Primals (Reverse Harem 1)

“Well, Cheshire tried to scratch me as usual,” I tell her. “After all this time, she still doesn’t trust me. Then again, she doesn’t trust anyone except you.”

“She is feisty.”

“Feisty?” I snort. “She makes the other cats from ‘My Cat From Hell’ seem like spayed newborn kittens.”

Clarissa chuckles and I smile at hearing the sound.

“What about the others?”

“Speedy didn’t care that I was there,” I go on. “He was just sitting on his perch. And your fishes were just in their aquarium, swimming around.”

“Yup. Sounds like them.”

“It’s your dogs that miss you. When I went to your apartment, Ellie and Royce seemed disappointed that I wasn’t you. If they could talk, they’d ask me where you were. And they were glad to be fed the treats I brought, but afterwards, they looked sad.”

Clarissa frowns. “I miss them, too.”

“See, there’s your purpose.” I put my hand on hers again. “You’re the world to them.”

“Yeah, I guess. I should get home to them soon. They must be so lonely.”

“Oh, don’t worry. The service is doing a great job of things. I know for a fact that the girl that comes by spends ages just playing with them. My neighbor saw her at the park with your dogs. She said they were having the time of their lives.”

“Bless her.”

“Yeah.” I nod. “Nothing like old Mrs. Aster. Remember when she wanted to watch them when you went out of town last?”

“Your old landlady? The one with a thousand and one rules and superstitions?”

“That’s her.”

“What was that superstition she had again about glasses?” she asks.

“A broken glass on a Friday brings seven years of bad luck. That’s why all her glasses are plastic and she insists all her tenants have the same.”

“Unbelievable.” Clarissa shakes her head. “Still, her husband left her.”

“Well, he’s not the only one who left her. Most of her tenants do.”

“So did you. And now, you have a neighbor who has a crush on you.”

I frown. “Sally does not have a crush on me.”

“Yes, she does.”

I roll my eyes. We’ve been through this so many times before I’ve lost count.

“How would you know?”

“I told you. I can tell when a person has a crush on someone.”

And yet, she can’t tell I’m in love with her. Or maybe she’s just pretending not to know. Or is choosing not to.

I squeeze her hand. “You’re tired. You should sleep.”

“You’re changing the subject,” she argues but she yawns telling me that I’m right. She’s exhausted.

“Because it’s old.”