At that moment, Thor apparently decides he’s being ignored. He runs straight at Jesse’s leg, and before Jesse can get out of the way, Thor sinks his teeth in then tears back off across the living room.
“Goddamn it!” Jesse flings the toy to the floor. “What the fuck is the problem with this cat?”
My hands are still fisted on my hips, and I take a firm step toward him. I’ve got an intense urge to shake a finger in his face. “The problem here is you, not the cat. You haven’t made any accommodations at all for Thor. It’s no wonder he’s angry and acting out.”
“Is that what you call it?” Jesse makes an expansive gesture that encompasses his shredded couch and fucked-up carpet. “He’s destroying my house!”
I try to calm down. Getting up in Jesse’s face probably isn’t going to accomplish anything, although I have to say it’s pretty damn satisfying. Instead I take a quick breath and bring the volume down a little. “Cats need to scratch. It’s how they groom their nails, and it helps them relieve tension. Obviously, Thor has a lot of tension.”
This drags a disgusted snort from Jesse. I keep talking, not allowing him to break in. “You need to get him a scratching post. More than one, even. One in every room he might head into, ideally. They need to be tall so he can stretch all the way out while he’s scratching.” He starts to talk and I raise my voice, barreling on. “And you need to play with him a few times a day. He needs to know he hasn’t been abandoned.”
He frowns then and shoves a hand through his hair.
“Do you want to fix this problem or not?”
“I do, but—”
Again I break through his objections. He’s not going to get anywhere if he refuses to listen to me. “Show me how you spend time with the cat now. We can fine-tune what you’re already doing so you don’t have to add much brand-new routine to your day.”
His snorting laugh makes it clear that this, too, is going to be a pointless conversation. He leads me back down the hall to a different bedroom. The door’s closed.
Jesse gestures to me. “Come here and look at this door,” he says. The back of the door is covered in scratches where Thor has torn it up. Trying to get in, or trying to get attention, I’m sure.
“He does this every night when I go to bed,” he says. “I have to keep it shut and locked all night, because he can open doors.”
“Wow.”
“Thor hates me. Every time I come home, he surprise-attacks me. He’s dropped on my head from the stairs. He’s jumped straight up into my face from the floor. If he gets into my bedroom, he jumps on the bed and screams into my ear. I let him roam the house and all I get is shredded furniture. This room is the only place he can’t get into. I’m not safe in my own damn house.”
I stare at him. I can’t believe he’s serious. “You’ve got…a cat panic room?”
“I’ve got a room where I can sleep in peace.” He suddenly sounds tired.
I almost feel sorry for him, but then I remember poor Thor locked up in the other room, flinging himself against the door, desperate for attention, and I get angry again.
“Why the hell do you even have a cat?”
He shoves his hand through his hair again. When he answers the question, he doesn’t look me in the eye. “I have no choice. I had to take him.”
That makes no sense. “We can find him a better home. I’ll take him. I know a good no-kill shelter where they can hook him up with somebody who—”
“No. I’m not giving him up.”
It’s my turn to run a frustrated hand through my hair. I have no idea how to deal with this situation. Usually pet owners are either willing to do what they need to do for their animals or they’re willing to let someone else take care of them. I don’t understand Jesse’s deal, and he seems not to want to explain.
“Okay then. Fine. But if you’re not willing to do what you need to do to make Thor happy, then there’s no point in me being here. I didn’t want to take this on in the first place.” I start back toward the living room to grab my bag. “It’s obvious now that I was right.”
Even so, I pull out a business card and hand it to him. “If you change your mind and decide you’re willing to listen to me, give me a call. But right now I have other places to be. I’ve got to be at the comic-book shop at six.”
Too late, I realize what I just said. That was far more than I want Jesse to know about me.
Following me out to the living room, he laughs. “Comic-book shop? Seriously?”
I wheel on him, feeling my face go hot. It’s bad enough when he makes me angry, but this hits me where it hurts, and now I’m embarrassed. Still, I straighten and look him right in the eye. “Yes. It’s a comic-book meet-up. How is that funny?”
“It’s not,” he says, quickly sobering. “I think it’s cute.”
“Cute?” I’ve had this argument too many times. Comics are worthless. Why are you sitting around reading X-Men and Black Widow when you could be doing something useful with your life? The words all run through my head in Dad’s voice. “They have literary merit. They win major awards, even. Get studied in college literature courses.”
He shakes his head, waving me off like he knows I could go on and on about the merits of my favorite form of literature. Which of course I could. “I didn’t mean it like that, honest. I’m not judging you.”
Yeah, sure he’s not judging. I turn back toward the door—I’m out of here. But there’s a hand on my elbow. His grip isn’t forceful, but he turns me back around to face him.
“I’m sorry.” He sounds sincere. “I’m just having a hard time figuring you out.” He gestures toward my chest, and for a second I think he’s going to say something about my boobs. “You show up to give my cat therapy and you’re wearing jeans and a big baggy T-shirt with…” He struggles a moment. “That guy. With the claws.”
“Wolverine,” I clarify archly. How does anybody not recognize Wolverine at this point? He’s only been in a gazillion movies.
“Wolverine. Right.”
“And what’s wrong with my T-shirt?” I can’t figure out if he doesn’t like the shirt itself or is criticizing my choice of superhero.
“You’ve got a hot bod. There’s no need to drown it in clothes.”
“Oh, really?” I plant my hands on my hips again. The nerve of this guy, telling me what I should wear! At the same time, though, his comment about my hot body has me rattled. Why would he tell me that? He’s seen what I’m hiding under that big T-shirt—all the stretch marks and the weird floppy bits that won’t go away. “Screw you.”
“Damn, Maddy.” He seems flustered that I’m snapping right back at him. “I’m just saying I think you’re—”
“Give me a break.” I don’t want him to finish that sentence. I don’t need this guy telling me I’m hot, especially since I know he doesn’t mean it. Who the hell does this guy think he is? I can’t even look at him right now. I’ve been here before—guys setting me up so they can knock me down. I don’t like it.
While I’m avoiding eye contact, I notice a trophy on the mantelpiece above the fireplace—one of the few things Thor hasn’t tossed onto the floor during his reported rampages around the house. It’s a guy holding a football, poised to throw it.
“Stop with the flirting,” I say in a heated voice. “You don’t mean it, and I don’t appreciate it. I don’t give a damn if you’re some washed-up football hero or a public servant who fights fires. That doesn’t give you the right to mock me.”
I don’t know where that tirade is coming from, and I immediately regret it when something flashes in Jesse’s eyes. I struck a nerve in him, just like he struck a nerve in me. I know how bad that feels, so why am I doing it to him?
I back off, lifting a hand. “Look. I’m sorry. I’m being really unprofessional, and—”
His mouth twists up into a grin, but it looks forced and stiff. “It’s fine. I wasn’t being appropriate, either. Now get that hot, tight ass of yours out of my house or I’ll carry you out of here like I did the other day. Except this time over my shoulder, so you’ll damn well know I’m just-this-close to Neanderthal. Oh, and I wasn’t mocking you. I think you’re a piece of ass. Deal with it.”
My mouth is still hanging open, ready to finish the apology I started. But now all I can do is stare at him, thinking about him throwing me over his shoulder and carrying me out of my house like he’s dragging me back to his cave. At this exact moment, I don’t know whether I want to kill him or fuck him silly.
So I go for the smartest option, which is to spin on one heel and hightail it the hell out of his cat-beleaguered house.
I’ve got just enough time to change, get Christopher ready, and head for the comic-book shop. It’s rushed enough that I’m able to put the entire fiasco with Jesse out of my head. I’m looking forward to the meet-up. I’ve been hanging at this shop for a long time, and they’re good people. I feel at home here—appreciated.