Sweet Little Lies Part 41

Next she checked on his siblings and found them asleep as well. Feeling like the mother of s.e.xtuplets, she tiptoed back out to the front and opened her laptop, planning to inventory the new boxes of supplies she'd received late the night before.

She was knee-deep in four different twenty-five-pound sacks of bird feed-she still couldn't believe how many people in San Francisco had birds-when someone knocked on the front gla.s.s door.

d.a.m.n. She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was only a quarter after eight but it went against the grain to turn away a paying customer so she straightened, swiped her hands on her thighs, and turned to the front.

A guy stood on her doorstep, mouth grim, expression dialed to Tall, Dark, and 'Tude-ridden, and unbelievably, her nipples stood up and took notice. This annoyed the c.r.a.p out of her because her brain and body weren't in agreement on the no-man thing.

But d.a.m.n, he was something, all gorgeous and broody and . . . she paused. There was something familiar about him. She headed to the door and froze as she got a closer look, her heart just about skidding to a stop as she realized . . . she did know him. "Keane Winters," she murmured. The only man on the planet who could make her feel good about her decision to give up men.

And in fact, if she'd only given them up sooner, say back on the day of the Sadie Hawkins dance in her soph.o.m.ore year of high school when he'd stood her up, she'd have saved herself a lot of heartache in the years since.

On the other side of the door, Keane shoved his dark sungla.s.ses to the top of his head, revealing dark chocolate eyes that she knew could melt when he was amused or aroused, or turn to ice when he was so inclined.

They were ice now. Catching her gaze, he lifted a cat carrier. A bright pink bedazzled carrier.

He had a cat. Her body wanted to soften at this knowledge because that meant on some level at least he had to be a good guy, right?

Luckily her brain clicked on, remembering everything, every little detail of that long-ago night. Like how she'd had to borrow a dress for the dance from a neighbor girl in her cla.s.s who'd gleefully lorded it over her, how she'd had to beg her foster mother to let her go, how she'd stolen a Top Ramen from the locked pantry and eaten it dry in the bathroom so she wouldn't have to buy both her dinner and his, as was custom for the "backwards" dance.

"We're closed," she said through the gla.s.s, knowing he'd be able to hear her just fine.

Not a word escaped his lips. He simply raised the cat carrier another inch, like he was G.o.d's gift.

And he had been. At least in high school.

Wishing she'd gotten some caffeine before dealing with this, she blew out a breath and stepped closer, her eyes apparently caught in some sort of spinning vortex because they couldn't be torn away from his as she unlocked and then opened the door. "Morning," she said, determined to be polite. Yep, he was just another customer . . .

But when his face showed no sign of recognition at all, she found something even more annoying than finding this man on her doorstep.

He didn't remember her.

"I'm closed until nine," she said in her most pleasant voice, although a little bit of f.u.c.k-you might have escaped.

"I've got to be at work by then," he said. "I needed to be there fifteen minutes ago. I want to board a cat for the day."

Keane had always been big and intimidating. It was what had made him such an effective jock. He'd ruled on the football field, the basketball court, and the baseball diamond. The perfect trifecta. The perfect all-around package.

Every girl in the entire school-and also a good amount of the teachers-had spent an indecent amount of time eyeballing that package.

But just as Willa had given up men, she'd even longer ago given up thinking about that time, inarguably the worst years of her life. While Keane had been off breaking records and winning hearts, she'd been drowning under the pressures of school and work and basic survival.

It wasn't his fault that the memories were horrific. Nor was it his fault that just looking at him brought them all back to her. But emotions weren't logical. "I'm sorry," she said, "but I'm all full up today."

A muscle in his jaw clenched. Probably he wasn't used to being turned down. "I'll pay double."

He had a voice like fine whiskey. Not that she ever drank fine whiskey. Even the cheap stuff was a treat. And maybe it was just her imagination, but she was having a hard time getting past the fact that he was both the same and yet had changed. He was still tall, of course, and built s.e.xy as h.e.l.l, d.a.m.n him. Broad shoulders, lean hips, biceps straining his T-shirt as he held up the cat carrier.

His T-shirt invited her to BITE ME.

She wasn't going to lie to herself, she kind of wanted to. Hard.

He wore faded ripped jeans on his long legs and scuffed work boots. His T-shirt only enhanced all those ripped muscles and every move he made exuded raw, s.e.xual power and energy-not that she was noticing. Nor was she taking in his big, hard, toned body and expression that said maybe he'd already had a bad day.

Well, he could join her club.

At the thought, she mentally smacked herself in the forehead. No! There would be no club joining. She'd set boundaries for herself. She was Switzerland. Neutral. No importing or exporting of anything including s.e.xy smoldering glances, hot body parts, nothing.

Period.

Especially not with Keane Winters, thank you very much. Which would make this easy because she didn't board animals for the general public anyway. Yes, she sometimes boarded as special favors for clients, a service she called "fur-babysitting" because her capacity here was too small for official boarding. If she agreed to "babysit" overnight as a favor, she had to take her boarders home with her, so she was extremely selective.

And handsome men who'd once been terribly mean boys who ditched painfully shy girls after she'd summoned up every ounce of her courage to ask them out to a dance did not fit her criteria. "I don't board-" she started, only to be interrupted by an unholy howl from inside the cat carrier.

It was automatic for her to reach for it, which Keane readily released with what looked to be comic-like relief.

Turning her back on him, Willa carried the carrier to the counter, incredibly aware of Keane following her through her shop, of the way he moved with an unusually easy grace for such a big guy.

The cat was continuously howling now so she quickly unzipped it, expecting the animal inside to be dying, given the level of unhappiness it had displayed.

The ear-splitting noise immediately stopped and a huge Siamese cat blinked vivid blue eyes owlishly up at her. She had a pale, creamy coat with a darker facial mask that matched her black ears, legs, and paws.

"Well, aren't you beautiful," Willa said and slipped her hands into the box.

The cat immediately allowed herself to be lifted, pressing her face into Willa's throat for a cuddle.

"Aw," Willa said softly, involuntarily. "It's all right now, I've got you. You just hated that box, isn't that right?"

"What the ever-loving h.e.l.l," Keane said, hands on hips now as he glared at the cat. "Are you kidding me?"

"What?"

He scowled. "My great-aunt dropped her off with me last night. Sally's sick and can't care for the cat right now, so I'm up."

Okay, so that was a pretty nice thing he was doing but she refused to let that soften her any further.

"The minute my aunt left," Keane said, "this thing went gonzo."

Willa looked down at the cat, who gazed back at her, quiet, serene, positively angelic. "What did she do?"

Keane snorted. "What didn't she do would be the better question. She hid under my bed and tore up my mattress. Then she helped herself to everything on the counters, knocking stuff to the floor, destroying my laptop and tablet and phone all in one fell swoop. And then she . . ." He trailed off and appeared to chomp on his back teeth.

"She . . .?" Willa prompted.

"Took a dump in my favorite running shoes."

Willa did her best not to laugh out loud and say "good girl."

"She's just upset to be away from home and probably missing your aunt. Cats are creatures of habit. They don't like change." She spoke to him without taking her gaze off the cat, not wanting to look into those eyes that didn't recognize her because she might be tempted to pick one of the tiaras displayed on her counter and hit him over the head with it. "Will your aunt be taking her back soon?"

"Tonight if there's a G.o.d," he said.

"What's her name?" she asked.

"Petunia, but I'm going with Pita. Pain in the a.s.s."

Willa stroked along the cat's back and Petunia pressed into her hand for more. Then she began to purr, the sound low and rumbly, her eyes slitted with pleasure as Willa continued to pet her.

Keane let out a breath as the purring filled the room. "Unbelievable. Tell me the truth, you're wearing catnip as perfume, right?" he asked.

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that the only reason you think she'd like me?"

"When it comes to that antichrist?" he asked. "Yes."

Okay then. Willa opened her mouth to end this little game and tell him that she was too busy today to board anything, but she looked into Petunia's deep-as-the-ocean blue eyes and felt her heart stir. c.r.a.p. "Fine," she heard herself say. "If you can provide proof of rabies and FVRCP vaccinations, I'll take her for today only."

"Thank you," he said with such genuine feeling, she glanced up at him.

A mistake.

His dark eyes had warmed considerably. "Do you always wear X-rated headbands?" he asked, gesturing to her head.

She'd completely forgotten she was wearing it. "It's not what you think," she informed him and resisted the urge to yank it off and throw it at him. "It's reindeer antlers."

"Whatever you say." He was smiling now, the rat fink b.a.s.t.a.r.d. At her expense, of course.

"My name's Keane," he said. "Keane Winters."

He waited, clearly expecting her to tell him her name but she hesitated. If she told him and he suddenly recognized her, he'd also remember exactly how pathetic she'd once been. And if he didn't recognize her then that meant she was even more forgettable than she'd thought and she would have to throw the p.e.n.i.s headband at him after all.

"And you are . . .?" he asked, rich voice filled with amus.e.m.e.nt at her pause.

You know what? What the h.e.l.l. "Willa Davis," she said and watched him very carefully.

But there was no change in his expression whatsoever. Forgettable then-and she grinded on her back teeth.

"I appreciate you doing this for me," he said.

Uh huh. She had to consciously unclench her teeth to speak. "I'm not doing it for you. I'm doing it for Petunia," she said, wanting to be crystal clear. "And you'll need to be back to pick her up before closing."

Five extremely long minutes later he'd filled out the required form, provided the information she needed after a quick call to his aunt, and-with one last amused look at her reindeer antlers, aka p.e.n.i.s-headband-walked out the door.

Willa watched him go.

"Are you looking at his a.s.s?" Rory asked, coming to stand next to her, casually sipping her coffee as she handed over Willa's.

Yes, she was looking at his a.s.s. To her eternal annoyance, it was a pretty great one too. How unfair was that? The least he could have done was get pudgy. "Absolutely not."

"Well then, you're missing out," Rory said.

"He's too old for you."

"He's twenty-nine. What," she said at Willa's raised brow. "So I looked at his driver's license and did the match, that's not a crime. And anyway, you're right, he's old."

"Hey. I'm only a few years behind him you know."

"Yeah well, you're old too," Rory said and flashed a grin.

The equivalent to a declaration of love.

"And anyway," the girl went on. "For the record, I was noticing his a.s.s for you."

"I gave up men, remember? It's who I am right now."

"Who you are right now is a woman imitating a chicken, but hey, if you want to let your past bad judgment calls rule your world and live like a nun, you'll get no argument from me."

"Gee," Willa said dryly. "Thanks."

"But I reserve the right to question your IQ. I hear you lose IQ points when you get old. Maybe you should start taking that Centrum Silver or something."

Willa threw the p.e.n.i.s headband at her but she, being a youngster and all, ducked in time.

FIND YOUR HEART'S DESIRE . . .

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By Jill Shalvis.

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