High (14 page)

“Milly?” I shout.

No response of course. I slide out of bed and scoop the cat up, cradling it against my chest as I make my way to Milly’s room. I push the door open and it’s pitch black inside.

I grab the string for the blind and yank it up, allowing daylight to flood into the room. “Milly!”

“Fuck!” She shrieks, rolling over until she’s face down in the pillow with her arms at her sides. I’m pretty sure she might suffocate herself.

“Milan.” I shove her shoulder and she rolls onto her back, shielding her eyes from the light.

“I fucking hate you. You are the worst friend in the history of ever, and I will remember this.” She hisses.

“Whose cat is this?” I point at the cat but she keeps her hand over her eyes.

“Is that like a figurative term for the fact that you accidentally ate pussy again?”

“No.”
I sigh. “By cat I mean cat.” I hold the cat out in front of me and it lets out a pitiful little meow.

She lowers her hand from her eyes and frowns. “What the fuck? I hate cats. Get it away from me.”

I pull him close to my chest and stroke over his head. “You’re mean.”

“And you stole someone’s cat!” She shouts after me as I leave her to her hang over.

I trudge back to my bedroom and climb back in bed, because yep, hung over, banging headache, and a cat. The cat curls up on the duvet and goes to sleep. I guess that’s a reason not to like cats. I mean, where’s the loyalty? He has an owner somewhere, and yet, he’s happy as Larry here. That’s what I’m going to call him, Larry…until I find his owner of course. Though, that might be difficult given the circumstances.

I’m woken when my bedroom door bursts open, cracking against the wall. The cat practically lands on my face and I almost have a fucking stroke and fall out of bed. 

“Jesus. What the fuck?” I sit up and see Rhett in the doorway, both his hands braced on either side of the frame and a face like thunder. His chest rises and falls as he breathes raggedly. He says nothing, just stares at me.

“Uh, you realize this is total creeper territory?” Still nothing. “What with the bursting into my apartment and the staring.”

“Do you know where your phone is?” He asks, his voice icy and his eyes tight.

My phone? “Uh…” I climb out of bed and grab my little sequined clutch bag, opening it. “Nope. Guess I dropped it somewhere. Happens all the time.” I shrug. “Is that why you look like you’re about to stab someone? Because you tried to call and I didn’t pick up? Because that’s moving out of creeper and slightly into psycho.”

He throws something on the bed, and I peer over to see my phone nestled into the duvet. The screen is cracked for what must be the hundredth time. Really, it’s a wonder I don’t lose all my belongings every time I go out, but no, the designer clutch and the hundred-quid lipstick, those I keep safe. My phone though—my only means of contact—
that
I lose and break.

He then throws a shoe on the bed next to the phone and finally pulls a pair of lace knickers from his pocket, dangling them from one finger.
My
lace knickers to be precise.

I frown and rub my temples. “Uh…”

“I had a phone call this morning, from your phone. A woman a couple of streets over found your shoe, panties and broken phone in a bush this morning. She managed to call the most recently dialed number and got me. You can imagine both her and my concern.”

“Okay.” I hold up my finger. “I admit, that looks bad, and I have no idea how it happened, but I’m alive, so can you stop looking at me like…
that
.” I grumble. He takes his hands off the doorway and folds them across his chest, the scowl remaining on his features. “Oh yeah, because that’s so much better.” I roll my eyes and then spot a flash of movement behind Rhett.

“Hamster!” I shout, pointing. He turns around but that furry little shit is gone. “Motherfucker.” I jump off the bed and shove past Rhett, but it’s nowhere to be seen.

When I turn back around Rhett is staring at me like I’m about to bite him.  I throw my hands in the air. “Why does no one believe me when it comes to the hamster?”

“Seriously? You have to ask?” He lifts one eyebrow in that condescending way of his. “Shoe, phone, panties, a ghost hamster…” He looks behind me. “A cat, and there’s a homeless man sleeping in the hallway outside your door. You wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”

“Really? Is that his cat?”

He drags a hand over his face. “Don’t get me wrong Blake, I like your wild side, but don’t you think that maybe you should lay off some of the more hallucinogenic drugs.”

“It’s fucking real!” I argue. “That bastard is taunting me, and he’s like a fucking ninja!” He shakes his head and turns, walking down the hallway. “Where are you going?” I shout after him.

“To get breakfast.” He calls over his shoulder.

“Fine.” I huff. “Oh, while you’re there can you ask the homeless man if he lost a cat.” He says nothing. “Please.”

I sit at the breakfast bar and watch as Rhett moves around the kitchen. I’m not sure the cooker has ever actually been used.

I brace my elbows on the side and rest my chin in my hands. “You know there are like fifty possible take out options within a mile radius, right?”

He glances over his shoulder briefly before going back to his task. “Blake, it’s eggs and bacon. A complete idiot could make this.”

“I take offense to your statement.” I grumble.

The cat, which, incidentally does not belong to the homeless man, starts circling my ankles, rubbing his little face on my legs. I smile and bend down, scooping him up.

“Hey, you.” I stroke over his soft fur as he purrs loudly.

He turns around, frying pan in hand. “You know you have to give that cat back to whoever you stole it from, right?”

“I did not steal it!” I defend. “I…seem to have acquired him. Temporarily.” Or permanently. He’s cute.

He starts spooning scrambled eggs onto two plates. “Breakfast and then we take
that
to a vet, see if they can track down its owner.”

“Fine.” I huff. “But if they can’t find them then the right thing to do would be to keep him.”

“No…”

“I call him Larry.”

He sighs and tilts his head back, looking at the ceiling. “And you named it.”

“Shush. Feed me.”

He cocks an eyebrow and smirks. “Happy to. I take payment in kind for my cooking services.”

“Well, if you weren’t so gnarly and judgy this morning, you might have gotten laid.”

“Judgy?”

I scowl. “The hamster is real!”

He laughs and slides a plate in front of me before taking the seat beside me and squeezing my bare thigh. “Of course, it is,
Duchess
.”

Despite the fact that I want to impale my fork in his forehead, I’m starving and this smells amazing. That is the only reason I am tolerating his presence.

Turns out, watching Rhett try and get a cat in a box is amusing, to say the least. I made him go and buy a proper crate because no fucking way am I having a cat lose in the car…attached to my face.

Milly is cocooned in her duvet on the sofa because she’s got a category five. I perch on the arm watching the show.

“Fucking cat!” Rhett says, scruffing the poor creature and attempting to pry its limbs from the doorway.

“Why is he fighting with a cat again?” Milly asks, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead.

“He won’t let me keep it.”

“Good. It looks feral.” She grumbles.

“Only because Rhett is upsetting him. Larry’s friendly.” Poor thing looks traumatised.

“You named it. Oh, god.”

“Shh.” I hiss at her. “I’m taking it to the vet okay? If he has a chip, then his stupid owners can have him back.”

“
That
is not living here!”

“Shh, hush now.” I stroke her hair and she swats at me.

“Blake!” She growls. “It probably has fleas, and it’ll have to shit in a litter box. Ugh! I think I’m going to vomit.”

“No, look, people have handbag dogs…”

“So you want a fucking handbag cat?” She raises her eyebrows.

“Larry’s cuter than a Chihuahua.

“You forget, you kidnapped him. You can’t take a hostage out in public.”

I choose to ignore her. 

Finally, Rhett wrestles the cat into the box, and then stands, bracing his hands on his hips as he catches his breath. He has a line of scratches across his cheek, and his hand is bleeding.

“Is it wrong that I’m turned on?” I say to Milly.

“He wrestled a cat, not a fucking tiger.” Milly comments.

“The next time she decides to bring a fucking cat home, please just kick it out on the street.” He says to her.

“Mean, so mean.” I shake my head and pick up Larry’s crate. “Come on Larry, let’s go to the vet. They just don’t understand you like I do.”

Rhett follows me down to the garage and I slide the crate onto the front seat of Milly’s Mini, slamming the door shut. He stands there with his arms crossed over his chest, his hand still bleeding from where the cat scratched him.

“Thanks for your help.” I reach up on tiptoes and kiss his cheek, but he catches me off guard, pushing me backwards until I’m up against the car. He braces both hands on the car, either side of my shoulders, and I have to tilt my head back to look at him. 

His eyes meet mine and he looks torn, troubled. “I need you to do me a favour.” There’s a pleading edge to his tone and it makes me frown because Rhett doesn’t ask or plead for anything. He cups my cheek, his eyes studying my face. “Please be more careful when you go out. I know you think you’re untouchable, but you’re not.”

I roll my eyes and smile. “You’re cute.”

He sighs and drops his head forward. “Blake.” When he lifts his face, his expression is hard. “It’s not a joke. You came home the other night with a broken bra, no top, and no fucking memory of anything. Now you might be fine with that, but the thought of someone fucking touching you…” He cuts off and focuses his gaze over my shoulder. I don’t know what to say. What can I say to that? I want to be indignant about it, but I can’t, because he cares, and no one has ever cared before.

He’s supposed to be a fake boyfriend; a guy I fuck sometimes. He’s not supposed to be possessive. He’s not supposed to care. And neither am I.

“Can…can I ask you something?” I ask, keeping my eyes fixed on the ground. God, this is painfully awkward.

He says nothing and I glance up to find him watching me, waiting.

“Okay, I just…” I clear my throat. “Is this…?”

He folds his arms over his chest, watching me stammer like a fucking twat. “What?”

“Is this, like…a thing?” I mouth the word, unable to even say it.

“A thing?” He smirks.

“Well, it’s just you’re awful bossy for a dude I fucked a couple of times.”
Not to mention jealous, possessive, and over-protective.

He slowly presses his body against mine, stroking his knuckles over my jaw.

“I just don’t want anyone else to touch you. That’s all.”

“Oh, that’s all?”

He narrows his eyes. “It’s simple, Duchess. I like fucking you. While you fuck me, you don’t fuck anyone else. You want to fuck someone else, then you don’t fuck me.”