Page 32 of Now That It's You
He stared at her, trying to figure out what the hell she was talking about. “Does this have something to do with Matt?”
Her throat moved as she swallowed, and he watched her fingers clench tighter around the iPhone. “I guess it does.” She pushed the door open wider with her knee. “Why don’t you come in. Unless you’re on your way somewhere?”
He shook his head and stepped into the entry, his shoulder brushing hers as he moved past. She turned and trudged toward the kitchen, leaving him to shut the door behind him and make his way into the living room as Meg banged and clattered in the kitchen.
Kyle looked at the paisley armchair where Floyd was curled up napping. As though sensing Kyle’s gaze on him, Floyd opened one eye and gave him a disdainful look.
“Hey, pretty kitty.” Kyle walked around the chair and reached out to scratch behind the cat’s ear.
Floyd hissed.
Kyle drew his hand back. “Sorry, man.”
Floyd growled and closed his eyes again, while Kyle stood watching him. “You’re kind of a jerk, aren’t you?”
The cat opened both eyes and looked at him a moment, then began to purr. It was a low, soothing sound that made Kyle feel warm all over, so he reached out again and stroked a hand down the cat’s back.
Floyd stopped purring and growled.
Kyle drew his hand back. “Asshole cat.”
Floyd resumed purring.
Kyle shook his head and glanced toward the kitchen. “Your cat is insane,” he called.
Meg emerged carrying two bottles of beer and a plate of salami and crackers. “I like to think of him as special.”
“I guess you could say that.” Kyle shook his head and turned his attention from the cat to the tray of cheese and salami and prosciutto and crackers Meg set on the coffee table. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Whip up the perfect hors d’oeuvres plate no matter what time an unexpected guest drops by?”
She smiled in answer and dropped onto the couch. Kyle took it as his cue to do the same, though he kept a safe distance between them this time. No more near-miss kisses. No more touching or fantasizing or thinking illicit thoughts about his brother’s girl.
Meg lifted her beer bottle to her mouth and he watched her throat move as she swallowed. His gaze followed her hand as she rested the bottle on her knee. Kyle set his own bottle on the coffee table, waiting. The air felt prickly with tension, and he stared at Meg hoping she’d volunteer the reason for it.
“So you haven’t heard about the book?” she asked.
“What book?”
“My cookbook. The aphrodisiac cookbook was on The Tonight Show, and everything’s gone crazy since then.”
“The Tonight Show?”
“Yeah, Kiki Corso got a copy somehow and started talking about it during her appearance, and the next thing I know, I’ve sold a gazillion copies. The print-on-demand place I was using can’t print them fast enough, so this publisher offered some ridiculous amount for exclusive distribution rights, and all these literary agents started calling me about?—”
“Wait—who’s Kiki Corso?”
“She’s an actress.” She looked at him like he’d just admitted to eating dog kibble for lunch, and it occurred to him that he probably ought to be more aware of pop culture.
“Only the hottest actress in Hollywood right now,” Meg continued. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only man in America who doesn’t have her in the starting lineup of his spank-bank.”
“I don’t watch TV. Or movies. Or—” he stopped himself as it dawned on him he was probably missing the point. “Who’s Kiki Corso married to?”
Meg’s brow furrowed, and she took another sip of beer. “I’m not sure. I think she divorced the drummer for that rock band a couple years ago, but then she married a director or a producer or?—”
“A TV producer? One with a mole that looks like an avocado?”
