dog. He just wasn’t much of an animal person. When Mr. Whiskers went to the big scratching post in the sky, there was no way Benji would be replacing him with another pet.
That might be sooner than anticipated, given the way the dog went straight for him. Mr. Whiskers let out a howl the likes of which Benji had never heard before and lunged toward the bookcases, which were full of fragile glass knickknacks and irreplaceable art.
“Dammit, Patches,” Benji growled as the dog tried to scale the bookshelves as well in pursuit of the cat. He dove forward and managed to get a good hold on Patches’s collar, pulling him back.
“We don’t eat the cat,” he said sternly. “ He’s old. That means he’s probably too stringy to taste good, even if you could catch him.”
He didn’t let Mr. Whiskers in his bedroom, which was one huge improvement he’d made after Charles moved out. It was a cat-free zone, which meant he no longer woke up with his eyes half-swollen shut thanks to his allergies.
Patches could stay in there with him until he figured out what to do with him in the morning. The dog seemed a bit ashamed of himself, since he didn’t fight Benji as he dragged him over to the closed door.
“Don’t get on the bed,” he said as he pushed Patches inside and shut him in.
Mr. Whiskers had knocked over a vase and a picture frame in his frantic ascent, but other than that, the bookcase looked relatively unharmed. Benji could leave him there, but Mr. Whiskers wasn’t declawed, and he’d probably scratch up the finish if left to his own devices to get down.
“You’re a royal pain in my ass, you know that?” Benji said as he tried to grab him.
Not surprisingly, Mr. Whiskers wasn’t in the mood to come sedately. A whip of his tail sent Benji’s collection of Avengers figurines spiraling to the floor before the cat scurried to the far end of the shelf, just out of Benji’s reach.
Benji stood on his toes and managed to grab a bit of Mr. Whiskers’s fur before all hell broke loose. Patches ran into the room, probably thanks to the loose bedroom door latch that Benji hadn’t wanted to bother the building super about, and jumped up, nipping at Benji’s elbow.
Instead of climbing up higher, Mr. Whiskers apparently decided his best hope of survival was on Benji’s head. He made a flying leap and connected with a painful scrabbling of claws against Benji’s scalp.
It was enough of a surprise to send Benji stumbling into the bookcase. He heard the sound of shattering glass as something hit the floor, and his stomach swooped with the familiar sensation of falling as he started to go down.
Chapter Two: MILAN
A warning hum vibrated low and deep inside Patrick’s ears. The metallic scent of ozone followed. He rolled over in his MILAN bed, savoring the MODENA memory-foam mattress. Five more minutes. C’mon, just five more minutes. The CASA shoppers can hold their horses. The would-be Martha Stewarts and Nate Berkuses were the worst with obsessing about color coordination and feng shui. Because they saw it in a magazine, they were all of a sudden the next HGTV Design Star.
He tucked the black-and-gray duvet up under his chin and kicked it off his legs. Optimal for regulating body temperature, though never logical.
Click-click-hmmmmm . The overhead fluorescent lights announced their unwelcome luminosity into Patrick’s darkened sanctuary.
“Goddammit,” he groaned and buried his face in his pillow. He had at least ten minutes before the shoppers arrived. Fifteen at best. It always took them ten minutes minimum before they trickled into his showroom.
The fluorescent light wasn’t as kind in letting Patrick have his blessed ten minutes more of solace to relish the happy ending of his dream about the cute guy in the café he’d seen for all of three seconds last week. His gut clenched with the last bits of recollection of the dream. The cutie had been a screamer, for sure. It was always the innocent-looking
That might be sooner than anticipated, given the way the dog went straight for him. Mr. Whiskers let out a howl the likes of which Benji had never heard before and lunged toward the bookcases, which were full of fragile glass knickknacks and irreplaceable art.
“Dammit, Patches,” Benji growled as the dog tried to scale the bookshelves as well in pursuit of the cat. He dove forward and managed to get a good hold on Patches’s collar, pulling him back.
“We don’t eat the cat,” he said sternly. “ He’s old. That means he’s probably too stringy to taste good, even if you could catch him.”
He didn’t let Mr. Whiskers in his bedroom, which was one huge improvement he’d made after Charles moved out. It was a cat-free zone, which meant he no longer woke up with his eyes half-swollen shut thanks to his allergies.
Patches could stay in there with him until he figured out what to do with him in the morning. The dog seemed a bit ashamed of himself, since he didn’t fight Benji as he dragged him over to the closed door.
“Don’t get on the bed,” he said as he pushed Patches inside and shut him in.
Mr. Whiskers had knocked over a vase and a picture frame in his frantic ascent, but other than that, the bookcase looked relatively unharmed. Benji could leave him there, but Mr. Whiskers wasn’t declawed, and he’d probably scratch up the finish if left to his own devices to get down.
“You’re a royal pain in my ass, you know that?” Benji said as he tried to grab him.
Not surprisingly, Mr. Whiskers wasn’t in the mood to come sedately. A whip of his tail sent Benji’s collection of Avengers figurines spiraling to the floor before the cat scurried to the far end of the shelf, just out of Benji’s reach.
Benji stood on his toes and managed to grab a bit of Mr. Whiskers’s fur before all hell broke loose. Patches ran into the room, probably thanks to the loose bedroom door latch that Benji hadn’t wanted to bother the building super about, and jumped up, nipping at Benji’s elbow.
Instead of climbing up higher, Mr. Whiskers apparently decided his best hope of survival was on Benji’s head. He made a flying leap and connected with a painful scrabbling of claws against Benji’s scalp.
It was enough of a surprise to send Benji stumbling into the bookcase. He heard the sound of shattering glass as something hit the floor, and his stomach swooped with the familiar sensation of falling as he started to go down.
Chapter Two: MILAN
A warning hum vibrated low and deep inside Patrick’s ears. The metallic scent of ozone followed. He rolled over in his MILAN bed, savoring the MODENA memory-foam mattress. Five more minutes. C’mon, just five more minutes. The CASA shoppers can hold their horses. The would-be Martha Stewarts and Nate Berkuses were the worst with obsessing about color coordination and feng shui. Because they saw it in a magazine, they were all of a sudden the next HGTV Design Star.
He tucked the black-and-gray duvet up under his chin and kicked it off his legs. Optimal for regulating body temperature, though never logical.
Click-click-hmmmmm . The overhead fluorescent lights announced their unwelcome luminosity into Patrick’s darkened sanctuary.
“Goddammit,” he groaned and buried his face in his pillow. He had at least ten minutes before the shoppers arrived. Fifteen at best. It always took them ten minutes minimum before they trickled into his showroom.
The fluorescent light wasn’t as kind in letting Patrick have his blessed ten minutes more of solace to relish the happy ending of his dream about the cute guy in the café he’d seen for all of three seconds last week. His gut clenched with the last bits of recollection of the dream. The cutie had been a screamer, for sure. It was always the innocent-looking
Similar Books
Rise (War Witch Book 1)
Cain S. Latrani
Hare Sitting Up
Michael Innes
Undercover
Vanessa Kier
Asking For Trouble
Becky McGraw
The Hired Man
Dorien Grey
Summer Fling
Billie Rae
Shelter
Susan Palwick
Looking for Lucy Jo
Suzy Turner
The Lightning Keeper
Starling Lawrence