Control (Everyday Heroes #3.5)(15)

By: K. Bromberg


She clenches her fists. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

I chuckle to irritate her further. “And you’re the woman going on and on about how you never take care of your pussy, and now it’s trimmed and wet”—I shrug—“and since you went to all that trouble, don’t you think someone might as well reward you?”

I dodge as she throws the rag in her hand my way. “Figures you’d think that way.”

“I take that as a no, then?”

“No.”

“Hey, I’m only going off what I heard. Only crazy people talk to themselves like that.”

“Pussy is Logan St. Claire’s precious cat. And Logan Sinclair is one of the assholiest people out there—”

“Is that even a word?”

“Even more so than you.”

“Probably not,” I say just to push her buttons.

My words stop her—surprise her—and she looks at me with a tilt to her head. Pieces of brown hair that have fallen out of her ponytail rest against her cheek.

“Yeah. You’re right. You take the cake.”

“Says the woman who insulted me in the first two minutes of our initial conversation.”

“Glad I could leave a great first impression. Maybe you should have taken the hint and left me alone,” she says, finding her footing beneath her again and letting that temper reignite.

“You only get one chance to make a first one…”

She huffs in response and out of the corner of my eye I see a mass of white fluff—or perhaps it used to be white fluff because now it’s spotted in brown mud—skirt across the grass and into the open back door.

Pussy.

“Remind me not to like him.”

“Like who?” she asks.

Gotta keep her on her toes.

“Logan St. Asshole,” I say. “Guys who have cats—correction, guys who name their cat Pussy—either aren’t getting any or are using the name as a way to state they’re not gay when everyone already knows they are.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep. Why be ashamed of who you are and hide behind a cat? Just live the best life.”

There’s something I say that has her head tilting to the side again. She takes me in a little longer than expected. “It’s the former,” she finally admits.

I shrug. “Why is he an asshole?”

“The bigger question is how is he not an asshole?” For the briefest of moments I see a ghost of a smile on her lips, and it reminds me of how pretty she was the other day before the defense class began when she was chatting me up.

“Doggy Style?” I ask.

“That’s the name.”

“But Pussy is a cat.”

“You’re quite observant…”

“I can imagine you attract all kinds of interesting folks with that name,” I say, dismissing her sarcasm.

For the briefest of moments something flickers through her eyes and before I can put a finger on it, the emotion is gone, but it reminds me of what I saw in them the other day after class.

“Just as I’m sure you do working with SWAT.”

“Always.” I look at the cute cottage-style house. “You lived here long?”

We stare at each other in silence, and it’s almost as if she remembers she isn’t supposed to like me. Her expression and posture suddenly stiffen…probably because she realized she was smiling at me.

And fuck if I know why it turns me on.

“It’s none of your business.”

So that’s how she wants to play it? Fine.

“Then it’s also none of my business that Pussy ran into the house about two minutes ago.” She narrows her eyes and sneers at me again. “It’s your loss, Desi.”

“What is?”

“That you don’t trust me to show you just how good I am with something wet and groomed.” And with that parting comment, I flash her a lightning-quick grin before heading to my side of the fence, while she grumbles and curses me out under her breath.

I hear her door slam.

I hear her call for Pussy again.

And all I can think about is how damn unexpected she is—and at the same time such a very welcome distraction.

I think I’m going to like my time in Sunnyville.