Page 73 of Swept Away
“Not now, Gizmo,” I shout as the kitten keeps vocalizing on the windowsill while I try to finish one of my projects.
He keeps doing whatever he feels like doing. And I struggle to write the last few words before finally closing the document.
“There. Ugh… This was tough,” I mutter to myself, pushing the chair back and rising quickly.
“Where are you?” I ask, walking across the room and no longer seeing him on the windowsill.
He was here moments ago.
His bowl of food is untouched.
I swear to God, he is such a prince.
“Gizmo?”
I call him, walking around my place and checking the tree for the tenth time without much luck, before his soft coat brushes against my legs, and I tilt my eyes down.
“There you are,” I say softly, picking him up and pressing my cheek against his coat.
He purrs, and I melt.As always.
Not only does he play me like a fiddle, but he’s also making me fall in love with him, keeping me on my toes.
I still hold him when a car pulls up across from my building, and I inch closer to glance out.
The cab doors open, and two women slide out, still chatting with the driver.
One is about my mother’s age.
The other one is older.
The younger woman holds the door for the other one, and once they both step on the sidewalk with a couple of travel bags next to them, the car pulls away.
They flick their eyes to my place, and I instinctively pull back and hide behind the curtain.
I can’t tell why, but their presence here suddenly makes me nervous.
I spin around and look at the wall clock. It’s four in the afternoon. And I don’t expect guests.
Words drift through the air as they talk about the buildings, so whatever has brought them here has nothing to do with me.
On cue, my phone rings next to my computer.
Mumbling something unsavory under my breath, I put Gizmo on the chair, move away from the window, and, holding my robe together, I pick up my phone and look at the screen.
It’s an unknown number, and my pulse races for a second.
It can’t be them.
They didn’t say they’d call me.
Still, my heart dances in my chest, and why wouldn’t it?
As much as I wanted to say goodbye to them, return to my normal life, focus on my work, and simply forget about them, things didn’t quite work that way.
For one, the sex was amazing, and although I was convinced I’d get back to my everyday life and wouldn’t think about them, well… Let’s say I lusted after them even more after they left.
Their leaving was a blessing in a way, or we wouldn’t have ever stopped fucking.
