Wicked Appetite (Lizzy and Diesel 1)

Diesel remoted the television on. “Too bad. The Sox are playing the Yankees.”

I was making an effort to be a Red Sox fan, but I hadn’t yet achieved total rapture. So far, baseball for me was all about the hot dogs and peanuts at the ballpark.

“I don’t suppose I could convince you to leave?” I said to Diesel.

“I don’t suppose you could.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

I woke up in a panic. The room was black as pitch, and I was having difficulty breathing. My eyes adjusted to the minimal light, and I realized a cat was sleeping on my chest . . . my cat.

I rolled Cat to one side, and I bumped into Diesel. He was tucked in next to me, warming the bed, his breathing even, his expression softened by sleep. My first reaction should have been more panic, but the truth is, Diesel felt comfortable next to me. Go figure that. This big, handsome, probably insane, wiseass guy was in bed with me, and not only wasn’t I screaming in terror, I was actually hugely attracted to him. Not a healthy situation.

I looked at my bedside clock. It was 4:10, and my alarm was set for 4:15.

“Hey!” I said to Diesel.

“Mmmm.”

“You have a lot of nerve, sneaking into my bed like that.”

He half opened his eyes. “I didn’t sneak. I asked if you were awake, you didn’t answer, so I took my clothes off and got into bed.”

“You took your clothes off?”

“You didn’t notice?”

“No! Jeez Louise, I don’t even know you.”

“If you look under the covers, you’ll know me better.”

“I don’t want to know you better!”

“That’s a big fib,” Diesel said. The alarm buzzed, Diesel reached across me, and shut it off. “Do you get up this early every morning?”

“Five days out of seven.”

“Bummer.”

I scooted Cat away and crawled out of bed. When the weather turned colder, I’d sleep in flannel jammies. For now, I was wearing shorts and a T-shirt.

“Cute,” Diesel said, taking in my outfit, “but they’re not exactly sex goddess clothes.”

“I could be a sex goddess if I wanted.”

“Good to know,” Diesel said. And he rolled onto his stomach and went back to sleep.

I showered, blasted my hair with the hair dryer, and put it up in a ponytail. I got dressed in jeans and a fresh T-shirt, laced up my sneakers, and went downstairs, with Cat trailing behind me.

“He’s a big pain,” I said to Cat.

Cat looked like he might not share my opinion, and I suspected Cat had been bought off right from the beginning by that piece of pizza.

I poured some kitty crunchies into Cat’s bowl and gave him fresh water. I started coffee brewing, sliced a day-old bagel, and dropped it into the toaster.

This was my favorite time of the day. The sky was growing brighter by the minute with the promise of sunrise, and soon I’d be making cupcakes. Boats were clanking in the harbor below me. Seabirds were waking.

I slathered cream cheese onto my toasted bagel, poured coffee into my favorite mug, zipped myself into a heavy sweatshirt, and ate my breakfast on my back porch. Everything was good . . . if you didn’t count Diesel and Wulf.