Searching my eyes for a moment, he does another one of his gentlemanly nods. “If you insist.” Then he turns with an armful of perishables toward the fridge.

I do not stare at his butt, tight and round and high inside his wrinkle-free dad slacks.

Well, not too long.

The gray cat hisses at me. I’m totally busted.

I’ve got to cool it. I need to stop getting swept up in this bizarre attraction I feel for Jamie. So what if he’s my wet dream of a jock’s body with silver-screen Gregory Peck glasses and good looks? So what if he takes care of babies and rescues geriatric cats and says adorable shit like Shall we? And If you insist?

He’s my inverse, so unlike me it’s comical. I have no business daydreaming about getting on my knees and turning Mr. Prim and Proper into a swearing, disheveled mess. The fantasizing has to stop.

While my mind has decided it’s time to cease and desist with ogling Jamie, my eyes have not gotten the memo. They travel him hungrily. His broad shoulders. The muscles in his back, straining against his shirt as he reaches inside the refrigerator. His awesome butt, and those long, strong legs.

“Ouch!” I glare down at the white cat, whose nails have sunk into my platypus leggings. “Okay,” I tell it. “Hint taken!”

Hissing at me as it retracts its claws, the cat levels me with a menacing green-eyed glare. If it could lift its paw and do the I’ve got my eyes on you move, it would. I stick out my tongue in retaliation. Turning with a flourish, it lifts its tail and flashes me its asshole. It’s one hundred percent intentional.

“The cats are seriously territorial, James.”

He shuts the fridge door and gently crouches. Oh, for shit’s sake. His leg muscles press against his slacks. I have to turn away not to stare at the juncture of his thighs.

With my back to Jamie, I hear the soft purr they give him, the quiet sounds of him scratching under their chins.

“They’re just old and settled in their ways,” he says, straightening and rejoining me at the counter.

“And you adopted them why, again?”

Jamie’s brow furrows as he concentrates on unpacking the last of the groceries. “There are too many cats without homes, and ethically, it reasons that the first to be adopted should be the ones whose lives are on the line. It’s a practical thing to do.”

I fight a smile. “Of course. Very practical.”

“Precisely.” A beat of silence holds between us as he sorts through the items he’s set on the counter. “And . . . I was a little lonely.”

My stomach knots. I peer over at him, water pouring over my hands and the green pepper I’m holding. “I got my hedgehog because I was lonely, too.”