Veronica played with the papers that were crooked on her desk. She wasn't really trying to straighten them, but it gave her something to do so she didn't have to look into his eyes. "I told you that you could ask Parker out," she muttered.

"I know you did, and I appreciate that because I don't think I would have been that big of a person if you had come to me wanting to date someone new."

That got her attention and she finally looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

Logan smirked. "Okay. I know I wouldn't have been that big of person. In fact, I probably would have been the obligatory psychotic jackass."

She smirked, remembering when she told him about her nickname for him before they made amends. "Okay, so why are you here telling me you aren't going to go out with Parker. She's nice, pretty, smart, fun, and totally into you. Sound likes the perfect girl to me."

Logan looked embarrassed. "She is great. She's all the things you said, but I've also realized that she wouldn't be anything more than a rebound because I'm not over you. And a nice girl like that deserves better than being a guy's rebound, and I don't want to hurt her."

Her breath caught. He wasn't over her? When he came to her and told her he wanted to ask Parker out, she assumed he had moved on, and it had hurt due to how quick it had been.

Here he was telling her that she had been wrong.

Did that change anything, though?

"Besides, I saw your face when I went to you. You might have given me the okay, but I saw the idea of it bothered you, and I never want to hurt you on purpose again."

That admission touched something in Veronica's heart. He cared enough about her to look beneath the surface. To read between the lines.

Maybe there was hope for the two of them after all.

The house was a disaster and Travis wasn’t even home to blame it on. Ethan made his way through the living room, straightening pictures on the coffee table along the far wall and cursing his husband for ever having convinced him having cats was a good idea.

Brennan, a calico colored kitten of almost a year, scampered across the floor, chasing her brother, Ryan, into the kitchen. Ryan was a dapper grey tiger striped cat slightly larger and a little less coordinated than his sister. His paws slipped when he hit the tile, but he corrected easily and took off, hell bent on making the top of the refrigerator at all costs. He’d leap from the floor onto the counter, and from there onto the refrigerator where he’d find himself stuck.

Ethan shook his head. Maine Coon cats were an interesting breed. They were monstrous felines, weighing up to eighteen pounds and measuring nearly two feet long when fully grown. Furry, boxy-bodied, and sweet tempered, they were great pets, even if Mother Nature did play a horrible trick on them. For such a large breed, they had the tiniest, most pathetic meow Ethan had ever heard on a cat. The thing that annoyed Ethan the most was the fact that they’d never outgrow this playful, kitten-like demeanor they were currently showing the world. Meaning, his days of walking behind them and clearing the chaos they left in their wake weren’t going to end anytime soon.

“Great,” he muttered, righting a crooked frame on the wall. “What the hell are we going to do when they’re fully grown and still acting like they’re ten inches long and barely six pounds?”

It wasn’t a pleasant prospect as far as he was concerned. A high pitched mewling caught his attention. Replacing Travis’ favorite leprechaun figurine back onto the shelf it lived on, Ethan went back into the kitchen and stared up at the trapped Ryan.

“You knew this was going to happen,” he told the cat. Reaching his arms out, he secured the little fuzzy brat in his hands and brought him to chest level. Giving the kitten a cuddle, he said, “Your sister can be a real bitch.”

Ryan gave out a resounding meow and Ethan put him on the floor. He watched the grey ball of fur run out of the room, likely in search of his sister. Figuring he ought to start on the dishes, he was rinsing a plate under the faucet when he heard a crash coming from Travis’ office.

Sighing, he set the plate in the dish drainer and sighed. “Fucking cats.”

I made an icon!