Page 33 of Between the Lines

“Right.” He grips the steering wheel and waves.

“See ya,” I reply, barely audible over my humiliation. My face is beet red as I slip into the driver's seat and puff out my cheeks, waiting for him to leave first.

Maybe I should check the library after work today, see if they have any books on how to deal with your attractive older boss when they suddenly become intertwined in your personal life.

13

Caden

“Son of a—” I growl, jumping three feet back and spilling my mug of coffee down the front of my sleep shirt.

What the hell was that?

Some furry little brown creature just scampered across my driveway. Maybe a raccoon, but it’s early morning, so maybe a rabid one?

Fuck—just what I need.

My heart hammers as I catch my breath, happy no one is around to see me react like a damn fool. And happy I didn’t throw my glass mug halfway across my driveway.

I assess my coffee-stained shirt—I’ll be changing soon anyway for my workout with Matt.

Two glowing green eyes stare back at me when I squat down, peering under the bush next to my mailbox. I catch a flash of blue too—a blue collar.

“Shit.” I stand, raking a hand through my bedhead.

What the hell was her cat’s name again? Something odd . . . Sprinkles? Garbage?

I glance over my shoulder. Fia’s car isn’t in the driveway, she’s already left for the day, but I can’t let her cat just roam around. These woods are full of hawks and coyotes who would love a hearty breakfast.

Slowly, I inch forward, snapping my fingers.

“Psst, psst, psst!”

He remains still as a statue. “Damn it,” I groan, and pause. I didn’t sign up for this.

Then the cat moves, in a crouched position, glaring at me, daring me to make a move. I don’t like the condescending look on its little brown face.

Quickly, I toss the mug down in the grass next to me and whip off my shirt.

The cat takes off—but I’m quicker and tackle it with my shirt. With grass stains on my elbows and knees, I pop up, heart racing, and swaddle the creature in my shirt.

I let out a victorious grunt.

This thing can’t be more than nine pounds, but it’s putting up a fight, hissing and thrashing. I’m surprised it hasn’t eaten Daisy.

With the cat, whose name still escapes me, tucked under my arm like a football, I walk briskly towards the guesthouse. Not that I ever thought I’d be friends with this cat—but I’ve definitely just killed any lingering chance.

“Chill out, dude, I’m saving your life,” I remind it as it hisses at me.

I almost have to laugh when I see the guesthouse door—it’s wide fucking open.

I’d bet my life that Fia didn’t shut the door on her way to work this morning. To be honest, I can’t judge her. I’ve seen her leaving in the mornings—it’s like watching someone try to wrangle an octopus.

I don’t want to go into the guesthouse, it’s crossing the line of privacy, but I didn’t ruin my peaceful morning just to let the cat go free now. I step inside to release it and shut the door behind me, making sure the cat doesn’t try to escape again. Gingerly I unravel the cotton shirt, and the cat drops to the floor, turning to hiss at me before darting off into a bedroom.

“You’re welcome,” I call out after it.

Matt’s going to be here in fifteen minutes, and I’m still in my pajamas shorts, but as I turn to leave, the coffee table catches my attention. There’s a stack of library books. Curiosity gets the best of me, and I pick one up.