Catching You (2 page)

Kitty smiled. “No math. It’s more of a…compatibility test. For us.”

John pursed his lips and nodded. “Okay. Sounds cool. What do I have to do?”

“First, you have to let me look at your bedroom. Right now, without altering it from its present condition in any way.” 

John blinked. “Are you sure about that?”

“Absolutely.” 

John felt a pained expression tighten his face. “Can I at least shove the laundry piles under the bed? A man’s lair can be a scary place in its natural state.”

“I can handle it.” Kitty smirked as she walked past him, teetering a bit on her heels. Clearly, she didn’t wear this outfit very often.  

John wondered what the special occasion was. No matter how much he wanted to believe he was the inspiration for her extra care getting dressed, John had a feeling there was another reason for the outfit.

But before he could ask—and hopefully distract her from her mission—she opened the door to his room and disappeared. A few minutes later, John heard the toilet seat clank. He winced, praying the bowl wasn’t too disgusting. Had he cleaned it recently? He thought so, but he wasn’t positive.  He wasn’t a dirty person—more messy, with a tendency to let laundry settle into piles according to level of cleanliness on the floor—but he knew girls were weird about toilets. Girls liked sparkling clean toilets with fuzzy covers and a scented candle on the back, not naked toilets of questionable cleanliness that boasted a haphazard pile of
Nylon
magazines as a toilet paper holder.

Just as John was about to burst into his room and beg forgiveness for his slovenly ways, Kitty appeared in the doorway, a big smile on her face.

“Perfect,” she said, giving him two thumbs up. 

John’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Sunday’s usually cleaning day, but I skipped it today due to my state of extreme malaise.”

Kitty laughed, that throaty, rough-around-the-edges laugh that John found completely sexy. “No worries. It’s perfect. You passed the first test.”

“How?” John asked, pleasantly baffled. 

“I run a garage and work twelve hour days, six days a week, sometimes,” Kitty said. “I don’t have time to keep my apartment clean and girly and smelling fresh and perfect all the time. The one time I lasted more than three dates with a guy, we ended up breaking up because he couldn’t deal with my mess.” 

“I can totally deal with mess,” John said, crossing the room, finally feeling comfortable getting closer to her despite the fact that he was dressed to hit the sack and she was dressed to stop traffic. “I embrace mess in all its wondrous forms.” 

Kitty glanced up at him, a gleam in her eyes. “I could tell. But you’re not dirty, and that’s good. Messy and dirty are two different things.”

“They totally are. I get that. I’m feeling you completely, K.” 

Her tongue slipped out to dampen her sexy red lips. “Not yet, but if you play your cards right…”

John laughed. “Deal me in. What’s my next test?”

“Get dressed,” she said, grinning, “and I’ll show you.” 

“Where are we going?” 

“It’s a surprise,” she said, eyeing his shirt with an amused look. “But if you’ve got anything vintage to wear, that would be a plus. Most of us dress to match our cars. Mine’s a 1940 Ford Coupe.” 

“A moonshine car,” John said, understanding the outfit. “I love those.” 

She smiled. “Good. I can’t wait to show you mine. I did all the restoration myself.”

“Sweet,” he said, getting excited. “With original parts?” 

“Yeah. Mostly old new stock, never been used. It took me years to get it just right, but it was worth it.” She crossed her arms at her chest and lifted her eyes playfully to the ceiling. “Not to brag, but me and Clyde won the
Cruise-in and Rock-out
car show in Atlanta last month. First place. Best of class. We got a trophy and a barrel to age whiskey in and everything. It was pretty awesome.” 

“Clyde is…the car?” 

She met his curious gaze with a level one. “Yes, Clyde is the car. Hope that’s not too weird. If it is, then we can stop the test here because I’m done trying to be some Southern guy’s version of what makes a girl attractive. I am who I am—a grease monkey who runs a garage and prefers working on my cars than buying throw pillows for my house. I hang out with other grease monkeys and named my Ford and I only get dressed up for cruising club on Sunday afternoons.”

“Melody isn’t a grease monkey,” John said, more out of curiosity than any need to challenge her declaration of the United States of Kitty.  

“No, she’s my best friend since third grade,” Kitty said, a fond note in her voice. “And she’s also a totally awesome person who shoots from the hip and isn’t afraid to tell the people she loves that they’re being stupid when they’re being stupid.”  

Kitty paused, looking up at him through her long, black lashes. “She told me it would be stupid not to give you a real chance.”

“She was right,” John said. “And I’m stoked to go on a drive with you and Clyde. Let me get my dark wash jeans and white t-shirt on. We can stop at the bodega downstairs to buy some candy cigarettes to roll up in my sleeve on the way out.” 

Kitty laughed. “Perfect!”

John started for his room, but stopped and turned back to Kitty. “Oh, and Kitty?”

“Yes?”  

“I’m not some Southern guy. I’m John.” He was psyched to hang out with her and take her as she was, but he expected the same courtesy and resented being lumped in with the other idiots she’d dated.  

Kitty nodded seriously. “Of course you are. That’s why I’m here.”

John met her big, blue eyes and smiled.

Catching a bad case of Kitty Nance might not be such a terrible thing after all.

Chapter Two

Kitty and John arrived at the rendezvous point, a diner turned microbrewery off old Highway Nine, a little after four o’clock. The day’s road trip would start and end at the parking lot.  

The second they stepped out of Clyde and headed toward the entrance where the rest of the club was waiting, every gray and bald head swiveled their way.

“Kitty Cat!” Big Mike lifted a wide, calloused palm. “Did you bring us fresh meat?” 

“John, this is Big Mike, Little Mike, Howie, Claude, Dale, Bill, and Bald Mike. Guys, this is John,” Kitty said, blurting the names out so fast that they ran together at the end. She knew she had made the introductions too quickly, but she was a fast talker under normal circumstances and even faster when she was nervous. 

What if John didn’t like the guys? More importantly, what if the guys didn’t like John? There weren’t many people in Summerville whose opinions mattered to her, but these old guys were definitely on the list. If they gave John the thumbs down, the test was over.

“I named myself Bald Mike,” Bald Mike said in his usual booming voice as he reached out to shake John’s hand. “Because I’m bald!” 

The rest of the club broke out into raucous old man laughter, the kind that vibrates the bones in your chest and always reminded Kitty of her dad.

Bill Nance—“Little Bill” to the car club—had passed away two years ago, but Kitty still missed him every day. They had been more than father and daughter. They’d been best buddies, co-workers, and kindred spirits in every way. Some days, she missed Dad so much she woke up feeling hollow inside, but Sundays were never bad. The members of her cruising club had known her since she was sixteen, when she and “Little Bill” had joined the group. They’d watched Kitty grow up, had been there for her at the funeral, and always seemed to know when she needed a hug.

They were her family, so in a weird way she guessed her nerves made perfect sense. It was like she was bringing John home to meet the folks, except she had seven dads for him to please, instead of one.

But so far, John didn’t seem nervous.

“John O’Grady,” he said, flashing that heartbreaker smile as he pumped one hand after another, using a firm, yet respectful, grip.  

So far, so good
, Kitty thought. The guys looked pleased.

Kitty hung back, watching the men make small talk, unable to resist a lingering look John’s way. He wasn’t hot the way Nick was hot, or good looking in the traditional sense, but John was a charmer. With his auburn curls, bright blue eyes, and perpetually flushed cheeks, he looked like a much-younger, much sexier Santa Claus.

Much, much sexier, inspiring some naughty fantasies that involved crawling up into his lap and telling him exactly what she wanted for Christmas.

His smile, easy-going attitude, and spot on sense of humor had drawn her in, but it was his kiss that had convinced her to come apologize this afternoon. John O’Grady’s kiss was like nothing she had experienced before—passionate, but gentle, intense, but with a sense of humor that made her think he’d be amazing in bed.

Sex was really kind of a silly thing when you thought about it, and Kitty had done her fair share of giggling in the sack. Unfortunately, once their pants came off, most men took themselves way too seriously. But Kitty had a feeling John would be different. She smiled, thinking about the puking clown pajamas he’d been wearing earlier. A guy who appreciated the humor of a hung-over clown would surely appreciate the occasional hilarity of sex.

“So who’s driving, Kitty Cat?” Dale asked, his voice as gravelly as the pebbled parking lot beneath their feet.  

“I am,” Kitty said, hooking an arm through John’s. “I’m not sure John is ready for Clyde just yet.” 

“I’m totally not ready,” John said. “This is our first drive. I want to take things slow with Clyde, establish trust before we take the next step in our relationship.” 

“Good idea,” Little Mike said, chuckling. “Clyde can be a sumuvabitch.” 

“Son of a bitch,” Kitty whispered out of the corner of her mouth when John’s forehead bunched. Little Mike’s country drawl was so thick deciphering his comments was almost like learning to speak another language. 

“Got it,” John whispered back, grinning. 

“Clyde is a gentleman, that’s all,” Kitty said to the group at large. “He’s loyal to the lady he came with.” 

The men laughed. Soon, the conversation turned to the past, back to the seventies, when the microbrewery had been a diner where they had all hung out. As they reminisced, Howie handed out the cruising order sheet. It was Kitty’s turn in back, and for once she was glad to be at the rear. She would be super nervous if she thought one of her dad’s old friends was watching her flirt with John as they drove.

Heck, she’d be nervous if
anyone
was watching her flirt. She’d almost had a heart attack last night at the bar when the jock in the Bronco’s jersey had hit on her in front of his friends while John was in the bathroom.

She still couldn’t believe she’d left with the meathead to get a drink somewhere else. It wasn’t like her,
at all
. But she’d been so freaked by her first kiss with John that she hadn’t been thinking straight.

All she could think about was how much she’d enjoyed the kiss, how she’d felt connected to John in a way she’d never felt before and most importantly—how much it would hurt when John crept out of her apartment in the dead of the night like all the other guys she’d brought home.

Maybe you’ve just been bringing home the wrong guys.

“Maybe so,” Kitty mumbled as she and John headed back to Clyde to prepare to take their place in the line of shined up old beauties. 

“What’d you say?” John asked. 

Kitty smiled. “Nothing. Just glad you and the boys hit it off.”

“Yeah. So far, so good,” John said, echoing Kitty’s earlier thought. He glanced around the parking lot, making sure no one was close enough to hear before adding beneath his breath, “but I can tell any one of them would happily cut my privates off if I messed with their Kitty Cat.” 

She winced. “It’s a terrible nickname. Not of my choosing.”

“It doesn’t fit you,” John agreed. “But it’s nice. They’re cool old guys. Thanks for letting me meet them.” 

“You’re welcome,” Kitty said, pleased John seemed to understand that meeting her surrogate family was a privilege, as well as a test. “And they wouldn’t cut off your privates. They’d just terrify you by making you
think
they were going to cut them off, then let you go with a warning.” 

John chuckled. “Then I’ll definitely be on my best behavior.”

“Speaking of best behavior,” Kitty said, sliding into the driver’s seat while John hopped in on the other side. “I wanted to tell you again how sorry I am about last night. That really wasn’t like me. I feel terrible about it.” 

“Don’t feel terrible,” John said. “It’s over. You apologized and I accepted. As far as I’m concerned, it’s like it never happened.” 

Kitty watched him from the corner of her eyes as she gave Clyde’s gas pedal a preliminary pump. “You can really do that?”

“I can really do that,” John said. “When I want to. And with you, I want to. Just don’t make me feel like sulking in my clown-puke pajamas again, and we’re all good.” He paused then added in a more thoughtful tone, “Seriously, even if this doesn’t work, as long as you’re honest with me, we’re cool. Our best friends are together; I want us to be cool with each other, no matter what happens.” 

Kitty turned to face him as she waited for the other drivers to pull out ahead of her. “I feel the same way. And from here on out, I don’t want to play games unless they require a controller and a PlayStation.”

“
Assassin’s Creed
,” John said, excitement flashing in his eyes. “Tell me you play.” 

“Of course! I love it,” Kitty said. “But
Heavy Rain
is my current addiction.” 

“I was hooked on that at the beginning of the summer,” John said with a geeky enthusiasm that made Kitty grin. “I had to take a time out because it was seriously cutting into my adult cartoon time.” 

Kitty arched an eyebrow. “Well, maybe I can lure you back to the dark side later tonight. I’d love to play with someone who can appreciate the cinematic awesomeness that is
Heavy Rain
.”

John hummed appreciatively beneath his breath. “Has anyone ever told you how sexy you are when you talk gaming?” he asked, leaning across the seat and stealing a kiss.