“I’m allergic.” My eyes roam over him speculatively. “How allergic?” “It’s complicated.” He can’t even look at me. My eyes widen in time with my grin. “You’re not allergic at all, are you? You big fucking drama queen!” That earns me an eye roll and a grumbled, “I hate cats.” “That’s not an allergy. That’s a preference.” “I still hate cats,” he deadpans. I smile sweetly in response. “Whatever. Just don’t let Milo hear you say that. He’s very much in love with Cleocatra.” The rumble in Rhys’s chest should be intimidating, but he doesn’t scare me at all. So, I walk toward and pat his shoulder.
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