Cat Calls by Smith Cynthia Leitich

Author:Smith, Cynthia Leitich [Smith, Cynthia Leitich]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Candlewick Press
Published: 2010-12-23T08:00:00+00:00

Psychic or not, I’m starving and, besides, eating is a normal, everyday activity. Maybe a solid meal will make me feel more like myself again.

I stick a note reading BACK IN FIVE on the sign outside and venture out to score dinner from Aiden. He’s the nearest vendor who’s hot for me and not so old that it’s icky.

“I’ll have three beef burritos, nachos, fries, and, um, a large Coke.”

“Damn, Tiff!” Aiden exclaims. “You want a horse to go with that?”

I give him a half smile. “Why, you got one to spare?” I don’t know what’s with my appetite. For the past few months, it’s like I can’t get enough to eat. I don’t mind, though. I’m putting on only a little weight, most of it dancerlike muscle.

I take the brown paper bag and my drink back to the tent, leaving the note where it is. Nobody’s waiting, anyway.

Half an hour later, I’m polishing off the greasy fries when I smell something a lot more appetizing than burritos. I look up and am startled by the most extraordinarily smokin’ young guy. He’s standing in the middle of the tent, only steps away, like he belongs here.

There’s a gold T in the center of his silver buckle. It fits with his western-style shirt, black jeans, and black cowboy boots. Glancing to his face, I see that his square jaw is covered with sexy stubble. His eyes are a mesmerizing hazel, more gold than green, and he’s looking at me like I’m dinner.

I drop my fry. Part of me wants to swat the stranger for barging in. Part of me wants to cower, mortified at being caught off guard like this. Mostly, though, I want to lick his sweat dry and rub myself all over him.

The last thought surprises me. Since my growth spurt, I’ve generated plenty of interest, but until now, I haven’t been that jazzed by anyone myself.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I demand.

“I’m here about the future.” He takes off his cowboy hat, like out of respect for my being a lady, and runs a hand through his thick, tawny, shoulder-length hair.

Oh, of course. But right then, it occurs to me that he could be dangerous. We’re alone in the tent, the flap is closed, and carnivals can attract some scary folks. “I’m on break. Didn’t you see the note?”

“Relax, Tiffany,” he says. “Your grandma and me, we’re sort of related.”

I shove my trash into the bag and toss it toward the back of the tent. “Related how?” Granny Z. didn’t mention any family in Oklahoma.

“Very distant cousins,” he says, with a bright, widening smile. “Kissing cousins, you could say.”

I blink. Oh, my God! He’s hitting on me.

I blink again. Oh, thank God! He’s hitting on me.

I ask, “And you’re?”

He digs into his front jeans pocket, pulls out a wadded up fiver, smoothes it out, slaps it onto the table, and takes a seat. “Ready if you are.”

I feel like an idiot, but until now I’ve made no money and the night’s burning fast.

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