Page 32 of King of Ruin

“Twenty minutes goes by quickly,” I murmur against his lips. “In the shower.”

He chuckles, low and deep. Intimate.

And then he helps me out, wrapping me in the fluffiest towel I’ve ever felt. The only thing I have to wear is my dress from my date.

Roman helps me into it, zipping up the back. “We’ll get you more clothes today.”

How will he do that? Will he go back to my place?

The elevator door dings, and Roman leads me out into the living room.

“Shit,” I hear Jack curse a moment before the scamper of paws on the hardwood sounds through the apartment.

“Where’s the cat?” Roman asks, his hand tightening around mine. “Jack? Where is the cat?”

“Ah, behind the couch, I think.”

I give a small laugh. That is very much what a cat would do. Because I live where I work, I don’t have cats or dogs. Too much risk with all the small animals who are my patients. But I’d love to have both.

My grandmother had, or likely still has, me on a list for a Seeing Eye dog. But the wait is endlessly long, and I’ve never pushed because of what I do for work.

It’s another reminder of how I’ve not moved forward in any metric for a long time.

“What’s our kitty look like?”

“Black and white. Big. Fierce-looking eyes.”

“Maybe a male then. If he’s large.” Letting go of Roman’s hand, I move to the couch and bend down slowly, making sure I’m not going to bump anything. “Did he go behind or under?”

“Under,” Jack answers.

Dropping to my knees, I press my face to the floor. “Hi there,” I croon, only to be met with a hissing growl.

“Oh. I see,” I say to the cat. “You’re not sure you’re ready to be friends.”

Sitting up, I call to Roman. “Got any tuna?”

“I do.”

A minute later, I put a small chunk just under the couch. Quick as a flash, a tiny paw darts out and the tuna is gone.

With a small laugh, I give the cat another piece. Then I sit up again. “We’ll get the cat out from under here, but it might take a bit.”

Jack rumbles a sound of regret. “Sorry, Roman. Should I wait?”

Roman shakes his head with a sigh. “No. The cat will stay until we can get him out from under the couch.”

I hear Jack mutter. Is he relieved? Regretting rescuing the cat? I’m not. Giving the cat another chunk of tuna, I call over my shoulder to Jack. “What’s wrong with the cat again?”

Jack clears his throat. “Seemed lethargic. It was just hanging out next to my car.”

“Hmm. Cat isn’t lethargic now. Then again, this is a new, scary environment.”

Neither man answers as I push up. “I’ll get some water. We ought to set up a litter box after all, just to save your floors.”

“Litter box?” Roman asks. “How long is the cat going to be under my couch?”

I shake my head. “Might be a few days. He’ll come out when he thinks it’s safe, but it might take us some time to build up enough trust to get him to come out in our company.”