse race. “Though I doubt I'm the only woman alive who doesn't care about conventional milestones.”

“Not the only one, maybe, but definitely the only woman under forty I've met who hasn't immediately started planning our future together.” There's teasing in his voice now, the tension melting from his posture.

“I know, I defy categorization,” I mumble, heat rising to my cheeks.

“Not uncategorizable. Exceptional.” He captures my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tracing my lower lip with his thumb. “What was that you mentioned about occasionally sleeping together?”

I shrug with fake nonchalance. “Nothing mandatory about it.”

“For once in your life, stop talking.” He silences me with his mouth on mine.

“I hate when you silence me like that,” I murmur against his lips, meaning exactly the opposite. My fingers explore the muscles of his back through his shirt.

“Liar,” he whispers.

His hands loosen the sheet around me, letting it fall to the floor. My own hands work at the string of his sweatpants, eager to feel his skin against mine.

“Bedroom,” he murmurs against my throat, and I nod wordlessly. He lifts me effortlessly, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me down the hallway.

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