Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
My legs turn to jelly.
And he makes a noise low in his throat.
If the toaster oven didn’t ding in that exact second, literally saving us by a sort of bell, I’m sure we would have leaped like a pair of gazelles to crash into each other midair. Clothes would have been ruined, and the kitchen would have needed scrubbing. He’s right about my mom being able to walk in here at any time.
Technically, no. But also technically, yes.
What I said last night stands. The second I have my clothes off, there’s no stopping the freight train I’ll become. Or the rails. Ha. My brain is being all punny this morning. How adorable.
When the pie is done, I get it plated and douse it in cream. The heavy stuff. Yes, this is how I like my pie. Squishy, wet, without fancy whipped cream or extra sugar, and definitely without ice cream.
Luca follows me into the living room. This room hasn’t been remodeled recently. It’s still the same light hardwood flooring, but the furniture is different, though. My parents splurged on leather couches a few years ago, even after knowing full well that the cats would scratch the shit out of them.
It was a self-fulfilling prophecy. There are cat posts all around the room, including cat houses, tents, beds, and hammocks. But are any of the cats in or on them? No. Every single one of them, minus Jack, is in here. And they’re sprawled out on the couches, top and bottom.
Luca takes that in for a second and laughs. “I think the only available spot is the chair over there.”
“Great. I’d love to sit in your lap.”
“Dulcie,” he warns.
“Don’t worry about boner problems. It’s not like I’m going to turn feral and tear off your clothes if I feel your erection pressing into my ass.”
“Garp.” He makes the noise, but making the noise is pretty much saying the word.
I change my mind as soon as we sit down. It’s incredibly hard to focus on pie or anything else I was going to say when I’m sitting on Luca’s lap, and along with his hard cock throbbing against the backs of my thighs, every single muscle in his legs is more than apparent.
Pie? What pie?
Two minutes after we’re seated, the cat exodus happens. One by one, they vacate the couches and slowly make their way over. Charlie, Dan, Ozzie, Orion, Freckles, and Swift end up on the top of the chair, the arm rests, and right in my lap.
While I’m still trying to eat my pie.
“This gives new meaning to hair on everything,” Luca comments wryly.
But he doesn’t tell me to shoo the cats away. Instead, he sits perfectly still and lets us all just pile right on top of him.
Be still, my heart.
Is there anything more attractive than a man who will turn himself into a skeleton to avoid disturbing a super cute, cuddly, warm, sleeping cat?
I finally take a second bite of my pie. “Mmm. You guys are brilliant. This is incredible.”
“That’s because it’s your favorite.”
I curl around as much as possible without dislodging cats. Freckles still shifts, shoving her fuzzy bottom end and wildly bushy tail right into my face and mouth. I spit it out, but that only causes her to back up harder, pressing her side right against my nose. I try to readjust her before I suffocate. She parks herself right on top of my plate, her hair soaking up cream and berry juice.
She’s a white cat. A Siamese tortie with mostly white fur and the most amazing blue eyes.
“It tastes different when it was made with love.”
I pick Freckles up and move her above Luca’s head, setting her down next to Swift. We got them a month apart, and they love each other. No one plays like Swift, though, so of course she takes a swipe at Freckles, who takes a swipe back. Both cats leap clear off the chair, giving us a good view of their furry undercarriage along the way, and go careening around the living room.
“Does that happen often?”
I grunt-laugh as I lean forward to try to set my plate on the coffee table. There’s now more cat fur in that pie than is safe for human consumption. I don’t have the same ability to cough up a hairball the way they do.
“Usually at four in the morning,” I reply. Luca offers me a bite of his pie, feeding it to me off his fork. He doesn’t shove it in my face, as fun as that would be. He’s all business and gentlemanly behavior. Don’t get me wrong. Chivalry is also hot as fuck. “But about pies made with love tasting better… I know this was about you and my dad. Mission Mend Bridges, but now that you’re here, the pie magic could come back.”