Butterface

She was saved from the moment of exquisite awkwardness by an ear-piercing yowl, a loud clatter, and a flash of orange sprinting across the crowded kitchen table, headed straight for Felicia and Hudson.

“Honeypot!” Felicia yelled.

Hudson made a grab for the one-eyed cat, but it juked and avoided him, landing one paw in the bowl of mashed potatoes before sprinting onward. After that it was just total chaos.

Food went flying. Chairs fell over backward as everyone jumped up and tried to catch the crazed feline. Frankie reached for the furball, but the kitty blasted past him, taking a detour through the gravy boat, knocking it over and sending the brown liquid splashing across the table.

By the time Hudson managed to capture Honeypot, it looked like a tornado had landed in the Hartigan kitchen.

A piece of ham had somehow ended up hanging from the ceiling fan, Finian had applesauce splattered across his shirt, and Ford had a glob of mashed potatoes on his cheek. It wasn’t until she reached up to wipe it off that she realized quite how close she was to him. Really close. Like feel-the-heat-of-him-against-her-nipples kind of close. Then he gave her that super hot half-smile and all forebrain function ceased and she gave in to the wonderful want of it, as he started to lean down and she raised herself to her tiptoes to bring her right in line with his mouth. Her eyes started to flutter closed, she tilted her head, and—

Kate Hartigan’s voice cut through the lusty haze surrounding them. “So, you two aren’t dating?”

Gina leapt back like Ford was kryptonite, which—let’s face it—he was starting to feel like. “No ma’am,” she said, unable to meet the matriarch’s eyes.

“Huh.” Kate said in a tone that translated to that’s a bunch of B.S. “We’ll see about that.”

Mortified to infinity not only at Kate’s misunderstanding but at her own behavior, Gina prayed for what felt like the billionth time this week that the earth’s crust would open up and suck her into its bowels of molten magma.

When that didn’t happen, she followed Honeypot’s example and hustled across the room. She picked up the empty cat carrier and took the long way around the table to avoid Ford as she carried it to where Hudson and Felicia stood with the cat.

It was always a better choice to deal with a demon cat than her own personal horndog demons.

…

Getting stuck with kitchen duty was best avoided at all costs—especially when his mother was looking at him like that. He knew that look on Kate Hartigan’s face. He’d seen it every time he tried to get away with something and she managed to pull the truth out of him with the skill of a senior interrogator. That she was focused on him right now instead of the potato paw prints covering the counter meant there was no escape.

“So,” she started, her voice light, as if she wasn’t about to deliver a punch. “You and Gina, you’re just friends?”

“In a way.” His fingers were tapping against his thumb, and the tips of his ears burned.

“What way is that?” she asked.

“It’s complicated.” Understatement of the year right there.

“Yeah, so much so that he’s not sleeping at his apartment,” Fallon said as she loaded another stack of plates into the dishwasher.

He shot his sister a dirty look. She just grinned back at him, no doubt all too aware of how she was stirring the pot.

The thing was, no matter what his family thought, there was no way he could tell them everything about the situation with Gina—in no small part because he couldn’t understand it himself. Watching her may be his job, but it didn’t feel like one, and that was messing with him in all of the ways he never wanted.

“You’re living with her but she’s not your girlfriend?” his mom asked.

“I’m not living with her.” No, he was spying on her, a fact that was burning a hole in his gut, even if it was better that it was him than Gallo. He hated lying to her.

His mom crossed her arms and leaned back against the kitchen counter. “Where are you sleeping?”

“Her house.” Not that he’d call it sleeping. It was more like staring up at the ceiling and imagining what she was doing alone in her bed while that damn couch spring did its best to cripple him.