The Holiday Games

Chapter 20

twenty

. . .

Leo

I ’m a cat dad failure. I should have replaced the windows years ago. I’ve known they were ancient and energy inefficient since the day I moved in. The realtor warned me five fucking times that vintage windows are far more easily broken than modern glass.

But she kept fretting that a thief could use the weakness to break in. I’m a large man living on the third floor! I figured I was safe.

I never imagined Greg would do something like this.

“But I should have,” I mutter as Caroline and I pause in front of yet another dark alley. “I fucking should have.”

“What?” Caroline asks, not waiting for an answer before calling, “Greg! Greee-eeg! Where are you pumpkin? Come out and see us. We have treats. Smoked salmon, your favorite.”

She falls silent, but there’s no answer from the alley ahead, just silence and a soft skittering sound too faint to be coming from Greg.

“I should have known he’d knock the play structure over, shatter a window, and make a break for it,” I say, hands balling into fists in my coat pockets.

“How could you have known that?” Caroline asks. “That thing was huge. I’m still not sure he pushed it over. It might have fallen on its own.”

“Oh, he pushed it, all right.”

Caroline arches a challenging brow. “Greg’s a big boy, but he can’t weigh more than fifteen pounds.”

“Eighteen,” I say, “but size doesn’t matter. His evil gives him strength, like a supervillain. I should have remembered that and bolted the fucking thing to the wall.”

She huffs out a tired laugh. “Well, hindsight is twenty-twenty, I guess.” She reaches over, giving my arm a squeeze. “Don’t worry. We’ll find him. He can’t have gone far.”

I sigh. “Maybe not, but it won’t matter if he won’t come when you call.”

“Maybe you should try again,” she says. “You’re his dad.”

I shake my head. “No, he hates me. Hearing me call for him will only make him run faster and hide harder.”

Her brow furrows. “I think you two need therapy. It’s obvious you love each other. You just don’t know how to show it. As soon as we find him, I’ll call my friend Tyge from college. He runs a pet hotel in Connecticut. He might know someone who can help you and Greg work through your issues.”

My lips curve as I gather her close, hugging her to my chest. “You’re the sweetest.”

“I’m not,” she says. “I’m not even sure pet therapy is a real thing. I’m grasping at straws because I’m riddled with guilt.”

I pull back, frowning down at her. “Why? You did nothing wrong.”

“I heard something breaking when it happened.”

“So did I,” I say. “And I decided to ignore it.”

She rolls her eyes. “Not until I begged you to ignore it.”

“So?” I shoot back. “I like it when you beg. And it was my house and my maniac cat who loves to break things when I have a special friend in the bedroom. Honestly, this is all on Greg. If he hadn’t already broken every vase and statue in the joint, I would have been more alarmed by the sound of shattering glass.”

Caroline studies my face in the glow of the streetlamp farther down the street. “ Every vase and statue, huh? How many of those did you have?”

I shrug. “Not that many. Maybe…four or five?”

Her nose wrinkles. “Four or five? In the past year!”

“No,” I hurry to clarify. “Two years, at least. Maybe three! And he hasn’t broken anything in at least six months. Until you showed up, I’d given up on romance.”

She grunts, a very cute grunt that makes me wish we were back at my place. Naked. Or at least eating that amazing meal she had planned. Instead, the ingredients arrived just as we were preparing to leave, and went straight into the fridge.

Though, I probably could have left them on the kitchen counter. The apartment is freezing. Turns out garbage bags are even less effective at keeping a space warm than ancient glass windows…

“Seriously,” I add. “I’m not a manwhore, and tonight was amazing. You’re amazing.”

Her gaze softens. “Yeah? You still like me? Even though our perfect night ended in disaster?”

“I more than like you,” I say. “I’m just sorry we didn’t get to have dinner and arts and crafts share time like we planned.”

“It’s all right. The food will keep. We could try again tomorrow night if that…isn’t too soon.”

“Not too soon,” I assure her. “I can’t wait to see you again. This isn’t casual for me, Caroline. I want more than a one-night stand. Way more.” I want forever, but even in my love-drugged state, I know better than to say that part out loud.

At least, not yet…

But soon, maybe. The way she beams up at me, trust and warmth in her gaze, as she whispers, “Me, too,” assures me I’m not alone on this crazy train. Caroline is right here with me. And if we’re both feeling the same thing, maybe it isn’t crazy.

Maybe it’s just…meant to be.

I pull her coat tighter across her chest. “But you should head back to the hotel before it gets any later. We’ve been out here for hours. Let me call you a car.”

“No way,” she says. “I’m staying until we find him. I swear, I have a feeling he’s close.”

I grunt. “Maybe, but it’s almost midnight. Even if you head back right now, Millie’s going to wonder why you’re dragging in so late.”

“Not necessarily. I told her I was meeting up with an old friend from college. Old friends sometimes go for drinks and stay out until midnight.” She lifts her fist to her lips, fighting a yawn. “I mean, I’ve never done it myself, but fun people do. Millie doesn’t know that I’m not fun yet.”

“You’re the most fun.”

“I’m usually in bed by nine thirty,” she says, arching a brow. “Ten at the latest.”

“Hot,” I say, pulling her close again. “That means we could be in our pajamas by eight.”

“Or six,” she says, leaning into me with a grin. “Sometimes I change into my pajamas before I cook dinner, so I can have as much time in my comfy pants as possible.”

“Love comfy pants. Such easy access.” My hands drift down to her ass, squeezing it through her coat and dress. “Not as easy as a dress, but still good.”

She loops her arms around my neck. “I like the thought of PJ time with you.” She fights another yawn. “And not just because I’m tired.”

“That’s it, I’m calling a car,” I say, reaching into my coat pocket. “We have to get you in bed ASAP. You’re filming tomorrow.”

“But I don’t have to do a competition or anything,” she says. “I just have to lay on a table and get massaged. I don’t need sleep to do that. I want to stay. I hate the thought of you out here alone in the middle of the night.”

“I’ll be fine,” I say, pulling up the car service app.

“No, don’t. Seriously.” She lunges for the phone, which I easily pull out of her reach. “What about muggers? You could be robbed and shot, and I’ll never forgive myself.”

“I won’t be robbed or shot. This is a very safe neighborhood, and I’m bigger than ninety percent of muggers and thieves.” I tap the final button, confirming the ride. “There. It says Jamal will be here in…three minutes.”

She props her hands on her hips with a huff. “Bigger doesn’t matter when the other guy has a gun.”

“Safe neighborhood, remember?” I take her hand. “And I won’t stay out much longer, I promise. I don’t have to be on set as early as the contestants, but I told Ainsley I’d be there by the time the losers’ competition starts. I can’t afford to stay out all night, either.” I sigh. “And I have to find something thicker than a trash bag to cover that window until I can get someone to replace it, or my heating bill will be through the roof.”

She squeezes my fingers. “Maybe try propping some pillows against the bag or something? That way Greg could still push through and get in if he found his way home. He might get tired of the mean streets and come back on his own, you know.”

“The mean streets won’t scare Greg. He’s probably already declared himself King of Hell’s Kitchen and bullied the local strays into being his henchmen. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s formed a gang and is plotting a takeover of the fish market three blocks over as we speak.”

Caroline laughs. “I hope so.” She pauses at the curb, glancing my way. “Should we swing by the fish market really quick, maybe? I mean, if I were a cat, I’d be drawn to the smell of fish market trash.”

I shake my head. “No, you’re going to the hotel and straight to bed. I’ll check the market once you’re safely on your way.”

“Bossy, bossy,” she mutters. “What if I don’t want to go straight to bed? What if I need to take a long shower, first?”

Imagining her naked and slick with soap and water makes my voice husky as I say, “Showers are good.”

“They are.” She shifts closer, until her breasts brush against my arm, inspiring my tenth or twentieth hard-on of the day. “Especially when you touch yourself under the spray while thinking of all the things a bad man did to you in his bed earlier tonight.”

I pull her in fast and tight, making her giggle as I lift her off her feet. “You’re evil,” I say, kissing her hard. “Pure, sexy evil.”

“I learned it from Greg,” she murmurs between kisses, making me laugh and sigh and curse myself for calling that fucking car.

It arrives far too soon, pulling up to the curb just as I’m setting Caroline back on her feet.

“Text me when you’re safe in the room,” I say, nodding hello to the driver before moving to open the back door.

“I will,” she says. “I had a wonderful time.”

“Me, too. I can’t wait for dinner tomorrow night. And I’ll get us tickets to the Rockettes for Thursday, as obnoxiously close to the stage as possible.”

“Sounds perfect,” she says, pushing on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. Lingering there for a beat, she whispers, “Kayla said we should go for it, by the way, and forget about Vivian.”

“I forgot about her the moment I laid eyes on you.” When she pulls back, I add in a softer voice, “I forgot about every other woman on earth about five minutes later.”

“Good.” She beams up at me, her smile enough to take the edge off the cool breeze. “See you later, Leo Fenton.”

“Later, Caroline Cane.”

I shut the door behind her and stand on the curb, watching the car until it disappears around the corner, turning on Eighth Avenue.

Then, I start toward the fish market, grinning like a fool as I wander the empty streets. Even the horrific smell of the dumpster behind the shop and the rats that dart over my feet on my way out of the alley can’t harsh my vibe. Neither can the fact that I’m heading home without my runaway cat.

Greg is a survivor. He’ll be okay.

And I think even Satan is happy that I’ve finally met her…the woman I didn’t think existed, the one who’s meant for me.

I can’t wait to see her again, to make love to her again, to hear her voice and her laugh and to hang on every word that slips from her beautiful lips. I’m smitten, so drunk on falling-in-love chemicals that for the first time in a decade, I go to bed without checking my email.

I’m already brushing my teeth when the text from Caroline— Home safe, thanks again for a night I’ll never forget. Let me know if there’s any sign of Greg— pops through to my phone.

Smiling, I text back— Will do, beautiful. Can’t wait to see you again. Sleep well— and then set my phone to Do Not Disturb.

I leave it charging in the living room, and head to bed.

I sleep hard and dream of Caroline, remaining blissfully unaware of the shit storm erupting in the wider world until the next morning, when I wake to five emails, two dozen texts, and a handful of panicked voicemails.