To Hiss or to Kiss by Katya Armock Read Free Book Online Page A

stupidly letting myself get all twitterpated by this guy. I so know better than that. And I didn’t even get a kiss out of it. My pride keeps me from stomping back into the house and kissing the holy hell out of him until he has no choice but to fuck me. My anger keeps me somewhat sane as I stomp to my car and get in. I open the Dalwhinnie and carefully pour my remaining whisky back in the bottle. No sense wasting it, and if I take another shot I won’t be able to drive home. I’ve already been stupid enough for one night. A few more drinks can wait until I get home.
    Satisfied I’ve gotten all the whisky from the glass, I replace the stopper, set the Dalwhinnie down and prepare to drive home. Knuckles white on the steering wheel, I fight the urge to bang my head against it. Instead, I start the car and put it in reverse. As I back out of his driveway and head out onto the quiet road, I remember why I keep my distance from people. Navigating human relationships is generally way too difficult and painful to be even remotely worth it. And no matter how much I don’t want to admit it as I drive back home, I really wanted a relationship with Jorge .
    Stupid, stupid, stupid. You don’t even know this guy.
    Another small voice whispers:but your heart does.
    I emphatically shake my head, then crank up the radio and sing along to distract myself for the rest of the ride.
     

Chapter Five
     
     
    I awake the next morning—thank God it’s Saturday—to sun streaming in from behind the blinds. A glance at the clock shows it’s 11:13 a.m., and I groan. My head is pounding. Definitely too much scotch and, dammit, a man shouldn’t be worth this. But shame and anger tend to make me, and probably just about everyone else on the planet, a little crazy. I feel like shit and figure I look about the same.
    As I drag my sorry ass to the bathroom and my brain fog starts to clear, I remember I’m supposed to be at the humane society by noon today. I more often go in on Sundays, but this week they needed extra people on Saturday. However, there’s no way I’m going to be of any use to anyone. So after taking care of business in the bathroom, I find my cell and text Barb. Not feeling well. Need to stay in bed.
    Shortly I get a response. We’ll be fine without you. You OK?
    Yeah, just imbibed a bit too much last night.
    Ah, sometimes that happens. You let me know if you need anything.
    Thanks. I will.
    After hitting Send, I start to wonder if I really am OK. Even without a hangover I would probably be unwilling to get out of bed. Thoughts of my encounter with Jorge last night make me want to crawl in a hole. How can I feel rejected and juvenile at the same time?
    Because he didn’t kiss you and you fled—and stole—like a moody teenager.
    My brain, sluggish as it is, still finds a way to go into panic mode.I almost kissed a cat.I wonder if he has a vomeronasal organ from his cat side. God, his sense of smell must be better than a human’s. Could he smell my arousal? Was that how he knew what I was thinking? At least he didn’t hang his mouth open when he got all up close and personal like my cats do when they use said vomeronasal organ. I like to call it sniff-tasting, but I’m sure there’s a more scientific term.
    Oh God, I am such a moron. Who just meets a guy, gets tackled by him in the dark when sneaking around on someone else’s property, shares secrets, goes to his house, and gets all hot and bothered? What the hell is wrong with me? And I so know better than to drink too much. I can’t even remember the last time I had a hangover and it’s sure as hell never been over a man. A man whom I trusted .
    Actually, I’m not sure I ever really trusted him, but I came closer than with any other stranger I’ve ever met.So there’s that.
    My navy comforter is knotted in my hands and Sashi is looking at me like I’ve really, truly, finally gone off the deep end. I realize I’m anthropomorphizing her. She doesn’t really