Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“So, yeah, about the food,” Emma says when the cat starts purring. “I’m really flexible. There’s a deli on the corner that makes great sandwiches, and there’s also a gyros place I like a couple of blocks over. Neither one delivers, but—”
“Wilson will bring it; that’s not a problem. So sandwiches or gyros?”
She hesitates, then says, “Let’s do gyros. The place is called Gyro World.”
Okay, good. We’re having a meal together.
Concealing my satisfaction, I take out my phone and text Wilson the instructions. He immediately replies that he’s on his way, and I put my phone away—only to see Emma regarding me with a strange expression.
“What?” I frown at her. “Did I do something wrong?”
She shakes her head, then blurts out, “Is it always so easy for you? Do you always just snap your fingers and things happen?”
“You mean, can I always get gyros delivered? Yes, usually. Is that a bad thing?”
She puts the cat down. “No, of course not. It’s just… not what I’m used to, that’s all.”
She walks over to sit down on the bed, and the two cats come out from underneath to drape themselves over her lap. The big one that she just put down eyes me evilly for a moment, as if debating if I’d make a good meal, then stalks over to join the others on the bed, puffy tail held high.
I decide to ignore his disdain. It’s a cat, after all.
Taking a seat on the chair on which I hung my coat, I study Emma, trying to understand what it is about her that I find so appealing. Her looks, for sure—I can’t wait to sink my cock deep into her scrumptious little body—but her appearance is only part of the draw.
There’s also something warm and tender about her, something that tugs at me in a way I don’t fully understand.
“What are they called?” I ask, figuring that since the cats are such a big part of her life, I can at least try to get to know them. “You said that one is Mr. Puffs, right?” I nod at the bad-tempered giant, who’s staked out a spot on her left leg by shoving away his much smaller competitor.
She smiles, her eyes lighting up and her dimples coming out in full force. “Yes, that’s right. This one”—she looks down at her right leg, where a mid-sized cat is purring up a storm—“is Cottonball. And that”—she nods at the shoved-aside cat, the smallest of the bunch, who’s now daintily licking its paw—“is Queen Elizabeth.”
“How did you get them?” I ask. “And why three? Your apartment is… not very big.” There’s barely enough space for one small woman as far as I’m concerned.
She grimaces. “I know. I hate it that they’re cooped up in this studio. They’re used to it, having grown up here, but still, it’s not good. I hope to afford a bigger apartment one day, but for now, all I can do is entertain them the best I can.” She glances over her shoulder at the wall on the other side of her bed, and I realize that what I thought was a strange empty bookshelf is actually a cat maze that goes from floor to ceiling—an insane luxury in a place as space-constrained as this one.
She is committed to her pets.
“So you’ve had them from the time they were little?” I ask, and she nods, her expression darkening for some reason.
“They were barely two weeks old when I found them.”
“Found them?”
“They came into my life by accident; I didn’t plan on any pets when I got this place,” she says. “My friend Janie and I were driving to Woodbury Common—you know, the big shopping mall upstate—and we stopped by a gas station on the way. I went around the back to use the restroom, and I heard these faint mewling sounds coming from the garbage can. When I looked inside, there was a box of kittens there—so tiny they barely had their eyes open.” Her delicate jaw tightens, and a fierce look comes over her pretty face. “Some asshole threw them out, like they were trash.”
Asshole, indeed. I don’t consider myself an animal lover, but my hands itch with the urge to beat whoever did this shitty thing to a bloody pulp. “So you took them in?” I ask, doing my best to keep the anger out of my voice, and she nods again.
“Of course. What else could I do? Janie is allergic, and nobody at the gas station would claim them. I thought about bringing them to a shelter—the vet I took them to said they’re purebred Persians and would be adopted quickly—but they were beginning to cling to me by then, and I didn’t want to cause them any more trauma. As it was, because they weren’t properly weaned from their mother, they kept trying to suckle everything in sight for the first two years of their lives. It’s only recently that they’ve calmed down.” She gazes down at them with a tender smile, all fierceness gone as she scratches one furry creature behind the ear, then pets the other two.