Page 71 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

“Hey, I was joking.” He crosses to me and places his hands on my shoulders.

“I know, don't worry. I just have a really bad headache.” My head drops forward as his fingers work magic on my knotted muscles. A sigh of pleasure escapes before I can trap it.

“Why don't you go home? There are only two patients this afternoon. I can handle things alone.” Genuine concern threads through his voice, making my chest tighten. This isn't how casual arrangements work. We shouldn't care about each other's well-being or worry when the other person feels sick. We signed up for fun and physical release, not... whatever this is becoming.

I want to insist I'm fine and can power through, but exhaustion weighs on me. My nerves feel raw, and my stomach continues its rebellion. The thought of facing even two more clients makes bile rise in my throat.

“Maybe it wasn't the Chinese food,” I whisper. “Maybe I'm coming down with the flu or something.”

“Probably. That's why it would be better for you to go home and rest.” His thumbs press into a particularly stubborn knot at the base of my skull, drawing a half-moan from my lips. “You look pale, and your skin's a little clammy. Classic signs of a virus.”

“Yeah, maybe you're right.” Surrender comes easier than expected since my body is too exhausted to maintain the pretense.

“I'll call you a cab.”

“No, Logan, you don't have?—”

But he's already dialing, one hand on the phone while the other remains on my shoulder, grounding me in the moment.

“Thanks,” I murmur, letting my eyes close. For just a second, I allow myself to lean into his touch, to imagine we're something more substantial than what we really are, that I could confess my deepest fears without shattering everything we've built.

My hand slides unconsciously to my lower abdomen, resting there briefly before I catch myself and drop it to my side. Two weeks late. One conversation I'm nowhere near ready to have.

For now, I'll blame everything on a stomach bug or the flu. I'll go home, and then... then I'll figure out what comes next.

Because if there's one thing I've learned about life, it never follows the script you've written. Especially not when you're Emily Baker, chaos magnet extraordinaire.

“The cab will be here in ten minutes,” Logan says, breaking into my thoughts. “Do you want me to wait with you outside?”

“No, I'll be fine.” I offer him a smile that I hope doesn't look as strained as it feels. “Just need to gather my things.”

As I collect my purse and jacket, I can feel his eyes on me, concerned and watchful. Whatever virus or flu or... otherpossibility... is brewing inside me, I know one thing for sure. Sooner or later, I'll have to face the truth.

And when I do, everything between us will change forever.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Emily

“Emily, the taxi's here.” Logan gently shakes me awake.

“Huh?” My eyelids flutter open. I must have fallen asleep. Maybe I really am getting sick. Or maybe... Nope.

“The taxi's waiting,” he repeats.

“Thanks.” I grab my purse and coat, rising on unsteady legs.

Before I can stop myself, I lean in and press my lips against his. His mouth is warm and slightly chapped against mine, familiar now in ways that make my chest ache. I want to sink deeper, to lose myself in him, but I pull away, terrified he'll read the naked longing in my eyes.

“See you at home,” he says.

Again I feel those damned butterflies in my stomach. I have to remember that Logan’s house is not our house. My presence there is only temporary. Even so, every once in a while, I lose myself in a daydream about how a real relationship with Logan Price would be.

Shooing away that thought, I return his smile. “Bye,” I say, hurrying toward the door.

Outside, the yellow taxi is stopped at the curb. Jumping inside, I give the driver the address and fall back onto the seat.

What the hell is happening to me today? And I don't mean the churning stomach or the headache threatening to split my skull open. Those symptoms have an explanation, one I'm actively avoiding. No, the real problem is my obsessive circling around whatever exists between Logan and me, this undefined territory we've occupied for a while now.

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