Sleeping with the Enemy (An Enemies to Lovers Collection)

I grab a cup of coffee from the kitchen, and as I turn around, Spooky goes streaking across the cabinets. Spooky is black and fuzzy, of the feline, three-legged, one-eyed variety, and he likes to raise hell. I called him Spooky because he literally comes out nowhere and scares the shit out of me at least a few times every single day.

“Holy moldy socks,” I mutter as the coffee splashes over the rim of the plain white mug with the chip at the top. The chip is on the left side, and I never drink from there, so it doesn’t matter. I could never have dreamed of parting with Pappy S’s things, so I’m using all of his stuff. It made it easy to move out here since I had practically nothing of my own.

Let’s just say I’d been living with a big old butthole for a few years, fooling myself into thinking I was loved and happy, and when that ended, I had almost no furniture or things of my own—just my pets, crafts, clothes, and a few other things like shoes and pieces of jewelry.

My newly single status the year before had been what propelled Pappy S into making his decision. My hounding parents could never have pried him from this house otherwise.

I love Pappy S, and I know how much he loves me. He might be my favorite person in the world, but I know I’m his too. I’ve never done anything to take advantage of that. Instead, I’ve always tried to love him in equal measure. I was against having this whole house to myself because I felt spoiled. Very. Spoiled. Too spoiled, really. But also very, very blessed.

Suddenly, Spooky jumps off the counter and winds himself around my legs, meowing up at me. For a three-legged, one-eyed little beggar, he’s sure fast as all get out. Who needs two eyes and all their limbs? I think that’s his motto. In another life, I think he could have rocked being a pirate. So maybe he’s trying to rock being a pirate cat in this life.

“We have an intruder coming soon,” I inform him. “Pappy S insisted. He rented out the room upstairs. I know, I know, three rooms are sitting empty, even with all my crafts and your brothers and sisters. What’s that? He’s scheming to try and hook me up? No, he wouldn’t do that. He tried once and failed. Then he tried again and failed again. This time though he said he really needed the money. He wouldn’t lie to me about another nurse, would he? Well, no, he wouldn’t tell me. I know he wouldn’t because he knows it would make me worry. On the other hand, he wouldn’t not want to tell me if something was wrong because he knows I need to be brave and handle it, right? I’m the one person he maybe would tell. Hmm, I just don’t know. He said the guy only needs a six-month lease to connect down here for work, and then he’ll move back to wherever it is he’s from.”

Spooky looks up at me with his one golden eye and meows indignantly.

“What’s that? You think it’s crazy, and you don’t want to share the house either?”

He meows at me again.

“He’s probably a dirty tuna stealer? Yes, I know he’ll raid the cupboards and the fridge. You better lock all your stuff immediately.”

Spooky yowls at me, then he rubs himself like crazy all over my jean-clad legs as he purrs up a storm.

“Oh, I know, I know, I said the word tuna. I know not to say tuna. I know, I know.” I set my coffee mug down with a sigh and dig in the drawer for the can opener, which lures the rest of the crew—six cats in total.

There’s Spooky the little pirate cat, Sadie the tiny tortie, Scamper the little Siamese who was this tiny, preemie little kitten who no one thought would make it, and Patches the orange and white striped cat who is called Patches because he had really bad mange and had almost no hair when I got him, just little patches of it. Then there’s Donnie, the super hairy Persian—yes, even expensive pure-bred cats can find themselves without a home—and Bobby the tabby, who was found after being thrown from a moving car.

Bunch of dirty meowers, the lot of them. And my good gracious gravy, I love each and every one of them. Fur babies don’t even begin to cover it. They meow up a storm as I crack two cans of tuna and scoop them into the little designated cat bowls I have. It takes a lot of talent to feed a horde like that, but I do it three times a day because there ain’t any starvin’ Marvins under my watch.