J M Snyder Must Love Cats

Must Love Cats

By J.M. Snyder

Published by

JMS Books LLC

Visit

jms-books.com

for more information.

J.M. Snyder

ISBN 9781611522518

Cover Credits:

Judwick

Used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
Cover Design:

Written Ink Designs

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No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced

in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from
the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the
purposes of review.

This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains

substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which
may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your
files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and

incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination
and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to
actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

* * * *

Must Love Cats

By J.M. Snyder

Dale Thomason wasn’t much of a cat person. In fact, he

didn’t particularly care for animals of any kind.

Or people either, for that matter.
He lived alone in a small, one bedroom townhouse and

mostly kept to himself. He worked as a food critic for a handful of
local magazines and newspapers, which allowed him to eat out
often and have someone else pick up the tab without having to
actually bother with going on a date—no need for stilted
conversation or awkward pauses, no laughing at something
someone said that wasn’t all that funny, no expectation of putting
out at the end of the night. Sex consisted of his hand, a bottle of
lube, and a few old Bel Ami pornos that were beginning to skip in
his DVD player. But at least he didn’t have to kick anyone out of
his bed come morning.

He kept his own hours, and tended to stay up late sipping

wine and writing his reviews, only to sleep in the next morning
fending off his usual, impending hangover. So it wasn’t unusual
for the door of his apartment to squeal open at a quarter to
midnight on a chilly January evening as he chucked a bag of
trash onto his stoop. Dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a
padded denim jacket, with a pair of Tevo sandals on his feet, he
tugged the door shut behind him as he stepped outside.

The cold pierced his open jacket and cut through the thin

T-shirt he wore underneath. Tugging his hood up over his
disheveled hair, he ran a quick hand down his unshaven cheeks
and drew in a deep breath. The brisk night air chilled his lungs.
“Damn,” he muttered to no one in particular as he clapped his
hands together for warmth. Fortunately the Dumpster wasn’t too
far away. He hefted the trash bag in one hand and stepped off
the stoop.

He had barely made it to the end of his walkway when he

first saw the stray cat.

It was a large beast, bigger than a domestic cat had a

right to be, which made Dale think it wasn’t much of a stray after
all. One of his neighbors must own it and, instead of taking it
inside where it belonged, let it roam the apartment complex
freely. So that explained the dusty paw prints he sometimes
found on the hood of his Mazda RX-8. He should call the
management office about that.

The cat hunched at the fence separating the apartments

from a row of residential homes on the other side of the block.
Draped in shadow, the cat’s eyes reflected the security light
shining above Dale’s door, and it was the two pinpoints of bright
yellow staring at him he noticed first. Like Alice’s Cheshire cat,
the outline filled in once he realized what he was seeing—bulky
shoulders, ragged fur, the hint of more hidden in the darkness.

Dale made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat as

he neared the end of the walkway and the cat didn’t move. When
he was close enough, he called out, “Get.”

Those large, pale eyes didn’t even blink.
Pulling his jacket closed at the throat, Dale hunched into

its warmth and watched the feline from the corner of his vision as
he passed it by. It didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, but its
amber gaze followed his every step. “Stupid cat,” he mumbled,
switching the trash bag from one hand to the other. “Stay off my
fucking car, you hear?”

Though no one was around to hear him, he felt foolish

talking to a dumb animal. Fortunately the Dumpster was just
ahead, and in the overhead lights from the parking lot, he could
see one of the top lids had been thrown back, making it easy for
him to swing his bag into the receptacle. Good thing, too—it was
freezing out here, and his toes were going numb. He really
should put the Tevos away in the wintertime so he didn’t grab
them to run outside. Sure, he was just taking out the trash, but
he could have at least put on a pair of socks, no matter how ugly
that looked. Who would see him?

Once the trash was in the bin, he shoved both hands

deep into his pockets and hunched into himself as he hurried
back to his apartment. Head down, he didn’t bother looking at
the cat again, but in his mind, he was already on the phone

leaving a message for the management office. People with pets
should keep them inside, where they wouldn’t scuff up the
expensive paint job on his sports car…

Halfway up his walk, he stopped in mid-step and stared at

the large, fat, orange and white tabby cat now sitting on his
stoop. Blocking his door.

Fuck.
“Shoo,” he tried.
The cat blinked at him as if amused.
He tried again. “Get off, you. Get.”
No luck. The cat sank down on all fours, watching him, as

if it could hear the sudden pounding of his heart. Had he
mentioned he wasn’t a cat person? They set him on edge—they
were too fast, too stealthy, too unpredictable.

“Come on,” he pleaded, taking a step nearer.
The cat’s ears swiveled, but otherwise, it didn’t move. In

his sandals, he didn’t dare get too close. He could only imagine
how those sharp little claws would feel sinking into the exposed
skin on the top of his foot. Why hadn’t he stopped to slip on his
sneakers?

Another step, a third, then mercifully, the cat stretched its

tail in the air and jumped down off his stoop. Before it could
change its mind, Dale hurriedly crossed the few yards separating
him from his home. The door wasn’t locked—he twisted the
knob, pushed open the door, and felt the revolting press of a
small body against his lower leg as he stepped inside. Even as
he closed the door behind him, he knew the cat had snuck in.

Sure enough, it strode across his kitchen floor, tail in the

air like a question mark as it darted under the table.

“God damn it!” he swore. Snagging the door again, he

jerked it open and pointed at the cold night. “Out.”

The cat, safe under the table, sank to its haunches and

began to lick one of its front paws. Its eyes shut as a contented
purr filled the kitchen.

“Out!” Dale rattled the door knob and stamped his foot.

“Get out! This is my house. Out!”

It didn’t work.

Slamming the door shut, he snatched up his cell phone

from where it sat on his counter and pushed the SEND button
twice to redial the last number he’d called. The phone rang as he
glared at the cat. The damn thing refused to look at him. “You
fucker,” he spat.

In his ear, a woman’s bored voice drawled, “Same to you,

asshole.”

“Jill, God.” Relief flooded Dale at the sound of her voice.

Thank God she usually stayed up late—the tattoo parlor where
Jillian Murphy worked didn’t open until noon, so a phone call at
midnight wasn’t likely to wake her. “Get down here already. You
will not believe this.”

Faking a yawn, Jill asked, “Why is it the only booty calls I

get any more are from my gay BFF?”

Dale stared at the cat as if afraid it would attack, but it was

too busy washing its face now to pay him any attention. “Girl, you
know it ain’t like that.”

Jill’s throaty laugh filled his ear. “What, we aren’t BFF?”
“I don’t want your booty,” Dale replied. “At least, not the

way you wish. Now get it down here, pronto. I need your help.”

“Again,” Jill sighed. “What is it, another spider? I saved

your ass from the last one.”

Before he could reply, the phone went dead in his ear. He

tossed it onto the counter, sure she was on her way. Jill lived in
the townhouse three down from his, and sure enough, within
seconds he heard a door slam outside. Soon he picked up the
sound of slippers shuffling on the sidewalk, then a rapid knock
hammered on his kitchen door. As he reached for the knob, it
turned and the door opened, spilling Jill into the apartment.

Bleached curls tumbled atop her head, but her blonde

bangs were smoothed down across her forehead and held in
place with a small, silver barrette. Her heart-shaped face had a
freshly scrubbed look, but even without her usual Goth make-up,
she was a pretty girl. Her cheeks were pinked from the cold, her
lips damp with Chapstick, and the hoop she frequently wore in
her nose had been replaced with a tiny stud for the night. Black
liner still edged her eyes where she hadn’t quite managed to

remove it all. It gave her a wide-eyed, frightened appearance,
accented by the oversized bomber jacket in which she snuggled.

“Well?” she snapped, hugging herself to get warm. Below

the jacket, her legs were covered in gray tights, and she wore
black, Mary Jane-style slippers on her feet. “What’s so damn
important you had to drag me out of bed at this hour?”

“Like you were asleep,” Dale replied, but seeing her made

his heart stop its crazy patter. “Thank God you’re here.”

Darkly, she warned, “I could’ve been in the middle of

something. Or someone.”

Dale rolled his eyes. “As if. You would’ve texted me the

moment you knew you were getting laid. Don’t try telling me
otherwise.”

“Dale,” Jill warned. She patted a hand over the top of her

curls as if checking to make sure they were all in place. “What’s
this all about? Your DVD player cut out again in the middle of a
raunchy sex scene?”

In response, Dale pointed at the table. Or rather, under it.
Jill followed his finger and frowned. “What?”
He shook his hand, adamant. “Look.”
“I’m looking…” She ducked a little, frowning, but he knew

the moment she saw the cat because she squealed, a sound not
unlike the one his door had made when he opened it. “When did
you get a cat?”

Dale sighed heavily. “I didn’t.”
Jill knelt on the floor, already crawling under the table. In a

high, sing-song voice, she cooed, “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.” Then, in
her normal, crass tone, she told Dale, “I didn’t think you liked them.”

“I don’t.” Dale stepped back against the door—if the feline

decided to bolt, he wanted to be as far away from it as possible.
“It came in when I took out the trash.”

“You should’ve closed the door,” Jill said.
Dale growled but didn’t trust himself to answer. When he

did speak, he simply asked, “Can you take it back outside?”

Jill had cats, two older felines she doted on as if they were

children. They were the reason Dale rarely visited her
apartment—between the stench of their fishy, wet food and the

powdery smell of their litter box, he thought they stunk up the
place. Not to mention the way they sat on the coffee table or the
counter top and stared at him. Who let animals climb onto
surfaces where people ate? “Your food goes there,” he tried
telling her once as she cuddled with one of her cats as it rested
on the kitchen table. “He’s sitting where you eat.”

“I eat around him,” she had replied.
“What about his hair?” Dale asked. “It gets in your food.”
But Jill scoffed. “It can’t kill you.”
Under his breath, Dale replied, “It can if you choke on it.”
This evening, though, Dale thanked the Lord Jill had the

makings of a crazy cat lady in her, because she was on her
knees under the table petting that damn beast and it lapped up
her attentions. “Whose kitty are you?” she asked in babbling
baby-talk. “You’re a good kitty, aren’t you? Such a good kitty.
What are you doing visiting this mean drama queen? Why’d you
bother coming in here?”

“Are you waiting for an answer?” Dale asked. “Or can you

just take it outside already?”

“See?” she asked the cat as she stroked its fur. “He’s

such a dickhead, that’s why he lives all by himself. You don’t
want to stay in here with him.”

Dale let out a loud, aggravated sigh. “Jill.”
Switching from that baby voice to her usual tone, she

asked, “Did you know orange isn’t a naturally occurring color in
cats? Humans bred it into them thousands of years ago. If you
think about it—”

“I don’t want to,” Dale warned. “Just take it outside.”
With a dirty look over her shoulder, she replied, “I should

leave it here just to spite you, but I wouldn’t want to traumatize
the poor cat.”

“No, no,” Dale agreed. “Think of the cat.”
Jill sat back and wrapped her arms around the feline,

lifting it into her lap. “Ugh, you’re a big boy. Jeez, how much do
you weigh? Who’s been feeding you?”

Dale grimaced as he watched her wrestle to stand with

the cat. “All the cans of cat food you throw away, it probably eats

right out of the Dumpster.”

“He belongs to someone,” she said as she pushed up off

the floor. The purring stopped as she stood, the cat in her arms.
“A fat cat like this? Someone cares for it.”

“Not me. Toss it out.” To emphasize his point, Dale

opened the door. “No offense, but I’m slamming this shut the
moment you’re outside. I don’t want to take the chance of it
coming back in again.”

Jill leaned toward him and grinned when Dale backed

away from the cat she held. “No offense, but you’re a wuss.
Who’s afraid of cats?”

“I’m not afraid,” he said, unconvincingly. “I just don’t like

them.”

“Then I can’t imagine why this one likes you.” Jill pressed

her face against the fur at the cat’s neck and smiled at Dale.

Maybe it was the way she held the feline, but it, too,

seemed to be smiling at him. Those large golden eyes stared at
him, unblinking, as if sizing him up. Looking for a good place to
sink those fangs into my skin, Dale thought with a shudder.
Waving one hand at the door, he told Jill, “Go.”

“Gone,” she said. “And you’re welcome.”
He waited until the door was shut against both her and the

cat before answering. In the now empty apartment, he breathed
a sigh of relief. “Thanks.”

* * * *

Dale ran into Jill early the next morning on his way to the

mailbox, which was centrally located in the parking lot shared by
two rows of townhouses. Still in his sweats, he’d just finished a
scathing write-up of the new Thai restaurant in Carytown and
thought he might see her if he ducked out to check the mail after
sending off the review via e-mail to his editor. She had to be to
work by noon but was frequently late—the clock on Dale’s
computer said ten till when he checked it before ducking outside.
So it was no surprise he saw her dashing for her black Honda
Civic as he stood at the mailbox.

The noise he made opening his mailbox caused her to

glance his way. “Dale!” she called, waving as if a crowd of
people separated them and she wanted to get his attention.
“Hey! I’m running late.”

“What else is new?” Dale riffled through the mail in his

box—all ads today, no checks, damn it—then slammed the small
door shut. Wrenching his key from the lock, he jammed both
hands in the pockets of his jacket and sauntered across the
parking lot to her car. “What’d you do with that cat last night?”

Jill shrugged. “It ran off. You’re such a queen, you know

that? Why you couldn’t chase it out—” Cutting herself off in mid-
sentence, she squealed and turned toward him with a huge grin
on her face. Her eyes seemed to eclipse her face. “Guess. What.”

The sudden change in her demeanor put Dale on guard. “I

can’t imagine.”

She clutched his arm. “I have a date. Tonight!”
Dale felt a stab of jealousy, not because he was

interested in her—God, no—but because he himself wasn’t with
anyone at the moment. His last boyfriend had been a lukewarm
relationship neither of them had been very interested in for long.
This evening Dale had plans to take in the new downtown
restaurant Xtra’s, which claimed to be a high-end dining
experience, and he’d been toying with the idea of inviting Jill
along for the company. Hey, it was a free meal, right? It was
more fun mocking the food and the wait staff with someone else.

But no, she had a… “A what?” he asked, incredulous.

When had Jill gotten a life?

Rolling her eyes, she gave him a playful shove and

opened her car door to chuck her purse onto the passenger seat.
“You know, a date. Where someone takes you out and pays for
your food and maybe takes you to a movie? Then you show your
appreciation by putting out for him in the back seat of the car. A
date.”

“You tramp,” Dale teased. “You fuck on the first date?”
With an arched look, she countered, “And you don’t?”
“I don’t know.” Dale shrugged, hoping he sounded aloof. “I

haven’t had one in so long. Who’s the lucky guy or girl,

whichever the case may be?”

“Guy,” Jill confirmed. She leaned back against the side of

her car, leaving the door wide open. “I told you about him. The
one who’s been coming in for the past few weeks to have the
sleeve tat done? We’re going Cuban. I hope he has a big dick.
Who is that?”

Dale turned at her nod and suddenly forgot how to

breathe. In, out, he reminded himself, but his lungs refused to fill
and his heart stopped in his chest. Even his head felt too damn
light, faint, as if he could swoon any moment. Jill was right—who
was that?

The guy came out from the townhouse opposite Dale’s.

For a long moment, he seemed to stand in the open doorway like
a model striking a pose. Tall, lithe, he wore a tight T-shirt that
showed off muscled arms and a buff chest tapering to a thin
waist. He wasn’t built, exactly, but he must’ve had more than a
passing acquaintance with the gym, and it showed. His body was
toned, firm—the word ripe came to Dale’s mind and brought
along with it all sorts of sordid, decadent thoughts he wanted to
chase down and savor. The man’s shirt was tucked into a pair of
thin, gray workout pants—nothing like Dale’s baggy sweats.
These clung to the guy’s butt and thighs and crotch,
accentuating every hard plain, every contour, from the bulge at
his groin to his sweet, round ass. Sweet Jesus.

It wasn’t until he moved and the angle of the light

changed, hiding his assets, that Dale even bothered to raise his
gaze higher. The stranger had a pretty face, maybe a bit sharper
than Dale would have liked, and from this distance, his eyes
were so pale, they didn’t seem real. His skin was so light, it
looked almost pink, but his arms were darker than his face.
Freckles, maybe, Dale thought, noticing the wild mane of
strawberry-blond hair the guy shook out of his eyes. To Jill, Dale
admitted, “I’ve never had a redhead before.”

Jill laughed. “I wonder how far down the ginger goes.”
Dale threw her a questioning look. “All the way, wouldn’t

you think?”

“He’s natural, that’s for sure.” She gave the stranger an

assessing look—both she and Dale stared as the man crossed
the parking lot to the mailboxes. “But I dated a guy in high school
with a shock of bright red curls and you know what? Everything
was brown down below. No fire crotch. I was disappointed.”

“He probably was, too,” Dale told her, “thinking he was

getting a blonde.”

Jill nudged his foot with hers. “It was black then, thank

you. And I get Brazilians, if you want to know.”

Dale grimaced. “I really don’t.”
Together they watched the guy retrieve his mail, and

when he turned to head back to his townhouse, Dale actually
whimpered at the sight of those high, firm buttocks flexing in his
pants. “Mommy, I want one.”

“So go say hi.” Jill gave his arm a shove, but Dale

shrugged her off. “He must’ve just moved in. Go introduce
yourself, find out his name. Ask if he likes cats.”

Dale shot her a withering look. “Aren’t you late for work?”
“I’m going,” she told him, but she didn’t move—her gaze

was glued to that sexy backside.

“Promises, promises.” Dale snapped his fingers in front of

her face. “What happened to your tattooed date tonight?”

In defeat, Jill slipped behind the wheel of her car. “No

harm in looking. Why don’t you go over and talk to him?”

“I’m not desperate,” Dale snipped.
Jill laughed. “It’s not desperate to go after what you want.”

* * * *

After Jill was gone, Dale stood on the sidewalk a moment

and stared at the closed door behind which the stranger had
disappeared. How hard would it be to cross the parking lot,
knock on the door, and introduce himself? Maybe invite the
fellow to Xtra’s for dinner? Did it count as a date if the magazine
picked up the tab?

But a glance down at his jacket and sweats changed his

mind. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, which he really
had done not too long ago. If he was going to embarrass himself,

at least he wanted to look hot when he did.

Besides, he might be barking up the wrong tree

altogether. He’d only seen the guy, and while his gaydar may be
good, it wasn’t superhuman. Nothing about the stranger gave off
a gay vibe to Dale. True, the guy had only checked his mail, but
Dale wanted something more to go on than his own lust before
he chased after someone. He wanted—needed—a man
interested in him first.

In the end, he promised himself he’d speak to the man if

they ever met up again and left things at that. As he’d told Jill, he
wasn’t desperate.

On his stoop, Dale paused long enough to peer behind the

bushes against the side of his building, making sure the cat from
the day before wasn’t lying in wait for him. With the coast clear, he
hurried inside and shut the door behind him, not eager for a
repeat visit. He had another review to write, an article on delis in
Richmond due in a few days, and needed a shower before he
headed out to eat. With his new neighbor’s sexy physique firmly
entrenched in his mind, he decided to pass by the computer and
head upstairs to get that shower out of the way first.

In the bathroom, Dale turned on the spigot in the tub all

the way to get the water good and hot. He liked a scorching
shower, but unfortunately this late in the day, most of the hot
water had been used by the 9-to-5 crowd. He would have to let
the faucet run for a few minutes if he hoped for any heat
whatsoever. While he waited, he stared at himself critically in the
mirror above the sink.

At thirty-one, he liked to think he’d hit his prime. He spent

a lot of money on the product he used to give his dark, close-
cropped hair that flyaway bed-head look, and he went to the
salon monthly to have his eyebrows waxed, even though it hurt
like a bitch. The day’s growth on his cheeks and chin would be
shaved off before he went out this evening, but he could rock the
five o’clock shadow if he had to. His quirky, one-cornered grin
usually gave him a mischievous appearance, but when he hadn’t
shaved, he looked downright devilish.

“You handsome fucker,” he murmured.

The man in the mirror gave him a salacious wink.
Stripping out of the clothes he’d slept in, Dale turned on

the showerhead and let it run another second or two before
stepping behind the curtain and into the tub. The hot spray hit
the back of his head full force, the water gloriously drumming his
shoulders and back before trickling down his hips and legs. “Ah,
yes,” he sighed, leaning his head back to catch the spray on his
forehead and face. He rubbed at his eyes to get the water out of
them, then dug long furrows in his cheeks as he gave into the
heat pounding around him. Just standing there beneath the hot
flow energized him. Knocking on his neighbor’s door to ask the
guy out for dinner suddenly didn’t seem so far-fetched.

Thinking of the sexy stranger drew Dale’s hands down his

chest. He rubbed over the tender nipples already pert from the
hot spray and gasped at the electric sensation that shot down his
spine to stiffen his dick. Opening his mouth under the shower’s
downpour, Dale tweaked his nipples, hard, and sputtered
beneath the water’s flow. Yes.

His hands moved lower, down his thin chest, over his flat

belly, to the trim patch of pubic hair between his legs. One hand
cupped his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze, while the other
grasped the heft of his cock, encircled it, then followed the erect
length from base to tip. He closed his eyes, picturing his
neighbor, and in his mind he stripped away the T-shirt, the gym
pants, the jockstrap he imagined was worn underneath.

How much of that pale skin was covered by the freckles

tanning his arms? Did they dot the landscape of that chiseled
chest, or was the hidden flesh pink and new, unblemished?
Virginal, Dale thought, kneading his dick and balls. How far down
did that ginger hair grow? Did it cover the man’s body like a fine
fur, so light it seemed invisible until one was right up on it? Were
the curls at his crotch brighter, fiery? Did they darken when
licked down, only to lighten and fluff as they dried?

Dale wanted to know. God, yes, he wanted to find out.
A bottle of body wash sat on the shelf formed where the

tub met the wall. Dale reached for it blindly, squirted a healthy
dollop of the liquid soap into his palm, and slathered it onto his

thick cock. He massaged it into his balls, rubbed it into his kinked
pubic hair, then stroked his shaft, his hand gliding easily along
the slick length. His buttocks clenched as he thrust into his palm
and he tugged on his nut sac each time his hand slid over the tip
of his cock. He thought of his neighbor, of lying the man down on
his bed, of that pale skin and red hair against his white satin
sheets. He gasped as he fondled himself, playing out a scene in
his mind where he climbed over the man to claim a kiss. Dale
could almost feel the fluttering heartbeat just under the skin
along the man’s neck, could taste his flesh, could visualize all too
well how those thick thighs would part as Dale guided his
throbbing cock between them.

Just as he was about to come, he released his balls and

reached behind him to poke one wet finger between his ass
cheeks. The sting of soap made him gasp with lust, “Yes, yes.”
His cries rang off the tiled walls as he finger-fucked himself, hips
thrusting his cock into his hand again and again until his orgasm
shot through him. Stringy cum mingled with the sudsy lather
swirling at his feet. He clenched his sphincter around his finger
and jerked out the last of his release, then smeared his lower
belly with his juices as he leaned back into the hot water spray.

He had needed that.
By the time he turned off the shower, he’d made up his

mind. He would knock on that closed door after all. The next time
he saw Jill, he would be able to tell her about his own date.

* * * *

When checking out a new restaurant, Dale didn’t like to

arrive too early. Sure, some people ate dinner between five and
six, but those who went out to eat at that hour usually did so to
avoid the crowds. Richmond’s food scene really didn’t get
underway until seven P.M., even on weeknights. Dale’s reviews
were comprehensive—he didn’t just talk about the food and wine,
but also the service, the atmosphere, and the ambiance, as well.
He wanted to experience a place in full swing, where he was just
one table among many, instead of having the place to himself and

the wait staff’s undivided attention. The average reader would
want to know what to expect when eating out, and Dale’s reviews
were usually pretty blunt and to the point. He wasn’t called the
Simon Cowell of River City Magazine for nothing.

He didn’t like to draw attention to himself when visiting a

restaurant. If the staff knew they had a food critic in the house,
they were more likely to go out of their way to make his evening
enjoyable. Dale didn’t want that. He wanted rude waitresses,
cold food, sour wine. He wanted to hate a place, if he were
honest. Any good reviews he gave usually came grudgingly.

For his anticipated evening out, he chose dark, slim-cut

jeans that hugged his legs like a second skin and a thick, gray,
slightly oversized sweater. He opted for a black button-down coat
and black calf-high boots to complete the look. At the last minute
he added a red woolen scarf for a splash of color. One final
glance in the mirror to ensure his hair was stylistically tousled, and
he locked the door behind him as he left his townhouse.

He walked past his Mazda and strode purposefully across

the parking lot. His heart hammered in his chest—when was the
last time he’d done this? Just asked a complete stranger out to
dinner? Never, that was when. Dale had never had to make the
first move.

Maybe that’s why I’m still single.
With a shake of his head, he pushed that thought aside.

His standards were too high, that was his problem. He never
managed to find just the right combination of looks and brains he
wanted so badly. What could he say? He was the perfect catch,
he knew. No one really deserved him.

Then why bother with this guy at all? he asked himself.
Two reasons—he wanted to rub it in Jill’s face, for

starters. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t get lonely
sometimes. Dale never lied, not in his reviews, and not to
himself. He wanted someone in his bed, was that so bad? Jill
wasn’t the only one who put out on the first date.

The lights in the parking lot had already flickered on—it

was barely quarter after seven and the sky was already pitch
dark. He was getting tired of winter already. Night fell too damn

early this time of the year for his tastes.

When his feet hit the sidewalk opposite his building, he

paused in mid-step to wonder if he should’ve given the guy a
head’s up before heading over. How would he like it if someone
he didn’t know knocked on his door and said, “Hey, I’m going out
to dinner. Want to come?” Chances were Dale would sneer at
whoever it was and slam the door in their face. Why should he
expect anything different?

He caught sight of himself in the windshield of a car he

passed and smirked. Because, hello? Look at me. I’m hot.

As if that settled it, he hurried up the walk to the stranger’s

door. Stepping up onto the stoop, he took a deep breath to calm
his fluttering pulse and rapped loudly on the door before he could
change his mind.

No response.
“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. Clenching his

hand into a tight fist, he knocked again, louder this time, then
shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat to wait.

Again, nothing.
Dale glanced around the parking lot behind him. A few

cars were nearby—any one of them might belong to the guy
inside. If he were home. He could’ve left, maybe for an already
scheduled dinner date, Dale didn’t know. Hell, he didn’t even
know the guy’s name, let alone his social calendar. So Dale had
gotten all spiffed up for nothing.

Fuck.
Another look around to ensure no one was watching—no

one he could see, at any rate—and Dale dropped into a squat to
raise the brass flap covering the door’s mail slot. The rows of
townhouses all faced the same direction, which meant the living
rooms in these apartments afforded a view of the same parking
lot Dale saw through his kitchen window. Through the mail slot,
the interior of the apartment was draped in shadow, the only light
coming from above the stove in the other room. The diffused
lighting illuminated the kitchen, but did little to disperse the
darkness in the living room. Dale could make out moving boxes,
what might be a couch along one wall, and little else. The guy

was obviously out.

Suddenly something rubbed between Dale’s legs.
Startled, Dale cried out and stumbled away from the door.

The brass flap shut with a loud clang! Dale pinwheeled his arms,
trying to find his balance, but his heel hit the step behind him
before he managed to stand and he fell backwards, landing hard
on his ass on the sidewalk. He could still feel the phantom press
of something solid between his inner thighs, an intimate touch he
couldn’t shake. “What the fuck?”

A ragged purring filled the air, then the leaves on the

bushes rattled as that damn orange tabby from the night before
sauntered out onto the sidewalk. “You again?” Dale snarled.

In response, the cat butted its head against Dale’s leg—so

that’s what he had felt—then rubbed its body against him with a
familiar air Dale didn’t care for in the least. He jerked his leg, trying
to shove the cat away, but it just darted out of reach and then
came back again, the sound of its purr like an outboard motor.

“Get off,” he cursed, backing away from the cat before

pushing himself up off the sidewalk. He dusted off his pants and
coat as he eyed the feline warily. “Go on, get out of here.”

Instead of listening, the cat sank to its haunches and

stared up at Dale expectantly.

He shooed at it but it didn’t move. Half-turning, he kicked

out toward it and almost lost his balance a second time.
“Goddamn cat,” he muttered. “Follow me and see if I don’t run
you over.”

It sounded tempting, and by the time Dale had returned

across the parking lot to his car, he grinned at the thought of
revving the engine to scare the cat away. But as he opened the
driver’s side door, he glanced back and saw the cat where he
had left it, watching him in that same unnerving way it had the
previous evening. He’d forgotten to call the management office
about that, but he’d be sure to remember now.

He sank behind the wheel of his car and adjusted the

rearview mirror until he saw the cat in it. Watching him still. With
something like foreboding, Dale started his car and peeled out of
the parking lot. After the evening he was having, he seriously

doubted he’d be able to give Xtra’s a good review, no matter how
delicious the food might be.

At least his neighbor hadn’t been home. Yes, Dale

would’ve liked company, but thank God Mr. Red Hot hadn’t seen
the cat knock him on his ass. Or Jill, for that matter. Dale would
have never lived it down.

* * * *

His evening only went downhill from there. After an

ungodly wait time at the restaurant, Dale finally conceded to a
seat at the bar, where he ordered a bottle of wine and drank half
of it before his appetizer even arrived. Midway through the
entree course, he flagged down the bartender for a second
bottle, and could already see the headline for his review in his
mind. “Xtra’s: Xceptionally Bad.” Or maybe, “Xtra’s Doesn’t
Xceed Xpectations.”

He’d definitely have to play up on the X-factor, then

giggled into his glass at the alliteration. “X-factor,” he muttered,
avoiding the bartender’s sharp gaze, which suggested perhaps
he’d had enough to drink. Dale agreed, but that didn’t stop him
from finishing off the second bottle of wine with his dessert.

Somehow, incredibly, he made it home alive. Perhaps

driving under the speed limit did it—despite his sporty car, Dale
barely took his foot off the brake the whole way home. He was
wasted, he knew it, and if he got stopped, he’d end up spending
the night in jail instead of in his own bed. While the magazine
was lenient about picking up his bar tabs, he didn’t think the
managing editor would appreciate posting bail.

By the time he reached his parking lot, it was quarter to

midnight. He hadn’t realized it was so late. He pulled the key
from his ignition, cutting off the car, then jammed his foot on the
brake when the vehicle started to roll backwards. With a hard
yank, he tugged up the parking brake. “And stay there,” he
growled, opening the car door. He tried to step out and stumbled
to the ground.

“Fuck.”

On his hands and knees, Dale pushed himself up off the

cold pavement. He was definitely batting zero tonight. When he
slammed the car door shut behind him, it didn’t quite latch, so he
kicked at it once, twice, all the while thumbing the lock button on
his key fob. After what seemed like hours, the damn horn finally
beeped, telling him the car was secure. Just to test it, he tugged
on the door handle.

And promptly set off the car alarm.
“God damn it the hell!” Blindly he hit all the buttons on his

key fob—he didn’t know what combination did it, but a few
seconds later, the alarm cut off as abruptly as it had begun. Dale
glanced around to make sure no one had seen him—who
bothered responding to an activated car alarm, anyway? More
importantly, was that new guy watching? Dale would never get a
date if he kept this up.

A glance at the neighbor’s stoop made Dale pause.

Hunched in front of the door was that orange cat. Did it maybe
belong to the guy? Dale didn’t know, but it seemed to have taken
an unhealthy interest in him for some reason. Even now, the
feline stared across the parking lot at Dale, watching. It was
spooky, really. Worse, the moment Dale took a step back, the
cat launched itself off the stoop and trotted over to join him.

Fuck.
Quickly Dale hurried to his apartment, fumbling with his

keys. In his inebriated state, his feet couldn’t seem to stay on the
sidewalk, and what grass remained this late in the season
crunched icily under his shoes. At his stoop, he dropped the
keys, and had to bend down to retrieve them. As he did so, he
felt something cold and furry rub against his hand—the cat
butted its head against him, its purr loud in the quiet night.

Dale flicked his hand to push the cat away. “Scat.”
The cat sat down patiently as Dale stood. He tried to kick

at it, but the alcohol rushing through his bloodstream made him
unsteady on his feet—he simply managed to stagger back a few
steps and was lucky he didn’t fall into the bushes. He gripped the
handrail on his stoop and used it to pull himself toward the door
to his apartment. His head swam, his vision blurred, and for one

nauseating moment, he thought he was going to be sick.

He took a few deep breaths to steady himself and the

feeling passed. Dale struggled to get the key in the lock, then
realized he was using his mailbox key and tried again. Inside, the
apartment was dark—he flicked on the light switch and, as bright
white light filled the kitchen, searing his retinas and stabbing his
brain, he instantly regretted it. He was, officially, drunk off his ass.

Something brushed past him as he turned to shut the door.
“Fuck!” he cried again, turning to find the cat once more

housed under his kitchen table. He reached for his phone to call
Jill before remembering that, unlike him, she’d been able to land
a date for the evening. If he interrupted her, he’d never hear the
end of it. Literally—she’d go into graphic detail about just how far
she and her lover had been when he called. And the last thing he
needed was to hear her talk about sex. Attractive though she
was, he’d need a gallon of mind bleach to blot out that image.

“Fine,” he griped. Slamming the door, he leveled his finger

at the cat and hated the way the digit bobbed drunkenly. “This is
your prison tonight, pussy. I’m going upstairs, and I’m gonna fall
out, so you can meow and scratch at the door all you want but I
won’t hear a thing. I’ll let you out in the morning, if you’re lucky.”

Turning his back to the cat, he stumbled up the stairs.

Halfway up, he stopped to add, “Pee on the floor and I’ll kill you.”

The cat’s choppy purr followed him to the upstairs landing,

but once he reached his bedroom, he could no longer hear it. At
the foot of his bed, he kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of
his coat. Dropping it to the ground, he threw himself onto the
mattress and, true to his word, passed out.

* * * *

At some ungodly hour in the morning, Dale felt someone

unbuckle his belt. He muttered groggily and shoved at the hands
on his waist. His head throbbed, his mouth tasted like it was
stuffed with cotton balls, and he thought he might throw up. With
considerable effort, he rolled onto his side and coughed into the
duvet covering his bed. If he got sick, he didn’t want to drown in

his own vomit. “God,” he muttered, coughing again. Just how
much had he had to drink the night before?

Strong, insistent hands tugged at his jeans. Blearily, Dale

opened one eye and let it roll up as far as it could, trying to see
who was in the room with him. As far as he remembered, he’d
gone to bed alone. All he could make out was the faint shape in
the corner of his vision, so he moved his head and looked again,
with both eyes this time.

The figure blurred when he blinked, a blend of pale colors

that seemed to coalesce like a small sun, burning brightly
against the shadows in Dale’s bedroom. He blinked again,
rubbed one hand over his eyes, and waited as the figure
solidified into a man standing at the foot of his bed.

Naked. A naked man, here, in his bedroom. Unbuckling

his belt.

What the fuck?
Dale looked up—naked and handsome—but before he

could recognize the stranger, his gaze dropped to the tuft of
kinked ginger hair above a long, thick cock. Definitely naked.
God, he wished he could remember why.

“Who…” he started, but another fit of coughing interrupted

him. Every time he hacked, his head threatened to burst. He
grasped his temples with both hands as if to keep it from
exploding. “God! What. The. Fuck. Kill me now.”

The stranger gave a warm chuckle. When the man spoke,

his voice drizzled like honey onto Dale’s brain. “A bit too much to
drink last night?” he asked. “You were pretty wasted when you
came in.”

Dale tried again. “Who are you?” Before the stranger

could answer, he asked, “Why are you naked? And why am I not
already? Did I miss something?” He sure as hell hoped not.

As his pants were pulled down, cool air caressed his legs,

making the fine hairs on his thighs fluff up. With sure hands, the
man held Dale’s legs one at a time as he tugged off the tight
jeans, then plucked off the dark socks from Dale’s feet. Then he
looked at Dale, finally, a smile curving his full lips, and what Dale
saw made him jerk back in surprise.

Or rather, who he saw. The guy undressing him was the

same sexy new neighbor he’d tried to ask out to dinner the night
before.

But he wasn’t home, Dale reminded himself. I knocked

and no one answered. Then that stupid cat tripped me up and I
fell on my ass. He didn’t think he’d hit his head. So what possible
explanation could there be for why the same guy was here, now,
naked of all things, undressing Dale in the silence of his
bedroom the next morning?

“I’m still asleep,” Dale muttered. That was it—had to be.

This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be. He was still out like a light,
snoring off those two bottles of wine, his horny and inebriated
mind conjuring up this erotic fantasy.

Though, to be honest, the fact the guy was nude was

about the extent of the eroticism so far. Perhaps it wasn’t a
fantasy at all. Perhaps this was a nightmare, his mind’s sordid
way of torturing him for not managing to land a date.

Either way, it wasn’t real. Relieved, Dale fell back to the

mattress and shut his eyes. If the guy wasn’t in his bed, then
maybe his head didn’t hurt so damn much and his stomach didn’t
feel as if it were turned inside out. Maybe he’d get another two,
three hours worth of sleep and, when he really did wake up,
maybe he’d feel better than he did right now. Lord knew he
couldn’t possibly feel much worse.

Warm hands rubbed up his legs, working the muscles

back to life. Of all the dreams he’d ever had, Dale admitted this
one was the most realistic. He could actually feel those fingers
massaging his flesh, and his slumbering body slowly responded
to the man’s touch. As the guy moved up Dale’s legs, over his
knees, onto his thighs, a stirring in Dale’s groin promised the
dream might wind up erotic after all. He might be asleep, but his
dick woke at the gentle ministrations, stiffening as those large
hands inched closer to his crotch.

Instead of covering the bulge in Dale’s briefs, though, the

man gripped the waistband and peeled the underwear away. The
briefs joined the rest of Dale’s clothing on the floor and,
unfettered, Dale’s dick stood at attention, the bulbous tip bobbing

heavily before him. Despite his headache, he wrapped his
fingers around his hard shaft, his palm pressed against his balls,
and squeezed.

There was nothing dreamlike about the lust coiling

through his body, spiraling from his groin up his spine. A guttural
moan escaped his lips. He’d had vivid wet dreams before, but
this was shaping up to be one to remember.

With slow, languid movements, the stranger stretched

before Dale, pale muscles rippling in the morning sunlight. Those
strong arms spread out as the stranger knelt on the foot of the
bed and, like a lazy cat in a beam of sunshine, eased himself
down alongside Dale. Propping his head up on one hand, the
stranger lay beside him, a Cheshire grin on his handsome face.
The light from the window behind him cast his wild mane in gold,
and it shown around his head like a halo.

Dale gulped with sudden lust. Definitely a dream. No one

looked this good up close…at least, no one who’d ever shared
his bed.

“Hey,” the stranger breathed. His free hand brushed back

the hair from Dale’s sweaty brow, then traced the curve of Dale’s
jaw, down his neck, onto his chest. He unbuttoned Dale’s shirt as
he went, spreading the material apart to allow the cool air to kiss
Dale’s fevered flesh. Then he moved lower, over Dale’s stomach,
toward his crotch. “Thanks for letting me stay the night.”

Dale’s throat clicked as he swallowed, hard. “I don’t

remember inviting you in.”

A faint smile flickered over thin lips. “It gets so cold out

this time of the year, and I’m not quite comfortable with the place
yet to leave the door unlocked until morning.”

Though he had no idea what the man was talking about,

Dale nodded in agreement. “You can stay over any time you
want.” The man’s hand had reached his waist now, and Dale’s
next words were dissolved a gasp as the stranger’s fingers
closed over the swollen tip of his cock. “As long as you keep
doing that, you can come in every night, my God.”

It’d been too long between lovers, Dale had to admit. The

touch of another’s hand, the warmth of his breath, the way his

hands deftly plucked Dale’s own from the hard cock between
them—Dale wanted this, needed it, and if his head wasn’t
throbbing like an infected tooth, he would have pushed for more.
“Please,” he sighed, his hands dropping away as the stranger
encircled his dick with one sure hand. “Oh, yes, please, God.”

One of Dale’s hands fisted in the bed sheets; the other

dropped between the two men and brushed against the stranger’s
thick erection. Without thinking, Dale grasped at it, closing his
fingers around the stiff length, which earned him a pleased sigh
from his bedmate. The angle was all wrong to do anything more
than strum along the heavily veined cock, but if Dale were honest,
he wasn’t in any shape to do much, anyway. What little
concentration he could harness shattered when the stranger’s
forefinger and thumb pinched the head of his dick, causing him to
cry out soundlessly as his body arched up off the bed.

“Like that?” the stranger purred.
Dale nodded, numb. His body was awash in

contradictions—his head and balls and cock all ached but his
stomach fluttered, whether with nervous anticipation or nausea
brought on by too much drink, he didn’t know. Dale clutched at
the stranger’s dick as the man repositioned himself—now he lay
across Dale’s stomach, his hair ticklish along flushed skin. Dale’s
arm was draped awkwardly over the stranger’s hip as he held
onto the thick dick, not quite ready to let go. “Hey,” Dale said,
tugging gently. The man faced away from him as if giving him the
cold shoulder, though Dale felt the strong grip still massaging his
cock. Running his free hand through the man’s tangled hair, Dale
murmured, “Turn around, sexy. Let me see…oh, sweet Jesus,
yes!”

A hot mouth descended over his cock, drawing him into a

damp warmth that spread like honey down Dale’s shaft to pool in
his groin. “Yes,” he sighed again, thrusting into that willing hole.
The headache and nausea disappeared—perfect hangover cure,
he thought as the stranger suckled his cock. Get a blowjob and
call me in the morning.

Unfortunately, it was over all too quick. Maybe the wine

was to blame, but then again, maybe not—Dale had never had

much luck with orgasmic wet dreams. He liked to think his
stamina was stronger in real life, but given the way he felt at the
moment, he was surprised he came at all. Head pounding,
stomach roiling, he still managed to shoot a load, even if the
stranger had only just settled into a steady rhythm.

Or maybe it was none of these, and the angle itself got

Dale off so quickly—each thrust bumped the tip of his dick
against the back of the stranger’s throat and, because the guy
was positioned the way he was, the slit on the bottom of Dale’s
cockhead smeared along the roof of his mouth. A few seconds of
that and Dale gripped the man’s hair in his fist, pulling back as
his cock spasmed between the man’s lips.

He caught the shot full in the face, he must have. As he

rolled over, he wiped his cheeks on the tails of Dale’s shirt and
smirked at Dale, who lay back against the pillows, head
threatening to split. “God,” he sighed, smoothing out a lock of the
stranger’s sweaty hair between his fingers. “I don’t even know
your name.”

“Would it make much of a difference at this point?” the

man asked.

Already Dale felt the dream beginning to disperse. His

mind fogged over, senses clouding, eyes blinking slower and
slower as sleep welled up within him again. The orgasm did it—
he felt himself drifting again, into a dreamless state, where
hopefully the headache and sick stomach would work
themselves out.

It’d been a nice dream, though, he had to admit. Totally

unexpected. Even without a date, he’d managed to get off, so
the evening couldn’t be written off as a complete loss, eh?

Next time, though, Dale wanted the real thing, not some

pale imitation. He couldn’t wait to find out how the living,
breathing man compared to his dream.

* * * *

“So, wait.” Jill sipped at the hot mug of coffee she held,

her legs folded under her small body as she sat at Dale’s kitchen

table. “You dreamed he sucked you off? What the hell?”

“Haven’t you ever had a sex dream before?” Dale swirled

his own mug, watching the liquid inside so he wouldn’t have to
look at Jill. He didn’t like talking to her about sex, real or
imagined, but the dream had been so damn vivid, it’d stayed with
him upon waking. Truth be told, he’d be more than a little
surprised to wake up alone. The guy had been right there, Dale
had felt the breath on his thighs, the hair tickling his skin, the wet
saliva slicking his dick.

The oddest part was he had woken up relaxed, the way

he usually felt after getting off. His body felt like he’d come, but
his sheets were clean—rumpled from being slept on, but clean.
And his pants and underwear? On the floor, where the guy had
tossed them in the dream. Socks and boots, too. All Dale wore
was the shirt he’d slept in, which smelled faintly of smoke from
the restaurant and…could it be? Was it possible? Sex.

“This doesn’t sound like a sex dream,” Jill said with a

shake of her head, sending blonde curls bobbing around her slim
face. “It sounds like you think it really happened.”

Dale hated to admit it, but she was right. “It feels like it

really happened. And that’s not the strangest part.”

Jill’s plucked eyebrows rose in question.
Dale noticed the earring at the end of her left brow and

pointed. “Is that new?”

“Got it last week.” Over the top of her mug, she gave him

a sardonic smirk. “Thanks for noticing. Are you sure we’re BFFs?
If I weren’t sitting here in front of you, would you even know what
I looked like?”

With a shrug, Dale admitted, “I don’t know. You’re cute.”
Dimples appeared on either side of her lips, which were

painted a dark shade of garnet. “You really think I’m cute?”

Too late, Dale realized his mistake and tried to backpedal.

“Uh…”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“You’re kind of not my type.” Dale gave her a strange

look—was she serious? “Hello? I’m gay?”

“No dick, I get it.” But Jill’s smile didn’t falter, and those

dimples didn’t disappear. “Still, I didn’t think you noticed what I
looked like most times.”

Dale gulped at his coffee, wondering how to turn the

conversation back where he wanted it—on him. “Look, I have to
keep up appearances, you know. I’m not going to hang with an
ugly chick. I have standards.”

Jill rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. Well, Mr. Standards, what’s

the strangest part about last night? That you dreamed it all up?
Could be your standards are a bit too high, if you ask me. You
don’t need to settle down with every guy you fuck. Sometimes a
quick boink is all you need to clear your head and get the blood
pumping again. Did you even try talking to the guy before you
cast him in the starring role of last night’s porno in your head?”

“I did,” Dale said, indignant. “I knocked on his door after

you left and was going to ask him to have dinner with me—”

“Cheap date,” she muttered, interrupting him. “Let the

magazine pick up the tab, eh? Big spender.”

Dale ignored her. “But he wasn’t home. Good thing, too,

because the restaurant sucked balls.”

“Really? Or were you just pissy because you couldn’t get

a date?”

Dale set down his mug with a clank! “Look, I could’ve

gone out with him. He wasn’t home.”

“And that strikes you as strange?” Jill asked in a snippy

tone. “Maybe he saw you coming and hid.”

Dale shook his head. “No, the strange thing is when I

came downstairs, the cat was gone.”

Jill sipped at her coffee for a long moment, watching Dale

over the top of the mug. “It was in your house again last night?”
When Dale nodded, she asked, “Where’d it go?”

Dale shrugged. “I don’t know. I could’ve sworn the thing

came in with me and plopped down right under this table, like it
did before. I even remember talking to it—”

“You?” Jill laughed, sputtering into her coffee. “God, I wish

I could’ve seen that. What’d you say?”

“Not to piss on the floor or I’d kill it.” He braced himself for

an angry retort.

To his surprise, she just laughed again. “How much did

you drink last night for real? You’re all paranoid about a cat
crashing at your place, then dream about some hot new guy we
saw blowing you while you sleep. Here’s a thought—maybe he
took the cat with him when he left.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered to tell you about it,”

Dale muttered. He was regretting it already. Hadn’t he realized
she was going to laugh at him? Why had he ever thought
otherwise?

Jill tossed her curls off her face and smiled as she

wrapped both hands around her mug. “Oh, grow up. I’m just
teasing. Let me tell you about my evening. Unlike yours, the sex
was real.”

Now he did regret it. Covering his face with his hands, he

groaned. “Jill, please. Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s
unladylike to brag?”

* * * *

Later, over a quick dinner of pasta Jill whipped up from

the contents of Dale’s almost-bare cabinets, he suggested,
“Maybe the dream means something.”

Around a mouthful of noodles, Jill agreed. “Yeah, it means

you need to get laid.”

“No.” Dale shot her an irritated look and shook his head. “I

mean, maybe it was like someone telling me something. I read
somewhere once that dreams can be prophetic.”

“Sex dreams aren’t prophetic.” Jill sipped at her glass of

red wine and twirled another helping of pasta onto her fork.
“Now, if you dreamed up some lottery numbers or something, I’d
say maybe. But all a sex dream does is release the tension
building up inside of you using whoever—or whatever—is
foremost in your mind. I’m surprised you didn’t add me in the
dream somewhere.”

Dale grimaced at the thought. “That would’ve been a

nightmare.”

With a menacing glare, Jill said, “Fine. Then I won’t tell

you about the time I dreamed I fucked you silly with a strap-on.”

God. He so didn’t need to know that. Still, he couldn’t help

but ask, “Are you serious?”

For a moment, Jill held his gaze, her own tinged with

anger. Then she relaxed a little and shrugged. “It was a
cucumber. I wasn’t naked, don’t worry. From the way you
squealed, it sounded as though you liked it, so really you should
probably thank me or something.”

“I’d thank you not to dream of me,” Dale muttered. Now he

couldn’t get the image out of his mind of himself bent over in front
of Jill, a thick, long, bumpy, green cucumber jammed up his butt.

“I’m just saying not all dreams foretell the future,” Jill

explained. “Sex dreams in particular. The best that might come
from it is now you’re thinking of the guy like that so you’re more
likely to be receptive to hooking up with him if you get the
chance. The first sex dream I ever had was about my roommate
in college. I mean, she wasn’t even really all that cute, too
bookish for me, totally not my type.”

Dale grunted. “I didn’t think you had a type. Come one,

come all, isn’t that your motto?”

Jill gave him a cutting glance. “Back then I had a type. I

had a reputation to maintain, you know? I might’ve been the big
slut on campus but I wasn’t going to sleep with just anyone.”

With a laugh, Dale asked, “So what happened?”
Another shrug, and Jill picked at the pasta remaining on

her plate. “I had this dream she went down on me. I mean, I
didn’t even think she was a dyke. But I woke up and saw her in
this whole different light. Not like I was in love or anything, but I
started thinking of her sort of like backup, or something. Then
one night she tagged along with me and a bunch of friends to
this gay club, one thing led to another, and there we were in the
cramped stall in the ladies’ room, my panties around her neck,
her licking my—”

“Stop.” Dale almost choked on his wine. “No details,

please. I never really found out what parts girls have down there
and I don’t want to learn now. But how can you not say that’s
prophetic? You dreamed it, it happened. Maybe…”

“Maybe it happened because I dreamed it,” Jill explained.

“Not the other way around. Learning to drive stick doesn’t mean
you’re going to rush out and buy a new car, but if someone gives
you a car with a standard transmission, you’re going to damn
well learn how to shift gears and step on the clutch.”

“So you’re saying I should just forget it.” Dale stabbed at

the pasta before him, angry at having to give up the dream so
quickly. He didn’t want to—he wanted to close his eyes and
relive it, again and again. Maybe even take it farther this time,
say or do something more, something that would ensure he
wouldn’t wake up alone. He wanted to stare into those leonine
eyes again, run his fingers through that mane-like hair, feel that
heavily muscled body alongside his.

Jill ducked her head and peered up at him with a sardonic

look. “I’m saying take the hint and introduce yourself to the man.
Say hi, strike up a conversation. Make yourself available in case
he shows an interest and you can make the dream real. How
hard will that be?”

Dale wasn’t sure. He didn’t know the man’s schedule—

hell, he didn’t even know the guy’s name. He didn’t want to hang
outside all the time hoping to catch a glimpse of the stranger. If it
weren’t the dead of winter, maybe he could make excuses to run
out every so often, but he’d look foolish running in and out when
it was so damn cold.

“When’s your next review due?” Jill asked, interrupting his

thoughts.

He shrugged as he tried to think over the list of new

restaurants his editor had emailed earlier in the day. “I have a
few days, why?”

Jill nodded. “Well, don’t wait for the eleventh hour to ask

him to join you. Knock on his door tonight and set a date for
tomorrow, or Friday.”

“Now?” Dale felt an irrational nervousness spread through

him at the thought of looking his imaginary lover in the eye.
Would the guy take one look at Dale and know what sordid
thoughts raced through his mind? Would the dream be written on
his face, so clearly anyone could’ve guessed it? God, could he

look at the guy again without thinking of those lips encircling his
dick? “It’s getting late, don’t you think? I mean, it’s already dark.
Maybe—”

“Fine,” Jill said. “So ask him tomorrow. Make the first

move. Who knows where things might lead between you?”

* * * *

They finished off a bottle of red wine with dinner, then

curled up on the couch in Dale’s living room with another bottle
to share between them as they flipped through a hundred
channels in search of something to watch. They finally settled on
Titanic, which they found right at the good part, or so Jill
proclaimed—just as the ship was beginning to sink. At her
suggestion, they turned it into a drinking game, taking a sip
whenever someone onscreen said the name Jack. Before long,
Dale had to break into a third bottle of wine, and he started to
snicker every time they had to drink. Jill did a dead-on
impression of Kate Winslet, which only made him laugh harder.
When the credits finally began to roll, Dale’s stomach sloshed as
he stood and the room rolled away from him. Maybe he’d had a
teensy bit too much to drink.

“We should do this again sometime,” Jill said, staggering

for the kitchen door. “Not too often, mind you. I don’t think my
liver could handle it.”

Dale set the last bottle of wine on the table beside the

other two empties. “I can’t afford to drink with you, missy. You
have extravagant tastes. Do you know what this runs a bottle?”

With a sloppy grin, Jill blew him a kiss. “I thought you

brought out the good stuff to impress me. I would’ve settled for
beer.”

“Now you tell me.” He followed her to the door, leaning

heavily on the wooden frame to keep himself standing. “Nighty-
night.”

“Aren’t you going to walk a girl home?” Jill stumbled onto

the stoop and shivered in the cold—when she’d stopped by
earlier, the thin jacket she had on then was perfect for the milder

afternoon weather, but now the sun had set, winter was back in
full force. Dale suspected the alcohol coursing through her veins
wasn’t helping her retain body heat, either. “Damn, it’s cold.
Come on.”

“You live three houses down,” Dale told her. Leaning

outside, he swung an arm in the general direction of her kitchen
door. “Like, a half dozen steps or something. You know where it is.”

At least, he hoped she did. After all that wine, he wasn’t

quite sure he could’ve picked out which apartment was hers. With
the door open, he was well aware of the frigid arctic air and how
warm the kitchen felt at his back. The thought of closing the door
was so strong, he didn’t realize he’d started to do it until Jill
grabbed his sweater and yanked him out onto the stoop beside her.

“What if someone attacks me?” Jill asked. “You said it

yourself, it isn’t far.”

Dale sighed in defeat. The concrete felt like ice beneath

his threadbare socks, and in his current condition, the act of
putting on shoes and a coat was a bit beyond his capabilities.
“Go,” he told her, thrusting his fists into the pockets of his pants.
“I’ll watch you from here, okay? No one’s going to get you.”

Jill gave him a withering look. “What are you going to do,

chase them away?”

Dale grinned at the suggestion, but to be honest, he was

already too sleepy to raise much of a ruckus. “Go,” he said
again. “Jesus, Jill, in the time we’ve spent dicking over this, you
could’ve been inside already.”

She hesitated a moment longer, then stepped backward

off the stoop, stumbled over the edging along the sidewalk, and
caught herself before she could fall to the ground. “I’m only
letting this slide because you were so generous with your wine.
And it wasn’t the cheap stuff, either. I know, I looked.”

“I don’t buy the cheap stuff,” Dale assured her. “Night.”
On unsteady heels, Jill turned and trudged across the

frost-tipped grass, which chinked like shards of ice beneath her
feet. Dale watched—he’d said he would—and each time she
passed an apartment door, she glanced back to make sure he
was still on the stoop. The first time she did it, she gave him a

drunken grin and almost toppled into the hedges when her heel
caught in a crack on the sidewalk. The second time, she looked
past him, that smile still in place.

“Here comes your cat,” she called.
My cat. Dale turned to follow her gaze just as he felt

something strong and cold press against his right leg. By the
time he turned back, the orange tabby was sauntering across his
kitchen floor.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Tonight he would stand his ground.

Pointing out into the cold dark parking lot, he admonished, “Out,
you hear me? Get out.”

Jill’s giggles wafted down to him from a few doors down.

“Good luck with that.”

“Jill!” Dale cried, but her door slammed shut and when he

looked, she was gone. Great, he thought, stepping into the
kitchen and slamming his own door in retaliation, another night
with that creature in my house.

At least this time he knew it really was in the house. She’d

seen it, too. So the large orange cat wasn’t a figment of his
imagination.

Or was it? He glanced around the kitchen but couldn’t see

the furball anywhere. It wasn’t under the table—or on top of it,
thank God. It wasn’t on any of the chairs, though Dale’s stomach
roiled menacingly when he bent over to look. It wasn’t on the
countertops, in the sink, in the trash, or in the living room, either.

So where the hell had it gone?
Maybe it went back outside when I wasn’t looking, Dale

thought, hopeful. Maybe it listened after all.

Somehow, he doubted it. But a quick search throughout

the rooms downstairs turned up nothing. Now that the door was
closed and the heating on, taking off the chill in the air, the wine
was starting to work its wonders on Dale. He needed to pee,
first. Then he needed to call it a night. He was beat.

As he locked the kitchen door, he pulled the curtain aside

and peered out into the night. No cat out there, either. Weird, he
thought, but it wasn’t really his problem, was it? Who cared what
happened to the cat?

Dale didn’t. He turned off the kitchen light and started up

the stairs.

* * * *

His first stop was the bathroom—use the toilet, splash

cold water on his face, brush his teeth, run a hand through his
hair, strip down to his tighty whities, and he was ready for bed.
Another splash of water, this one on his neck and chest, and he
dried his face on a towel that smelled faintly of funk. Time to do
the laundry, he thought, balling his discarded clothing into the
towel and shoving everything into his hamper. He’d bother with it
tomorrow. Maybe he’d even convince Jill to sit with him at the
complex’s laundromat. It was just far enough away from his
apartment that he couldn’t access his internet while waiting for
his clothes, so he’d be bored if he had to do his wash by himself.

Or maybe you know who will be there, he thought. A faint

smile tugged at his lips. He needed a better name for his sexy
neighbor than you know who. Still, the guy had to do laundry
sometime, right? Dale had seen his fair share of gay porn
involving hook-ups at the laundromat. A man could dream,
couldn’t he?

He exited the bathroom and headed down the hall to his

bedroom. The door gaped open, revealing the darkness inside.
Sometimes, if he thought of it, he left on the lamp beside the
bed, but he hadn’t bothered coming upstairs all day, so the room
was dark. When he clicked the light switch on the wall, the room
stayed dark—it operated both the ceiling light and fan, either of
which could be turned off using the pull-cords hanging above his
bed. He must’ve turned on the fan and left the light off the last
time he used it; now he heard a faint hum as the fan started to
turn, but the light didn’t click on.

Damn.
He flicked the light switch again, cutting off the fan.

Blindly, he moved into the bedroom and promptly tripped over
the shoes he’d discarded the night before. “God damn it,” he
cursed out loud, but at least he’d found the foot of the bed.

With one hand on the mattress to guide him, Dale edged

around the bed to the table and clicked on the lamp. A golden
glow diffused throughout the room, tinted red from the
lampshade. He stepped out of his briefs and sank down onto the
bed with a sigh.

Behind him came the choppy sound of a ragged purr.
Dale whirled to his feet—there, in the center of his bed,

lay the fat orange tabby, stretched out on one side as if this was
where it belonged.

“Oh, hell no,” Dale said. He tugged at the comforter in the

hopes of dislodging the cat. “Off, you scruffy furball. This is my
bed. Get off!”

The cat’s purr grew louder. In an almost playful gesture, it

rolled over a little farther, it’s head turning upside down to
expose its ginger chin. Its legs stretched out, languid, its rear
paws splaying into individual toes tufted with fur.

Then it relaxed and curled into a ball. Large yellow eyes

regarded Dale with interest. Even though he wasn’t a cat person
by any means, he knew a challenge when he saw one. There
was no way he was getting that cat off his bed without inflicting
severe bodily harm.

Unfortunately, he suspected it was his body that would be

harmed during the removal. Only too well he could imagine the
fur flying and the claws slashing, and the bloody scratches
across his bare chest and arms and legs, and the cat still right
where it was when all was said and done.

“Fine,” he declared. For a brief moment, he considered

pulling the comforter and pillow onto the floor to sleep—let the
cat have the bed, what did he care?

“Fine,” he said again, louder this time. No, he was the

human here, he owned the bed. If the cat wanted to sleep there,
too, then fine, let it. But he wasn’t giving up a good night’s sleep
just because the cat was ensconced on his blankets. They could
share.

Under his breath, he muttered, “Fine, you fucker. Move

over.”

The cat blinked at him as if bored. Dale turned back the

comforter, hitting the cat with the blanket, but it didn’t move.
Quickly, in case he’d pissed it off, he climbed under the cover
and pulled it back over his nakedness. Turning on his side, away
from the cat, he clicked off the lamp and tried not to feel that hot,
yellow stare in the darkness.

Beneath him, the entire bed seemed to vibrate from the

ragged purr. He didn’t think he’d be able to get to sleep, but the
purring sound, combined with his fair share of the wine, lulled
him to a calm, quiet place. Within minutes, he was out.

* * * *

Dale woke in an embrace.
The dregs of a dream clung to him, something warm and

soothing, something pleasant, and as Dale’s consciousness
leaked into his sleeping brain, he became aware of that same
warm feeling wrapped tightly around his chest. Heavy arms held
him close, and as he woke, he realized he felt slow, steady
breath curling around the nape of his neck. Better not be that
damn cat, he thought, shifting in his bed.

He couldn’t move much—his butt pressed against a pillowy

crotch, and his feet rasped along a pair of legs lying alongside his
own. As he moved between the sheets, he felt something harden
behind him. If he hadn’t fallen asleep alone, he would’ve sworn he
felt a thick cock stiffen between his buttocks.

Opening one eye, he looked at the familiar wall of his

bedroom and tried to think back to the night before. Jill had been
over, and for one heart-stopping moment, he wondered if she’d
stayed over. God, we didn’t…I wasn’t that drunk, I couldn’t have
been. There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world that would get
him into bed with Jill.

But no, the arms around him were muscular, masculine,

and unless Jill had been hiding something from him for all the
years they’d known each other, he was pretty sure she wouldn’t
be getting hard from his ass rubbing against her crotch. Then
who…? And why the hell couldn’t Dale remember letting
whoever it was in?

The only light in the room came from what daylight peeked

between Dale’s closed curtains. It was the dreary, gray color of an
overcast day diffused through stormy clouds. He sat up a little and
caught sight of the clock on his bedside table—five minutes after
nine. As he moved, the arms pinning him down fell away and,
almost on cue, his head began to throb in time with his heartbeat.
God! He pressed a palm to his temples, his fingers curling in his
hair. He had to stop drinking, he told himself. No matter how good
it felt at the time, he always regretted it in the morning.

From behind him came a low groan, and the bed shook as

whoever shared it with Dale rolled over into the center of the
mattress. Dale held his breath, almost afraid to look—what if it
were a robber who had broken into the apartment and assaulted
him while he slept? Or, God forbid, an ex of his who had stopped
by after Jill left, maybe looking to reconnect, and Dale had
blocked the memory of inviting the guy up to his bed?

No, this wasn’t an ex. Even in the dim morning light, Dale

could see wild strawberry-blond hair framing the firm jaw of his
new neighbor. The sheets had pulled away from the man’s chest
enough to show he was nude beneath the covers, and Dale
recognized the faint tufts of reddish-orange hair along the man’s
chest and arms from his dream.

“This isn’t a dream,” he murmured, if only to hear the words

spoken out loud. They did little to convince him, though, so he
cleared his throat and tried again. “No dream. This…this is real.”

Tentatively, he reached out and brushed his fingers over

the hair puffing up from the man’s arm. Minutes ago, those arms
had held Dale tight. Who was this guy? Why was he here in
Dale’s bedroom, naked in Dale’s bed?

And why can’t I remember inviting him in? Please don’t

tell me I missed anything we might’ve done.

Surely he hadn’t had that much to drink.
As his fingers explored the length of the man’s forearm,

Dale became aware of being watched. He glanced at stranger’s
face and found a pair of pale, golden eyes staring at him. The
man’s thin lips curved in a sphinx-like grin.

“Hey,” Dale ventured.

The grin grew into a full-blown smile. “Hey yourself,

handsome.”

Dale had to smirk at that. “You’re either being generous,

or you’ve got really bad eyes.”

The man’s grin widened. “Don’t you know I can see in the

dark?”

“I don’t know anything about you,” Dale admitted. “Your

name, for starters. We can get to how you ended up in my bed
again tonight in a minute.”

“I’m Scott.” The bed shifted as the man pushed himself up

into a sitting position, and Dale couldn’t help but stare as the
sheets slid lower down Scott’s well-defined torso to pool
recklessly in his lap. “As for what I’m doing here, you let me in.”

“I don’t…” Dale shook his head, his gaze glued to the

outline of Scott’s hard cock he saw through the sheets. Suddenly
his throat felt dry, and he couldn’t seem to concentrate on their
conversation. What were they talking about again? “I did? I don’t
remember.”

“Last night,” Scott explained. “You held the door for me

and I came right on in.”

He rolled onto his side, facing Dale, and propped his head

in his hand, the expression on his face somehow both frank and
alluring at the same time. When he moved, the bed sheet slipped
over his hip, exposing a tawny thigh and the rounded promise of
one meaty buttock. He shifted his weight onto one knee, hiding
his crotch in the shadows between his body and the bed.

I came right on in…
Dale shook his head, trying to clear the last of the wine

from his senses. “I let in the cat,” he explained. “No, the cat
came in, I didn’t call it or anything. Damn thing acts like it owns
the place. I don’t even like cats. I don’t…”

You held the door for me…
Something wasn’t right. Deep in Dale’s head, his thoughts

whirled around the image of the cat traipsing into the apartment
as if invited. He saw the orange tail flick his way, an almost
roguish gesture. Fur the same color as Scott’s hair. The mane on
his head, the soft down covering his body, the pool of golden fire

Dale knew had to flame at his crotch.

“No.”
The word was a whisper, not so much denial as it was

refusal. “No,” he said again, pulling away from the man stretched
out so languidly beside him. “Did Jill put you up to this? Don’t
fuck with me. If this is her idea—”

“Wait, Dale.”
Scott caught his hand before he could get out of bed and

pulled him closer. Despite the confusion warring through him and
the rapid pounding of his heart, Dale let himself be reeled in,
soothed, held. As those strong arms enveloped him, he felt
Scott’s breath tickle behind his ear, and the sensation helped
calm his nerves. He was losing it, seriously. No more wine.

Scott stroked Dale’s cheek gently. “I’m so sorry, man. I

thought you knew.”

“Knew what?” Dale whispered. A wild laugh escaped him

and he tamped it down quick before it could run away from him.
“That the cat was you? I’m losing it, right?”

When Scott didn’t respond, Dale turned his head so he

could look up at his neighbor. “Right?”

The look on Scott’s face told him no, he wasn’t losing it.
Dale groaned. The man of his dreams spent each night in

feline form. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I don’t even
like cats,” he muttered.

One of Scott’s hands eased down Dale’s body to slip

under the blankets, where it cupped the budding erection at
Dale’s crotch. Into Dale’s ear, he breathed, “Maybe I can change
your mind.”

* * * *

With a steaming cup of coffee cradled in his large hands,

Scott sat at Dale’s kitchen table wrapped in a bathrobe. “Where
are your clothes?” Dale had asked.

“At home.” Scott had a bigger build than Dale and

wouldn’t fit into the thinner man’s clothing. He tried pulling a pair
of boxer shorts on, only to find they couldn’t snap shut.

Personally, Dale saw nothing wrong with the shorts—the

breezy material framed Scott’s heavy cock and balls beautifully.
“I mean, you go out naked? When you…” He still wasn’t quite
sure he believed all this.

Scott gave him a sardonic look. “I go out wearing fur.

Usually I head back inside before I have to change. Last night I
just got…distracted.”

Dale liked thinking he was the distraction that had kept

Scott from returning home. As he stood at the kitchen counter,
toasting up a few slices of bread for their breakfast, he wondered
where things would lead between them. Back to the bedroom, he
hoped. Whether or not he believed Scott had been a furry feline
mere hours ago was beside the point. The man was hot.

When the toast was done, Dale brought the plate of bread

to the table along with his own cup of coffee. Taking the seat
beside Scott, he offered the toast to his guest. “I don’t usually eat
this early,” he offered apologetically.

“It’s okay,” Scott assured him. He picked up a piece of

toast and folded it in half. Taking a bite, he said, “I’m really sorry
if I scared you earlier. I really thought you knew.”

“I wasn’t scared,” Dale scoffed. “Knew what? That

you’re…?”

Scott nodded. “I don’t know why I thought it. I mean, how

could you know, right? But you kept letting me in—even if you
say you don’t like cats—and you even stopped by my place the
other night. I thought you must’ve suspected something.”

Dale felt his face heat up with an embarrassed flush.

“Actually, I came over to ask you out. Like to dinner. But I guess
you can’t really do that, can you?”

With a shrug, Scott took a second slice of toast. “It comes

in cycles. I don’t pretend to understand it myself.”

“Are all cats like you?” Dale found himself thinking of Jill’s

two kitties. If they turned into humans, too, it would go a long
way to explaining a lot about what he knew of her sex life. Not
that he wanted to know. But she liked to brag, and if she had two
willing participants locked in her apartment all day and night,
Dale was surprised she even bothered to come out for air.

But Scott laughed, a rich sound Dale thought he could

easily grow addicted to himself. “I don’t know, to be honest, but I
don’t think so. I’ve never met anyone else like me. All the cats
I’ve ever run into while I was in my fur never thought like me, if
that makes sense. They’re definitely not human.”

“Someone in your family, then?” Dale pressed. How could

Scott be the only one?

With a shake of his head, Scott admitted, “Again, I don’t

think so. But it’s not like I’ve ever told any of my parents or my
brother what happens to me a few nights each month, so I guess
one of them could be hiding their own midnight secret. They
already know I’m gay. They don’t have to know everything.”

Dale felt his pulse quicken at the admission. Good, he

thought, stifling a grin. That’s one less thing I have to ask. And
the only real thing he was worried about, he had to admit.

Still, curiosity got the best of him and he had to ask,

“You’ve never told anyone before? Never seen a…a specialist,
or someone?”

No one knows but me? he wanted to add, but stopped

himself in time. The guy was already in his bed twice; no need to
sound desperate.

To his pleasant surprise, Scott shook his head again.

“Who would I go to? My primary care physician…or a vet?”

Dale had to admit he had a point.
“I’m not dating anyone,” Scott continued—thank you,

Jesus, Dale prayed silently. “Random hook-ups in the shower at
the gym don’t really constitute a relationship, and what would I
say anyway? ‘I turn into a pussy every few days around the new
moon’? Yeah, that’ll go over big in the weight room at Gold’s
Fitness.”

“So why me?” Dale had to ask.
Now it was Scott’s turn to blush—his pale skin pinked as if

someone had filled the spaces between his freckles with color. “I
thought…I don’t know. It was a cold night and you let me follow
you in. You can tell a lot about a man by the way he treats
anything smaller than him.”

“I threw you out,” Dale reminded him.

Scott laughed, and that rich, sexy sound washed over

Dale again. “Actually, you were too scared to do it yourself.”

“I wasn’t scared.” Why did he have to keep reiterating that

little fact?

“You called your girlfriend to come down and save you from

the cat,” Scott pointed out. “I thought that was extremely cute.”

Dale pouted to keep the foolish grin off his face. “She isn’t

my girlfriend. She’s just a friend, who’s a girl, who has cats, so I
figured she’d know what to do.”

Gently, Scott probed, “She’s over here an awful lot.”
“Because I’m just that fascinating,” Dale joked. “She may

be bi but I’m not. I like—”

“What, exactly?” Scott’s hand covered Dale’s where it

rested on the table.

Dale met Scott’s gaze and realized it didn’t matter to him if

the man turned into a cat during the new moon, or a dog, or a
spider, or a caped superhero, or whatever. He’d fallen for Scott
the moment he saw the man. Waking up to find Scott in his bed
only strengthened his feelings, cat or not.

“I like you,” he admitted. At Scott’s smile, Dale turned his

palm over and clasped Scott’s hand in his. “Is it too early to go
back to bed?”

Scott winked. “Cats spend most of their time napping.”
Squeezing Scott’s hand in his, Dale murmured, “I wasn’t

exactly thinking about going to sleep, if you know what I mean.”

The gleam in Scott’s golden eyes assured Dale that sleep

was the farthest thing from his mind.

* * * *

A little after eight that evening, Jill stopped by. She’d just

come home from work, and presented Dale with a bottle of wine
when he opened the door. He took one look at the offering and
shook his head. “Oh, no. Not again. You’re turning me into an
alcoholic.”

Pushing her way into his apartment, she set the bottle on

the kitchen counter. “Like it’s my fault you can’t hold your liquor.

Besides, I’m not sharing this one with you. I have someone
waiting upstairs.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her if that ‘someone’

was one of her two cats, but she wouldn’t understand what he
meant without his having to tell her Scott’s little secret, and he
didn’t relish the thought of her hitting him upside the head with
the bottle of wine if she thought the question was offensive. He
never could tell with Jill. A girl like that was good to have on his
side, no doubt, but sometimes he wondered if she even had
sides to begin with.

“I brought this to replace some of what I drank last night,”

Jill was saying. Her hand was still around the neck of the bottle,
but her gaze swept the room. When she noticed the large orange
tabby stretched languidly across the top of the kitchen table, one
eyebrow shot up in surprise. “Look who’s been pussy-whipped.”

“It’s cold outside,” Dale said lamely. “I didn’t want him to

freeze.”

Jill crossed to the table and held out a hand for the cat to

sniff. When it didn’t attack, she scritched the top of its head. The
golden eyes closed into happy little slits. “Does he have a name?”

“Scott—”
“Ha!” Jill whirled, a triumphant grin on her face. Too late,

Dale realized he’d walked into whatever trap she’d set for him.
“Sorry to say this, but he’s yours now, bub. Letting him in is one
thing. Letting him sprawl all over your table is another—”

“Your cats do it,” Dale said in defense.
Jill’s smile widened. “But naming him. And you know it’s a

him?” She lifted the cat’s tail and nodded. “Naming him seals
your fate. You have to keep him. You know that, right?”

As if the cat understood what she was saying, it looked at

Dale with half-closed eyes, a smug expression on its face. Mine,
he thought, remembering the gorgeous red-haired hunk who, just
hours before, had sat at the same table.

He could live with that.
Tugging on the cat’s tail playfully, Jill asked, “So, did you

talk to him?”

Dale’s heart lurched. For a moment he thought she

knew—she had to. Then he wondered if she meant the cat…she
talked to hers as if they were people, Dale had heard her do it,
yelling or talking to them as if they understood what she said.

She stared at him, waiting for an answer. When one wasn’t

forthcoming, she sighed, exasperated. “Dale! The guy across the
parking lot! Did you find the balls to talk to him or not?”

Relief coursed through him. Oh right, that. “Scott, yeah,”

he said, nodding. From the corner of his eye, he saw the cat
watching him closely now. “We hooked up.”

Jill’s eyebrows arched even higher, if that were possible.

They disappeared under the fringe she wore curled over her
forehead. “You hooked up? Already? Geez, call me a slut, will
you? So, what’s the deal?”

“We’re…getting along,” Dale said with a shrug. The

conversation was getting away from him—another moment and
he’d blurt out the insane fact that the guy he’d ‘hooked up’ with
earlier that day was the same cat Jill was so diligently stroking.
He wondered if it’d be rude to ask her to leave.

Before she could ask anything else, the cat stood and

stretched, then butted its head against Jill’s open palm and
rubbed along the length of its body. Jill let her fingers comb
through the ginger fur from the nape of its neck to the tip of its
tail, then tugged on the tail for good measure. “Well, better find
out if he likes cats.”

Dale laughed. “I’m pretty sure he does.”
“Good.” Jill watched as the cat rolled onto its back to let

her rub its belly. “Because I don’t think this one plans on going
anywhere any time soon.”

Dale hoped not. He was already looking forward to waking

up again in Scott’s strong embrace.

THE END

ABOUT J.M. SNYDER

A multi-published author of gay erotic/romantic fiction,

J.M. Snyder began writing boyband slash before turning to self-
publishing. She has worked with several different e-publishers,
including Amber Allure Press, Aspen Mountain Press, eXcessica
Publishing, and Torquere Press, and has short stories published
in anthologies by Alyson Books, Aspen Mountain Press, Cleis
Press, eXcessica Publishing, Lethe Press, and Ravenous
Romance. For more information, including excerpts, free stories,
and monthly contests, please visit

jmsnyder.net

ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC

Founded in 2010, JMS Books LLC is owned and operated

by author J.M. Snyder. We publish a variety of genres, including
gay erotic romance, fantasy, young adult, poetry, and nonfiction.
Short stories and novellas are available as e-books and
compiled into single-author print anthologies, while any story
over 30k in length is available in both print and e-book formats.
Visit us at

jms-books.com

for our latest releases and submission

guidelines!

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