Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 103104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“My bet is on the freshman girls. Amateurs,” Knox murmurs as he looks at the group who was laughing. A couple call out his name and give him little finger waves as they check him out.
“Hey, Knox,” a pretty brunette says, giving him flirty eyes. “You should have been on our team.”
Another one shouts, “Wanna come help us clean up, Knox?”
They stare at me and a few whisper behind their hands, and even though most of them are younger than me, I figure everyone knows who I am.
I give them death glares.
Camilla steps forward, blocking them from my view. “I’ll take care of the cats, Miss Henderson. If they don’t belong to anyone, I’ll make sure they find a good home. I work at a humane shelter.”
Nice person.
I open the closet where we hid to grab a mop. Something darts toward the door then changes its mind and heads back inside, huddling in the corner.
“It’s our little friend,” says Knox from behind me. He was collecting pieces of balloons and stuffing them into a trash bag Miss Henderson gave him.
I pick it up, but she claws at me and tries to jump down.
“Easy now,” Knox says, taking the cat from me.
She hides her face in the bend of his muscled arm.
I scoff. “Seriously? Why would she go to you but not me?” I pet her and realize the fluffy fur is hiding skin and bones. “She’s so tiny. Are you going to take her to the cage?”
He glances down at the cat now lying on her back in his arms and kneading her little paws into him. “Maybe he wants to come home with me.”
“She. It’s a she. See, no balls.”
He smirks. “Okay, maybe she wants to come home with me.”
“I see—you dig cats. Let me add that to the list of things in my file about Knox Grayson.”
“You’re making a list?”
“Big thick dossier. Plays piano, likes cats, hates kissing.”
His jaw drops. “Hey, that is not true—”
Camilla stops in front of us. “Those stupid freshman girls. You wanna hand her over?”
Knox shifts, fidgeting. “What’s going to happen to her?”
“I heard some of the girls saying they picked up the cats from a dumpster near an alley downtown. Pretty sure they don’t belong to anyone. I imagine she’ll get adopted at the shelter. She’s little and cute.”
He mulls that over, lifts her up, and stares into her black and gray striped face. “I’m going to give her to Dane, and her name shall be Astley.”
“I think that means he’s keeping her,” I murmur to Camilla.
She nods, looking pleased. “I’d get her checked out at the vet, though. She’ll need meds and all that.”
Knox says he will, and after the rest of the cats are accounted for and the hallway is sparkling clean, he follows me back to my room. Miss Henderson has left our area, probably to check on the other floors, so she doesn’t see him sneak in.
“I really needed prank night,” I murmur as he sits on my lone wooden chair with Astley, softly rubbing her fur.
The big football player is holding a kitten, and my fingers itch to take a picture.
“I have some soda. Do you want a Coke or something?”
He takes in the textbooks and laptop on my bed. A conflicted look crosses his face. “It’s late. We have school tomorrow.”
I fiddle with the Mountain Dew I’ve pulled out of the fridge. “Ah. Dangerous to drink a soda on a school night. Noted.”
He shrugs.
I clear my throat. “I have a few cans of tuna. Let me get some for your new baby.”
He rolls his eyes. “Can you get some water too? She might be thirsty.”
I huff out a laugh, grab the tuna, and open it, setting it on the floor near the bathroom. Before I can get her some water in a mug from my desk, she’s already got her face in the can, eating delicately.
“She’s kind of prissy,” I murmur, watching as she leans down and swishes her tail.
“She’s perfect.”
“You think Dane will like her?”
He looks up at me. “Yeah. She’ll be good for him.”
I plop down on my bed, moving the books and my laptop then adjusting my pillows at the top so I can be propped up.
We don’t talk, and he seems on edge, alternately watching Astley and checking his phone.
He’s antsy, like a tiger in a cage who wants out but isn’t sure how to escape.
It’s awkward. No, scratch that—it’s weird AND awkward.
“Why are you smiling?” he says gruffly, startling me.
“You look terribly uncomfortable, and it makes me happy.”
“You like me uncomfortable?”
“Immensely! I love it when you aren’t sure what to say or do.”
“Like now?”
“Plus, you came to help out with prank night, and now you have a new pet. Fort Knox is breaking apart and getting soft, little by little.”
He grins then. “So I’m not usually like this?”