by Emily Mayer
“We don’t know. He’s a stray who just kept showing up at our back door. That’s how he got his name—Boomer’s short for Boomerang. He was in worse shape when we found him, if you can believe it. He’s a real character.” Helen reached out to take Boomer out of my hands. “Sorry about that. He’s always ending up where he isn’t supposed to be. He’s one of our permanent residents.”
“Permanent residents?” I looked at the furry little mess. His eyes locked with mine and he gave another meow.
“Yes. Due to his condition, we don’t anticipate that he’ll be adopted. He’s already been here for almost two years,” she answered, trying to contain the cat who was attempting to wriggle out of her grasp.
The heavens might not have opened up, but something inside me screamed that this was my cat. I looked at him one more time, like I was asking for permission. He meowed in what I was going to take as agreement.
“I want to adopt Boomer.”
Helen looked momentarily stunned. “Oh! Well… are you sure?”
I nodded confidently. “Positive.”
“Okay, all right. Let’s just get your application all filled out.”
15.
One harrowing car ride later, Boomer was happily exploring his new surroundings, and I was silently thanking Harrison for insisting I get my brakes checked regularly. Turned out Boomer could have his own show in Vegas as a magician. The little minx got out of the carrier and insisted on trying to sit on the steering wheel while I was driving. In the words of my mother, I got “real close to Jesus” on the drive home. Despite the multiple near-death experiences on our drive, I did not regret my choice at all.
I gave Boomer a tour of his new home, then got busy trying to get dinner ready before Sebastian’s game started. The Novas were playing in Boston tonight, and even though I didn’t fully understand what was happening on the field, I enjoyed watching them play. If I were being completely honest, I enjoyed watching Sebastian play. He was so intense on the field that it was almost like watching a stranger in a Sebastian suit. Serious soccer Sebastian, relaxed on the couch Sebastian—all variations of Sebastian were quickly becoming an unhealthy addiction.
My culinary skills were nothing to brag about, but I could make a mean spaghetti. I dumped the frozen broccoli florets into the boiling water and stirred the sauce. I was firmly convinced that adding broccoli to anything made it a well-rounded meal. Kraft macaroni and cheese with broccoli, nutritional and delicious! Ramen with broccoli, easy and packed with vitamins!
I stepped over Boomer, who was sunning himself in the last of the evening sun directly in the middle of the floor, and turned the TV to the station televising the game. I’d been informed by Aaron earlier that hardly any stations had televised American soccer until the player swap thing. Thankfully, I had easily been able to find stations broadcasting the Novas. You know, now that I cared about soccer and all. I turned up the volume waiting for my favorite part of every game.
The camera zoomed in on Sebastian exiting a large bus. He was wearing a tailored black suit that hugged his muscular frame in a way that I was positive meant he hadn’t purchased it off a rack at Macy’s. Dark sunglasses covered the eyes I knew crinkled at the corners when he smiled, and his hair was styled like he was going to a photoshoot, not to play soccer for ninety or so minutes.
“Good grief, Charlie Brown, that man can wear a suit,” I said to Boomer, which was roughly the equivalent of talking to myself since he did not currently appear to be conscious. My mouth was watering, and it was not a result of the pasta cooking in the kitchen. I was staring so intently at the screen—hoping the camera would catch him walking from behind, like the pervert I was turning into—that I almost screamed when the timer went off, sending Boomer twelve feet into the air.
“Sorry, buddy! If you liked human males, you would totally understand what just happened,” I explained, moving quickly to turn off the timer. “And for the record, it’s totally fine if you’re into boy cats. Cat love is cat love. I will love you no matter what.”
I threw everything into the bowl and settled onto the couch, fully prepared to cheer on my new favorite team while scarfing one of my favorite carbohydrates. Boomer hopped on the couch next to me and proceeded to attempt to attack every noodle that dangled from my fork.
“Bad kitty! Keep your paws off my pasta,” I scolded, but he was undeterred. I sighed. “Roommates.”
The game had been underway for less than ten minutes when some blond man who looked like he was at least a distant relative of a Viking kicked Sebastian in the knee. It was a cheap shot: Sebastian had already kicked the ball to someone else.
“Hey, rude! Give that guy a card, ref person!” I yelled around a mouthful of pasta, jabbing my fork in the general direction of the TV. Man, I was really turning into a super fan!
Boomer meowed his annoyance while simultaneously trying to grab noodles directly from the bowl.
“I know, right? We do not like that guy.”
The rest of the game felt like a constant battle between Sebastian and Viking guy. Or good and evil if you wanted to be dramatic about it, which I did. With twenty minutes left in the second half, Viking guy elbowed him in the head so hard that it knocked Sebastian off his feet.
I gasped. I may have held my breath for the entire minute it took Sebastian to get up. He immediately charged Viking guy before his teammates intercepted him and were able to drag him off the field. A guy in a suit attempted to examine Sebastian, who was busy yelling in the general direction of Viking guy.
Even though I knew it was stupid because there was no way Sebastian was checking his phone during a game, I grabbed my phone and quickly typed out a message.
Me: You need to calm down so that guy in the suit can examine you for signs of a concussion! That was a hard hit to the head and you need to cooperate.
After hitting send, I noticed I had several messages from PairBond. I figured I wouldn’t miss anything important in the game since Sebastian was temporarily sidelined. I opened the app and clicked on the message tab. I had two new messages. The first one was from a user named H2OhYeah, which I deleted solely because of the username. I estimated there was at least a seventy percent chance the message contained a dick pic, based on that name. The next one was from a user named DarWinning. I decided this message was probably safe and opened it.
Hey,
I never know what to write in these things, but your profile was really interesting. Are you into manga? I dabble myself. I’m more into online gaming though. Starcraft is my vice of choice. Anyway, I’d like to get to know you if this message didn’t completely scare you away.
Patrick
I was smiling by the time I finished reading. I finally got a message that’s not creepy or completely off-putting. I should write him back.
I knew I should respond. It was the logical thing to do. My gaze drifted back to the TV screen, searching involuntary for a glimpse of Sebastian. The reasonable Lennon, who understood the way the real world worked, silently reminded me that he was not for me.
I clicked on Patrick’s profile and scanned his information. He was two years older than me and a biomedical engineer. I read through his interests and was pleasantly surprised at the number of things we seemed to have in common. Suddenly determined, I clicked ‘reply.’
Hi Patrick,
I used to watch some manga, mostly when I was in high school, but it’s not really my thing. To be honest, my friend signed me up for this and made my profile. She’s pretty into the whole manga scene. I do like Starcraft though! I don’t play as much as I used to anymore. I went on a serious bender in college once. My friends had to stage an intervention. I don’t really know what else to say? Your profile says you’re a biomedical engineer. That sounds pretty interesting! I’m an aerospace engineer, so we’re both engineers. What do you specialize in?
Lennon
I hit ‘send’ and turned my attention back to the game just as play started again. The Novas won 2-1, bu
t I couldn’t muster up the appropriate amount of enthusiasm. I didn’t even wait to see if Sebastian would be interviewed. Instead, I turned the channel to PBS and cleaned the kitchen. After everything was loaded into the dishwasher, I curled up on the couch to finish watching the documentary filling the room with soothing tones. Boomer curled into a little ball by my abdomen and I felt his soft purrs humming through me.
I was well on my way to sleep when my phone dinged. I cracked an eye to see who had messaged me. I told myself I wasn’t disappointed to see Janie’s name on the screen, and if I was disappointed, it was only because I was hoping to hear from Patrick. I was in no way disappointed that the message was not from Sebastian. And even if I was just the teeniest, tiniest bit disappointed, it was only because I was concerned that he might have sustained a traumatic brain injury. Yep, I was just a world-class friend. Closing my eyes, I laid my head back down and silently acknowledged that what I was, in reality, was an extremely subpar liar.
16.
Sunday morning there was a message waiting for me from Sebastian when I woke up. Seeing his name on my phone got my heart going faster than a shot of espresso, and I was seriously concerned about what that fact meant for my well-being.
Sebastian: You watched the game?
Me: Are you okay? Were you concussed?
Sebastian: I’m fine. The team doctors cleared me. It’s not the first shot I’ve taken to the head.
Me: That guy was such a jerk! What was his problem?
Sebastian: He’s a really physical player. It’s nothing personal, but he’s not my favorite person either.
Sebastian: So, what did you think?
Me: I think you should get a second opinion. You were too busy yelling to be properly examined. You should be more cooperative during neurological exams. There is very strong evidence that repeated concussions can cause serious cognitive and memory issues similar to those in Alzheimer’s sufferers.
Sebastian: Thank you, Dr. Walker. I meant about the game?
Me: Oh, I don’t have any doctorates. I just have two masters, so I don’t go by doctor. The game was good. I still don’t understand all the rules but I yelled at the TV a lot. More than during Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune combined.
Sebastian: What am I going to do with you, Lennon?
I wasn’t sure how to respond to his last question. I blamed the lingering confusion for how I ended up agreeing to have dinner with him on Monday evening.
Naturally, I tossed and turned all night, and woke up Monday feeling like I needed either six more hours of sleep or a time traveling machine. It didn’t help matters that Boomer slept directly on top of me. I woke up at one point thinking I was having a heart attack, only to open my eyes and come face to face with Boomer purring contently on my chest. Meeting his glowing cat eyes with my own, half awake, almost gave me an actual heart attack.
I hit snooze one too many times and ended up having ten minutes to get ready. I managed to pull a navy A-line dress over my head and drag a brush through my hair with two minutes to spare before rushing out the door. I threw my hair up into a messy bun as I ran down the stairs, promising myself I would leave work early to get ready for dinner.
I was a jumbled mess of nerves the rest of the day. It didn’t help that we were still having issues with the first stage engines. Issues that meant my four o’clock meeting was two hours long instead of the projected one hour, so of course, of course, I had no time to go home to get ready for dinner.
Why I was surprised that the only place I could find to park was seven blocks away from the restaurant was beyond me. I half-jogged, half-limped the entire seven blocks in what would probably have been record time if I’d had anything to compare it against. It wasn’t until I staggered the remaining feet to the doors, a panting, sweaty mess, and saw the sign for valet parking that I seriously considered turning around and going back home. Of course the swankiest restaurant in LA would have valet parking! I whimpered to myself silently as I pushed through the doors into the air conditioning. It didn’t escape me that the hostess was eyeballing me like she was weighing whether she would have to call the police to come return me to the asylum or if she could just throw me a roll and I would scurry back outside. I adjusted my glasses and tried to gather up what little dignity I had left, reminding myself that this place probably had an awesome wine list.
“Hello.” I cleared my throat, focusing on the woman’s immaculately manicured nails. “I’m meeting someone here, but I’m not sure if he made a reservation.”
“I’m afraid we’re booked solid tonight. If you don’t have a reservation, there’s no way we can fit you in. Sorry,” she replied, in a tone that led me to believe that she was not in fact sorry.
“Could you check for a reservation please? It would be under Sebastian Kincaid.” I tried to peer over the stand to look at the tablet she was currently typing away on.
“Yeah, nice try. I really don’t want to have to make a scene, but I will have you removed from the premises if you don’t leave immediately.”
“What? But I’m meeting him here.” I held up my hands, backing away from the desk slowly.
She rolled her eyes, finally lifting her gaze to give me a once-over. “Listen—”
Her mouth clamped shut at the same time her eyes widened. My back collided with a solid object and an “umph” escaped my lips. I turned around to apologize, but my apology was forgotten when my eyes landed on the well-defined pectoral muscles and broad shoulders that were mere inches from my face. My gaze roamed the muscled planes of this stranger’s chest until they met very familiar eyes.
“Oh, hi.” I smiled at Sebastian in genuine relief. “Do you have a reservation? This lady is like a dragon guarding its treasure and I am starving. She takes her job very seriously.”
His lips tipped up at the corners. “I have reservations. Let’s get you fed.”
One of his hands gently turned me toward the hostess stand before settling on the small of my back, propelling me forward. My feet were trying to resist the motion, not wanting to have a rematch with the hostess who was definitely not the mostest.
“I thought you were hungry?” Sebastian’s voice was a breath against my ear, and I had to fight against a shiver.
“I am, but we could just get a cheeseburger or something. Have you had In and Out yet? It’s an American institution and you really should—”
His chuckle cut me off. “Lennon, it’s fine. I made reservations.”
“Mr. Kincaid.” The hostess greeted him by name, suddenly all smiles. “We have your usual table ready for you.”
She motioned us forward while clearly trying to size me up. She probably assumed I was part of some adopt-a-nerd program and Sebastian was my mentor. We made our way silently to the very back of the restaurant, where a table for two sat tucked behind a small stained-glass partition, creating a secluded little space. I slid into the seat nearest to me, relieved to be sitting down.
“Here we are. Please let me know if there’s anything I can get you. Enjoy.” She handed us each a menu and shot one more quizzical glance my way before leaving the small area.
“So, you come here often?’ I asked, immediately flipping to the drinks portion of the menu.
“I wouldn’t say often, but I have been here a few times. They’re really good about privacy, which is nice if you want to have a meal out without being mobbed by people.”
I peeked at him over the menu. “Are we in some sort of VIP room?”
“It’s one of the perks that comes with the whole professional athlete bit.” He looked a little sheepish as he said it, and a faint hint of pink dusted his cheeks.
“Nice,” I said, taking in the immaculately decorated space. “I think she was going to call the police on me, so that’s good.”
Sebastian coughed, setting his water glass down. It took him a few seconds to recover enough to ask, “What are you talking about? Why is that good?”
“She must have thought I was some crazy sta
lker, so she threatened to call the police. That’s good for you, right?”
He rubbed one hand roughly over his mouth. “Was she rude to you?”
I gave his question some thought. She hadn’t been friendly or helpful, but was she rude? I imagined myself in her position, seeing me rush through the door looking disheveled and completely out of place.
I finally settled on an answer. “No. She wasn’t rude, just doing her job.”
Sebastian looked like he wanted to say more, but was interrupted by the waiter who introduced himself, took our drink orders, and disappeared, all in a very efficient manner.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever had such a hard time convincing a woman to get dinner with me. It’s been very… humbling,” he said, his voice light with humor.
“I don’t think I believe you. The part about being humbled, I mean. The part about the other women is very believable. And I wasn’t being difficult.”
“I asked you to dinner once and you were busy. You ghosted me. I had to ambush you at your apartment.” He ticked off each item on his fingers as he went. “You finally caved, but only after you thought I suffered a head injury.”
“When you put it like that, I think I’m the one the hostess should have been protecting. Geesh, you’re kind of a stalker.” My brain finally caught up with my mouth and I felt the blush rushing up my neck. Why was I joking with this perfect man about being a stalker? How low was my blood sugar that I was making jokes? Where was that wine?
As if on cue, Ian returned with our drinks and took our orders. I made Sebastian order first, because I was still debating between the filet and the scallops. I needed an extra minute to reread the mouth-wateringly delicious descriptions of each dish one more time.
