Page 21 of Shoot Your Shot

Walking toward the kitchen, he doesn’t look back at me. “Yeah. I liked the smell, so figured I’d get more.”

Of course, it’s not because he missed you, dumbass.

That’s what I want to believe. Like me being gone made an impact and something as small as a scent made him feel better. Yeah, right. I’m sure he’s beenjustfine. He probably doesn’t lie awake at night and wonder where I am or who I’m with, the way that I do with him. And I bet he never dreams of holding me or being with me, only to wake up alone and feel the same hurt of losing me all over again.

Yeah, I bet he hasn’t had to deal with any of that.

Just as I walk into the kitchen, he walks out of it and into the hallway. I don’t follow him because I’m sure he needs a minute too. This is all … a lot.

“There you are, you lazy sack of shit,” he says.

For a second, I’m extremely worried someone else is living here. But the fact that they are a lazy sack of shit makes me feel a little better.

“Yeah, I’m back now, you homely kitty. Did Logan feed you, or did he make you starve?”

When I hear his voice, I walk into the hallway to see who he’s talking to, and when my sights take in a long-haired gray cat, I frown.

“You, um … got a cat?” I point at it, unable to hide the shocked expression on my face. “When did you, uh … get a cat?”

He glances up at me, continuing to pet the cat’s thick fur. “A year ago. She showed up outside my house. I was hoping a coyote would get her, but no such luck.”

When I widen my eyes, he rolls his. “I’m joking. Though I did hope she’d stop trying to come inside every time I opened my door.” He scratches her head tenderly. “But eventually, I felt bad for this fleabag and let her move in.”

“You have a cat,” I whisper, thinking out loud more than anything else. “You hate cats. At least … you used to.”

“I still hate cats,” he says matter-of-factly. “Don’t let my kindness fool you. She practically left me no choice.”

I nod mindlessly, still reeling that he has a four-legged friend living here with him. “I … also have a cat.”

“Let me guess … a fluffy white cat, like the ones on those fancy cat food commercials.” He gives me an amused look. “Like you always begged your daddy for.” He barks out a laugh. “Only person who hates cats more than me is that guy.”

Kneeling down, I make a squeaking noise with my lips, but the cat doesn’t come over to me. “That might have been the plan, but I ended up leaving the shelter with a three-legged cat who was balding in some spots from a flea infestation.” I snort, bringing my eyes to Kolt as his cat continues to rub up against him, ignoring me. “Seemed as though Rocket needed me more.”

He tilts his chin up, his eyes narrowing. “Rocket, like Guardians of the Galaxy?”

“Maybe. You know he’s always been my favorite.” I shrug before I jerk my chin toward the cat. “What’s her name?”

“Ted,” he utters, running a hand over the top of her head.

“Ted?” My mouth hangs open. “You said she?”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t realize that until I took her to the vet. By then, I’d already ordered her a food dish with her name on it.” He glances down at Ted. “So, she’s a girl named Ted. She likes it.” Like always, he says the words so dryly, and that’s what makes it so funny.

Kolt could have me in stitches when we were together. He is one of the driest, funniest human beings on the planet.

“If you say so,” I say, letting my eyes wander around the house as I stand up. “I will need to run home at some point to get some clothes and to—”

“Pick up Rocket and bring him here?” he says, cutting me off and guessing my next words.

“What?” I frown, shaking my head. “No. I have a friend who is going to take care of him while I’m gone. I was going to say, I’m going to place a curbside grocery order. I’ll run out and get it tomorrow.”

“They’ve probably missed you, you know,” he says in a teasing tone. “You were, what, their number one customer for curbside pickup?”

I roll my eyes because Kolt has never let me live that down. I’ve never been one to win anything, but, dammit, somehow, when I lived here, I had the most to-go grocery orders at the entire store. And when I got my one hundredth order, the associate brought it outside, and they were also carrying a cake and a balloon. Kolt just happened to be in the passenger seat, and I knew then that he’d tease me about it forever. Playfully, of course.

“I’m sure I’m not now,” I utter. “The number one spot probably went to that lady in her minivan who always seemed to be there when I was.”

“I bet she’s getting your cake and balloons now. You are old news,” he says, grinning just before his expression grows slightly pained, and he leans against the wall, running a hand over the top of his head. “All the clothes you left are in the same spot. Should be plenty to get you by.”

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