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TOMCAT JONES
Willa Okati
www.loose-id.com
Warning
This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be
considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id® e-books are for sale to adults ONLY,
as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store
your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
Tomcat Jones
Willa Okati
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical
events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental.
Published by
Loose Id LLC
870 Market St, Suite 1201
San Francisco CA 94102-2907
www.loose-id.com
Copyright © April 2009 by Willa Okati
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No
part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or
electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not
participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's
rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
ISBN 978-1-59632-913-3
Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader
Printed in the United States of America
Editor: Georgia A. Woods
Cover Artist: Marci Gass
Chapter One
You guys ever heard the old saying about “the cat who walks by himself”?
Yeah, I don’t know the rest of the cliché either. It’s a load of crap anyway. Especially for a
guy like me.
My name’s Thomas Cattrell Jones, T.J. for short. My parents had a rotten sense of humor.
I teach animal behavior theory when the local college has the budget and the whim to take me on,
and I turn into your basic tabby cat from time to time, more often than that if something rocks
my world. What can I say? It’s a thing.
* * * * *
“Being ‘in love’”—T.J. made quote fingers—“never changes anything.”
Arden gave the grocery cart a hard shove to get it past a sticky mess of spilled
pickle juice on the aisle floor. “The hell it doesn’t. Are you stoned? That reminds me.
Corn chips or Pringles?”
“Why limit ourselves? Doritos.” T.J. stretched up to tip the topmost bag on the
shelf into their cart. It landed with a crunchy
paft!
noise between two cans of guacamole
and a tub of sour cream. “Mmm. I can feel your arteries hardening as we speak.”
“Mine?” Arden, tall and skinny and towheaded, grabbed a jar of peanuts and read
the nutritional information, snickering to himself. “Where are you in all of this coronary
failure, standing nobly by with a skull in your hand, saying ‘alas, we hardly knew
you’?”
T.J. had to stretch up on tiptoe to manage it but bounced his palm off the back of
Arden’s head with a sharp snap of the wrist. “No. For one, you’re misquoting. For
another, there’s no way I’m eating any of this crap.”
“Liar. You say you’ll stick to celery, but before we know it, you’ll be in the ranch
dip and then the tofu chili wings will go down. It’ll be slaughter, I tell you. Wholesale
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