by Max Monroe
My fingers tapped on his pictures first, scrolling through numerous photos of sports games and hilarious candids of his friends. I stopped on one that made me smile. “Are you wearing a ‘Single and Ready to Mingle’ shirt in this pic?”
“Fuck yeah, I am. Don’t knock the shirt, it’s my favorite.”
“I’m stealing that shirt. I’ll fucking wrestle you for it if I have to.”
“You don’t need to come up with excuses to wrestle me, honey. Name the time and place and lose the crop top, and I’m there.”
I laughed. “Keep dreaming.”
“All dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them.”
“Did you just quote Walt Disney in the context of getting me naked?”
“Sure did,” he said, eyes back on my phone.
I moved to his contacts next, finding a slew of female names.
“Who’s Tasara?” I asked, clicking on her name and finding a picture of an extremely attractive brunette.
His eyes met mine. “Who’s Sean?”
“My brother,” I answered honestly.
“Your brother? You know he’s black, right?”
My eyes narrowed, and I flipped him the bird. He just smirked.
“Tell me about Tasara,” I demanded. “And do you make a point of taking pictures of all of your contacts?”
“Tasara is my sister, and yes, I do. It’s one of my favorite things.”
“She is not your sister,” I said, laughing.
“Nah, but she’s a really nice girl.”
“How nice?” I asked, wanting some details. I was curious about this man and the way he handled relationships.
“She’s a fucking giver.”
I tapped another name and stumbled upon yet another picture of a different gorgeous face. “What about Rachel?”
“She’s a sweetheart. A really down-to-earth cool chick.”
Next contact. “And Samantha?”
“She’s a doll. Definitely a bit wild.”
“You don’t like wild?” I asked.
He smirked and raised his eyebrows, sitting back in his chair. “I love wild.”
Of course he did.
“What about JoAnna?”
“She’s a multiples kind of girl.”
“And Ella, is she a wild sweetheart too?”
“All of those girls are sweethearts,” he corrected. “I don’t waste my time on anything else. But Ella did have a bit of a wild streak, too. I tend to migrate toward that kind of woman,” he answered with a knowing glance.
My chest stung—like an actual stinging, burning feeling—and I found my hand rubbing it seeking relief. So many girls, but he didn’t even hesitate to put details to a name. They weren’t all faceless screws; that was apparent.
Was I having a heart attack?
This was definitely something I had never felt before. Fuck, I hated it. I knew that much. And the more I scrolled, the worse the pain got. I looked away from the screen, wanting a reprieve from the torturous feeling, or whatever the hell it was.
I guess if I keeled over while stuffing my face, I’d know the root cause was clogged arteries.
“So, these girls, how does it work? Are they actually cool with the fact that you’re not a one-chick kind of guy? Or is that something you don’t tell them?” I asked, no disdain in my voice. I was honestly just curious.
“Of course, they know the score, honey. I’ve been open and honest with every woman I’ve ever been with. I don’t feed women bullshit lies to get in their pants. Never have and never will.” He set my phone on the table. “And who said I wasn’t a monogamous kind of guy?”
I cocked an eyebrow, sliding his phone toward him. Trapping the phone to a stop, his big hand spanned nearly the entire tiny table. “No one said it. I just assumed you’re more focused on playing the field than actually looking for The One.”
A hard-to-decipher emotion crossed his face, but I knew it wasn’t happiness. There was some sort of sadness lying beneath the surface of his brown eyes.
“I’m not judging, Thatch. Honestly. I’m not exactly known for settling down, either.”
He spun his phone on the table and glanced up at me. “Do you think you ever will?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure. I guess if I found the right person, I would. What about you?”
“Same. I don’t have my future mapped out, but I’m always open to possibilities.”
I glanced at the time on my phone and realize I only had about an hour to get home, pack, and get to the airport. “Shit, I better get out of here,” I announced, standing up from my chair.
Thatch glanced around, confused. “You have somewhere to be?”
I picked my purse up off the ground, sliding it over my shoulder. “Yeah, I’ve got a flight to catch.”
“A flight?” He stood up, grabbing our empty cups and discarded wrappers, and tossed them in the trash can across from our table.
“A few last-minute shoots in the Bahamas. Just found out this morning.”
He looked surprised. “You’re flying to the Bahamas? Today? For a photo shoot?”
“Yeah, ESPN asked me to do a couple of pictorials… I’m pretty sure I’m speaking English right now…”
He ignored my sarcastic retort. “Why didn’t you say anything about it?”
“It just slipped my mind,” I said, walking beside him as we headed out of the coffee shop.
He held open the door. “How long are you going to be gone?”
“Not sure. Three, maybe four, weeks tops.”
Thatch stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk. “You’re going to be gone an entire month?”
My face scrunched up in confusion. “Yeah, is that okay?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I guess so, yeah.”
“Is your boner going to miss me, Thatcher?” I teased.
He chuckled, but he stepped closer to me. “Your tits? Fuck yes. You? Eh, I think I’ll be okay. Maybe I’ll even manage to get some work done without you calling my office fifteen times a day.”
I grinned, standing on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Don’t worry, T-bag, I’ll set time aside out of my busy schedule to brighten your day with my beautiful voice.”
He smiled back, eyes amused. “At the very least, shoot me a text so I know you made it there safely.”
“You got it,” I agreed. “Bye, Thatch,” I said, turning and heading for my apartment.
A smack to my ass startled a squeal from my lips and stopped my feet dead in their tracks. I turned back around to find him smirking and walking backward in the opposite direction.
“Be good, Cass!”
“I don’t know about that, Thatcher! I’m feelin’ a bit wild!”
“Be. Good,” he demanded and then turned on his heels, getting lost in the crowd.
Be good?
What in the fuck did that even mean? And more importantly, why did I care?
He didn’t have a say in what I did or didn’t do. But fuck, he sure had a say in whether or not he wiggled his way into my head. Like a leech, he had taken up residence in my thoughts, and I wasn’t sure how to get rid of him.
Did I even want to?
New York, Monday, May 1st, Late Afternoon
I was damn near bouncing in the car as Frank drove us to the vet’s office to pick up Walter. In the two weeks since I’d seen him, he’d been forced to spend time with Cassie and Thatch and gone missing. I could hardly fathom the thought of him roaming the city streets by himself, but bearing Cassie’s disdain probably wasn’t much better.
“Little excited, Benny?” Kline asked, placing a soothing hand on my thigh to stop my leg from bouncing.
I held out my thumb and forefinger, adding, “Just a little bit.”
He grinned, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and tucking me close to his side.
Instead of going home and catching some shut-eye after a long flight, I had convinced Kline to go straight from the airport to pick up my little b
uddy. Well, maybe less convinced, more told him if he didn’t go, I still was. Walter didn’t need to stay another night in a cold crate. He needed to be home with his family.
Kline kissed my forehead. “Thanks for a wonderful honeymoon, Mrs. Brooks.”
I looked up at him, my heart in my eyes. “Likewise, Mr. Brooks. I’ll probably be bow-legged for the next three months, but I had the best time. You’re real good at honeymoons.”
He smirked, tucking a lone curl behind my ear. “Who says that treatment stops after the honeymoon? Consider yourself thoroughly well-fucked and bow-legged for the next hundred years.”
I laughed, grinning back at him. “If you can still fuck me like that when we’re ninety years old, you’re not real.”
“Should I expect a blood test? A surgical examination?”
“Gross.”
One perfect eye shut in a wink. “I’m real, Benny. Really in fucking love with my wife, and love has the power to do crazy things. I’m just hopeful those things include giving a ninety-year-old man the stamina to keep his pretty little wife satisfied.”
“Jesus. Cool it on the swoon, you bastard. I might actually pass out from it.”
He didn’t cool it, though—his blue eyes still smoldered.
“Kline!” I smacked his chest. “I’m being serious.”
“No, you’re not.” He leaned in close, whispering in my ear, “You love the swoon. In fact, you’re already thinking about how to get me naked the second we get home.”
“Shut up,” I said through a giggle. He wasn’t too far off base with that one though. My mind was considering the backseat of the car, but I’d keep that to myself.
He laughed and placed a soft kiss on my lips. “You won’t have to try very hard.” His nose rubbed mine and his voice dropped to a whisper. “With me, you’ll never even have to ask.”
Like I said, swoony motherfucking bastard.
God, I loved him.
I should’ve known things weren’t going to go smoothly the minute we stepped into the vet’s office. Few words were spoken in exchange with the receptionist, but as soon as we mentioned we were there to pick up Walter, utter panic consumed her face. She muttered something about getting Julie and then strode off without another word. A bad omen.
Fifteen minutes and a brief video on veterinarian-office safety later, we were standing in front of the crate of a Great Dane named Stan. I knew that video wasn’t standard procedure.
“We’re actually here to pick up Walter,” Kline instructed. “Walter is a cat.”
Julie pointed to the cage. “Yeah, well, Walter is actually inside there.”
We looked at one another, confused.
“What do you mean he’s in there?” I asked.
“He’s really taken a liking to Stan and quite adamantly refuses to be anywhere but curled up next to Stan’s back.”
“He’s taken a liking to this giant dog? This giant, male dog?” Kline questioned, eyes wide.
“Honestly, I’ve never seen anything like it,” Julie admitted. “They seem very attached to one another.”
“Christ.” Kline ran his hand through his hair, visibly disturbed by the whole scenario.
I leaned toward the cage, peering inside until I saw the fluff of multicolored dark and light fur that was Walter. “Holy moly, he’s really in there.”
“Yes, he really is,” Julie said, exasperated.
“Well, let’s get him out so we can take him home.” It was obvious Kline was ready to get home and relax. Being on a plane for over thirteen hours tended to do that to a person.
“That’s actually easier said than done, Mr. Brooks,” Julie replied, turning to look at both of us. “Your friends didn’t tell you what happened when they tried to pick him up?”
“No.” I shook my head. I had a feeling Cassie left out the important details for a reason—like making sure we suffered through this without warning.
“What exactly happened?” Kline asked, tone hinting at irritation.
Thatch would definitely be getting an earful later. Kline Brooks wasn’t the kind of guy you sent in blind. The fallout would probably be entertaining to watch, though.
“Walter gets very…intense whenever we try to remove him from Stan’s cage.”
“Intense?” My eyes nearly bugged out of my head.
Julie nodded. “Violently intense.”
This doesn’t sound good.
“With all due respect, Julie, my wife and I have been on a plane all day. I’d really like to just get Walter and head on home, so what exactly do we need to do to make that happen?”
“I’ll get suited up, and we can give it another shot,” she said, turning on her heels and striding through a door toward a back room.
“Suited up?” I asked, my concern growing by the minute.
Kline just sighed, shaking his head. “Fuck if I even know what that means, but I don’t fucking like the sound of it.”
Yeah, my husband was pretty much done with this entire scenario, and I had a feeling we hadn’t even really seen anything yet. When he started throwing around f-bombs, I knew his ironclad patience was on its last legs.
Julie came out of the back room with a lot more clothing on than she started with. She looked like she had wrapped herself up in a mattress and thrown on some type of heavy-duty, protective clothing over top. Her hands were covered in giant gloves, and a hard hat adorned her head.
“You have got to be shitting me,” Kline muttered to himself.
“Uh…Julie? You need that much…gear? Just to get our cat out of the cage?”
“Yes.” She nodded, face determined. “You’ll see.”
You’ll see? Talk about ominous. This just got worse and worse.
She stood in front of the cage and took a deep breath, mumbling something to herself. She looked like she was preparing to exchange gunfire with terrorists. Her hands shook as they unlatched the door and reached inside to nudge Stan off to the side.
I was starting to think this whole thing was a bit dramatic, but then, as she wrapped her gloves around Walter’s body, I realized it wasn’t dramatic at all. Not one bit. Hell, she probably should have worn more gear.
Walter screeched and clawed, banshee cries louder than I’d ever heard echoed through the room as he valiantly fought her efforts.
“It’s okay, Walter,” she cooed, but he wasn’t having one bit of it. His claws dug into the padding on her arms, making any question of its necessity vanish.
My hand covered my mouth in shock, and Kline just muttered, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“Come on, Walter, your mom and dad are here to pick you up,” Julie soothed, trying her damnedest to comfort a cat who wanted no fucking comfort.
More screeching and clawing.
Was he holding on to the cage?
Stan woke up at that moment and started barking—loud, deep barks that filled the room and started to wake up the other dogs.
Within minutes, every animal was losing their shit.
Walter’s paws lost their grip on the cage, but somehow, he managed to latch himself onto Stan, holding on to him for dear life. Stan’s eyes found his, and they weren’t the angry eyes of a clawed dog, but those of a companion offering encouragement.
Oh. My. God. My buddy was in love!
That’s why he didn’t want to leave Stan. Tears filled my eyes as I watched Julie yank Walter out of the cage and slam the door shut. Stan stood on his legs, howling in distress. He’d found The One while Kline and I were on our honeymoon.
“We can’t tear them apart, Kline!” I cried. “They’re in love!”
Kline looked away from the sight of Julie wrestling Walter into a traveling crate, and his eyes met mine. His brow was scrunched, and he was staring at me like I had truly lost it.
“Kline, I’m being serious. They love each other. We can’t tear them apart.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, muttering, “I’m going to fucking kill Thatch.”
Julie manag
ed to get Walter inside the traveling crate and lock the door, and all I could do was watch as my cat and his new boyfriend cried for each other. Stan howled. Walter screeched. It was the saddest fucking thing I’d ever seen.
“Can we take Stan home?” I asked Julie.
“No,” my husband interjected. “Baby, I love you, I really do, but we are not taking that dog home with us.”
“But Kline,” I started to plead, but he wasn’t having it.
He shook his head. “He’s a Great Dane, Georgia. And he’s not even full grown yet. He probably has another fifty pounds to go. There is no way in hell we can bring him back to the apartment.”
Even though I knew he was right, I still wasn’t happy. I knew our co-op only allowed pets under twenty-five pounds, but I couldn’t stop myself from being irrationally angry with Kline for not letting us take Stan.
“We also have a two-week waiting period,” Julie offered, trying to smooth things over. When my eyes jumped to hers, she explained. “To see if anyone claims him. He’s a suspected lost pet too.”
Kline’s eyes were relieved. That made one of us.
“Fine,” I cried, then grabbed Walter’s crate, and stomped off toward the exit.
Kline followed quickly, but I turned to him just as we reached the door and pointed an irrational finger in his face. “You may not want a dog, but you’re gonna be needing a fucking dog house.”
Mic drop. Georgia out.
New York, Sunday, May 7th, Late Morning
We had been home for about a week since the vet debacle, and I’d managed to stop blaming Kline for the reason Stan wasn’t at our apartment, but Walter was still sulking.
Actually, we were both sulking.
For the past six days, if I wasn’t working, Walter and I were lying in bed, watching reruns of Friends together. He only seemed to perk up when the episode where Phoebe sings “Smelly Cat” was on. We had watched that episode, The One With The Baby On The Bus, a good fifteen times.
My husband did his best to cheer me up, but I still couldn’t get over the fact that Walter’s little kitty heart was breaking. It was his first true love, and it was playing out like an animal version of Romeo and Juliet. Well, without the families at war or the poison or the whole guy and girl scenario, but yeah, it was definitely a tragic, star-crossed love story.
