“How do you know?”

“Because she’s a grown adult?” He gave her a speculative look. “Or is this just an excuse to run away?”

“I’m not running away!”

“You are absolutely running away. Tell me, is it the fearsome cat that scares you, or her soft-hearted owner?”

Even though she was growing more annoyed with Magnus by the minute, she couldn’t help but smile at that assessment. “I’m not running away. I need to get up and stretch my leg anyhow. All this sitting on hard floors isn’t good for it.”

“I’ll join you,” Magnus said. He gave the cat one final scratch behind the ears and then gently set her on the floor. “She should probably get used to her surroundings without us here, huh?”

“Sure,” Edie said, a little distracted by his nearness. Okay, a lot.

“You want to head up to the game room? We could watch TV or kick back and play a few games.”

She considered him for a moment. “We can game,” she said, because she was curious to see him in his “element” a bit more. Every time they had a conversation, it seemed to focus on cats and her. She wanted to learn more about him, for purely platonic reasons, of course.

They exited the bathroom, shutting the door behind them, and as they entered Magnus’s big bedroom, Lady Cujo greeted them with a loud meow from the bed. Both of them stopped to pet the cat, and Edie noticed that she seemed to be flourishing in her new home. She looked healthy and content, and Magnus gave her an affectionate ear rub. “She sleeps with me now,” he commented. “She’s totally a cover hog. I’m even teaching her to play fetch.”

And because that gave her stupid cat-lady heart a little squeeze of delight, she just made a humphing noise in her throat. “She’s not a dog.”

But he grinned at her, all proud anyhow.

Edie’s knee groaned a protest as they went up the stairs for what felt like the umpteenth time that evening. Stairs never bothered her six years ago, but now that her knee was crap, she noticed them unfailingly, and hated every damn step.

If Magnus noticed she was lagging behind him, he didn’t comment. He was right that the seating in the game room was excellent, though. Large leather loungers had been set up in front of the projection screen, and as she made herself comfortable in one of the chairs, Magnus went to the wall and touched a panel, and the entertainment center opened up, revealing console systems of every make and model she could imagine, all neatly arranged with the appropriate controls and remotes. Even more impressive was the selection of games—Magnus seemed to have every game that had come out in the last ten years, most of them still shrink-wrapped and in their cases. He explained to her that they got a lot of games from companies trying to woo ideas from him, and got more at conventions, but they also tended to buy games simply to see how the mechanics worked. Research, he explained, and offered to let her pick the game.

Since she didn’t know much about games other than what was on her phone at the moment, she picked a title that had an interesting sounding title—Tomb Treasures of Arkandiz. It was apparently a platformer, which meant nothing to her, and they spent several minutes playing before Edie’s character died by falling into a pit.

To Edie’s surprise, Magnus didn’t heckle her. Instead, he began to play his turn and jumped his character into the exact same pit. When he did it several more times, Edie asked him curiously what he was doing. His response? He was seeing how the game responded to different iterations of the same scenario.

Which was interesting for a game designer, she supposed, but boring to watch. She ended up handing him her control and watched him play, running different characters through the same paths over and over again with the same results, and watching his fascinated, intent expression as he did so. Every once in a while, he’d make a little grunt of interest, as if the game did something unexpected, but for the most part, she just watched him.

And watching Magnus for hours on end? No hardship. No hardship at all. As he played, there was an intent little crease between his brows, and she noticed that he tended to subconsciously clench his jaw as he played through some of the harder levels. His arms flexed as he moved the controller, and he’d talk through some of the game mechanics as he played, gaze glued to the screen. And while she didn’t understand most of it, she liked that he took the time to try and explain things to her.

Somewhere on levels 4–8 of Tomb Treasures of Arkandiz, Magnus looked over at her. His expression softened. “You’re tired, aren’t you?”

“Oh no, I’m fine,” she said, and yawned despite herself.

“Come on, sleepy. Let’s get you to bed.” He shut off the game and moved to her chair. To her surprise, he lifted her into his arms and began to carry her, and when Edie protested, he shut her down. “You don’t think I saw that you were slowing down? Your knee has to be killing you. I can carry you down to my room.”

She clung to his neck as he carried her out of the room and down the stairs, a little unnerved at not having her feet on the ground. “Where are you going to sleep?”

“I can sleep on the sofa downstairs. No big deal. I’m a guy. I’ve totally slept on worse before. But you had a long day. You need your . . . sleep.”

She relaxed against him reluctantly. “I would have punched your face if you’d said beauty sleep.”

“Which is exactly why I didn’t say it,” he said, and she could hear the laugh in his voice.

“Good man.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

And of course, that made her blush again.

When they got to his room, he set her down gently and she sat on the edge of the bed, petting Lady Cujo as he dug out some workout clothes for her to sleep in. He deposited them to her, grabbed a set for himself, and then leaned in. “Do I get a goodnight kiss?”

“You can have a goodnight fist.” She shook one at him. “In the face.”

“Can’t blame a man for trying,” he said, unaffected by her grumpiness. Then with a wave and a wink, he left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Edie gazed around the unfamiliar surroundings. She contemplated snooping through his things, but another yawn rocked through her. Exhaustion overruled everything else, and she changed into his clothing, neatly folding hers and setting them on a nightstand. His shirt and workout pants hung on her like bags, but they were soft and comfy. She crawled under the blankets and lay back, gazing up at the strange ceiling. Even his sheets and blankets smelled like him. His bed was like one big heavenly pillow, too. No wonder the cat loved it.

As she drifted off to sleep, she wondered if it was odd that she was going to sleep—oh-so platonically—in a man’s clothes and in his bed with his cat at her feet. A man who she was pretty sure she despised a week ago.

Edie woke up some time later, disoriented. The clock on the bedside table showed it was four thirty in the morning, too early for anyone to be up. But even as she relaxed again, she heard footsteps creaking on the stairs. Curious, she tiptoed out of bed and earned a protesting mew from Lady Cujo, who’d taken over one of the pillows. She opened the door, but there was no one in the narrow hallway. The faint sound of music came from upstairs, and Edie tiptoed up the steps, curious.

On the fourth floor, she peeked in and saw Magnus at work at his desk, heavy-metal music blaring as he typed furiously. He stared at his screen for a moment, paused, typed something else, and then buried his head in his hands in frustration. His shoulders moved, and she heard him sigh heavily.

Seemed like all was not well. For a moment, Edie thought about going to him to give him a pat on the back and an encouraging word or two.

And . . . then what? She was acutely aware of her appearance, wearing his sweatpants and her hair mussed with sleep. Her knee throbbed a reminder that she wasn’t as fit as she used to be. She was cranky, unpleasant, and above all, a cat lady. Magnus was gorgeous. He could do better than her.