We made quite the picture, stumbling and limping our way down the back stairs into the kitchen.
Meow Meow glared judgmentally from her perch on a pot holder in the middle of the island. The tip of her tail twitched.
“That’s incredibly unhygienic,” Lucian observed.
“Good thing you don’t plan to spend any time in this house, because every flat surface has probably come into contact with cat butt,” I said, ruffling her ears before opening the refrigerator door.
“What’s it’s name?”
“Her name is Meow Meow.”
“That’s an unimaginative name.”
“Her official name is Lady Meowington,” I said, opening the cheese drawer.
“That’s worse. I’m horrified. You’re terrible at naming things.”
“Cats name themselves. You start with an official name, and it devolves over the years until you find something they actually respond to. Lady Meowington here only responds to Meow Meow or ‘Hey, asshole.’” I glanced up and found Lucian eyeing the cat while she devoted herself to cleaning her belly.
Meow Meow was a furry lump of disdain. My one-night stand, however, in his underwear and open shirt with his tousled hair and sleepy eyes, was absolutely delectable. I’d known he was good-looking. Devastatingly handsome even. But I’d never allowed myself to really look.
Now that I had? I was going to need some alcohol with my post-sex snack.
I held up two blocks of cheese. “How do you feel about grilled cheese?”
Lucian grimaced. “You eat like a child.”
“I’m going to make you the best damned grilled cheese you’ve ever had, and then I’m going to allow you to rub my feet while groveling for my forgiveness.”
“A little more pressure on the arch, servant,” I ordered.
Lucian’s strong thumbs dug deeper on the sole of my foot. “Your feet are so small. How do you walk on these things?”
“You’re so weird after a sex marathon and grilled cheese.” I took another victorious bite of my buffalo chicken grilled cheese sandwich of awesomeness. Lucian’s plate was empty. He’d inhaled his sandwich with gusto and was shooting longing looks at my second half.
With an eye roll, I tore the half into two pieces and handed him one.
He dropped my foot in his lap and dove in.
We’d set up camp in the family room off the kitchen at the back of the house to eat and watch Night Court reruns. I said it was because the TV was bigger, but really it was because I didn’t want anyone catching a glimpse of Lucian Rollins through my front windows and broadcasting it to the entire town. Sharing this catastrophe with anyone was not an option.
As Bull delivered a punch line to Judge Harold T. Stone, I heard a dramatic thud behind us. I tilted my head on the cushion and spied the cat’s hulking fluff prance across the console table against the couch.
“What is it doing?” Lucian demanded, swiveling his head.
“She is trying to make you uncomfortable.”
Meow Meow sat directly behind him and stared at the back of his head. “It’s working.”
“She doesn’t really like people,” I explained. “Mom and I are the only ones who can pet her. Dad was the only one she’d let pick her up, and that was only if he stood still.”
“I feel her eyes boring into the back of my head,” he complained, shifting closer to me on the cushion. His bare thigh rested snugly against my knee, his shoulder a comforting weight against mine. Couples did this. Had sex on a Sunday morning and then snuggled up on the couch with junk food to watch old favorites.
We were not a couple. We were a mistake. A hot, sexy, mind-melting mistake.
“Just ignore her. She’s so lazy she’d never go out of her way to jump on your head just to bite and claw your face off,” I promised cheerily.
“That’s comforting,” he said dryly.
I took Lucian’s empty plate and placed it on the table behind me. Meow Meow gave the back of Lucian’s head one last scowl before sauntering over to investigate the crumbs. Satisfied that what we were eating was subpar, she heaved herself to the floor and wandered off.
Lucian slung his arm over the back of the couch behind me.
Was Lucian Rollins snuggling with me? Had I given him a concussion when I’d accidentally banged his head against the headboard while riding him?
The studio audience dissolved into hysterics over Dan Fielding’s flirtation with Christine Sullivan. This was so normal. So not us. So exactly what I wanted…with a different man, of course, and with a couple of kids thrown into the mix. Lucian had always wanted something different. I couldn’t help but wonder if all those things he’d wanted—the wealth, the power, the ability to crush enemies with a flick of his wrist—were just a replacement for what he thought he could never have.