Page 75 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

“What are you doing?” Alarms bells ring in my mind, but Sarah shushes me with a hand.

“Good afternoon! Sarah Roberts here to make an emergency appointment for my friend Emily Baker with your gynecologist.”

“What the actual fuck?” I mouth silently, slashing my hand across my throat. “Hang up!” My pantomime gets more desperate as Sarah keeps talking.

“Perfect. We'll be there in thirty minutes. Thank you.” She ends the call, looking way too pleased with herself. “Why are you still standing there? We need to leave now, or we'll be late.”

“What did you just do?”

“Got you an appointment with someone who can give us real answers. Someone canceled last-minute. It's a sign.” Her enthusiasm feels like a cheese grater on my raw nerves.

“I don't want to see a gynecologist!” I sound like a whiny kid, but terror trumps dignity.

“Too late. It's done, and we're running late so move your ass.”

“I won't go.”

“Emily Eleanor Baker. Either you walk to that clinic on your own or I physically drag you there. Pick one. But we're getting answers today.”

“What's wrong with waiting?” The weak protest dies as soon as it leaves my mouth. Sarah's expression tells me I've lost this battle. In all these years of friendship, I've seen her truly pissed maybe three times. That alone shuts me up.

“Fine.” I surrender, trailing her back to the bedroom where she's already ordering an Uber. Truth is, there's weird comfort in her take-no-prisoners attitude, in letting someone else call the shots when I'm too scared to function.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Emily

My cell vibrates, notifying me I missed a call from Logan. I’ve been ignoring the buzzing all afternoon. I really can’t talk to him right now.

I’m still optimistic. I truly believe the universe is not out to get me, that it hasn’t suddenly decided to turn against me. There are people a lot meaner and nastier than I am. Apart from having killed ten goldfish and left the door to my apartment open in the hopes that Demon would decide to decamp, I’ve never really done anything bad in my life.

Oh, wait... There was that time when I lied to my parents and told them I was sleeping over at Kate’s when, in reality, I was making out with Peter Spark in his old Ford. Come to think of it, I already paid my dues for that lie. Peter was so clumsy he couldn’t even manage to take my virginity that night.

Okay, there was also that time I lied on my resume. Technically, it was still half true. I did go to college. I just didn’t finish. And in my defense, I didn’t say I graduated, just that I went to college. So, no, I don’t think that was enough to merit eventual divine retribution.

And then there was the biggest lie of all, but again, there’s a justification. You see, when I told Logan Price that I didn’t want a romantic relationship with him, I was sincere, or at least I thought I was. The thing is, the heart’s a really strange organ. We can’t control it.

I don’t know if it’s the situation I’m in right now or the feeling that there’s a sword of Damocles poised to fall on my head, but maybe I should have exercised more caution. Because as much as the heart is a tough, independent organ, if it’s hit in just the right spot, it can explode into a million shards.

“You okay, Em?” Sarah digs her fingers into my arm, yanking me back to reality. Her eyes dart to our driver without saying a word.

Our driver who is freaking huge, with half his face covered in some tribal tattoo and a metal bar through his eyebrow. But his eyes—Jesus, his eyes are the worst part—white contacts that make him look like something that crawled out of a horror movie.

Sarah’s practically trying to melt into the car door. Can’t blame her. He looks like he eats people like us for breakfast.

“...so that’s when I finally got my hands on that Cookie Monster lunch box,” he says in a squeaky voice, making it sound like Mickey Mouse possessed the Hulk. “Took me eight years.”

“Uh-huh, cool,” I mumble.

“How are you feeling?” Sarah whispers.

“I’m fine,” I lie through my teeth. “I still don’t get why we’re hauling ass to a gynecologist.”

“You know damn well why,” Sarah hisses, getting all up in my space.

“You’re acting like I’ve been dodging this for months,” I snap back, wiping my palms on my jeans. “I literally just freaked out about it this morning. Waiting a few more days or months isn’t gonna change anything.”

Sarah rolls her eyes so hard they practically do a full 360. “Emily?—”

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