Page 15 of Waiting Game

What also helps is when Cupid and Cubert immediately yowl at me in welcome.

Cubie hisses when I try to pick him up, but Cupid lets me hide my face in her fluffy fur.

For what could be ten seconds or ten minutes, I stand at the entrance to my apartment, hugging her as tightly as she’ll let me.

Like she knows I’m upset, she starts purring.

The low rumble has me releasing a heavy sigh as I stare into her bright green eyes. “He’s gone, Cupid. He’s not coming back.”

She meows softly. I’d like to think it’ssadly. She’s probably just hungry.

Seeing as I ended up walking blindly around Central Park after Chuck passed until the reminder I’d set on my phone jogged my memory of the scheduled lesson with Cole, the stench from the hospital is still on my skin. My first port of callwasgoing to be the shower, but my cats need feeding.

I slouch over to the kitchen, grimacing when I notice there are only enough packets of wet food for two more days.

“Guess that’s me living on bread and jelly until my next coaching session,” I mutter. “You’re a foodie snob, aren’t you, Cupid?” I laugh when she curls herself around my ankles, purring in agreement, totally fine with me going hungry so she can live her best bougie life.

Adding more dry food than they like to their bowls, I choke out another laugh when Cubie sticks his face in a second before I throw kibble in.

With a teary smile, I finish up, substituting old water for fresh, and once that’s done, I head for the bathroom.

A shower doesn’t wash away my grief, but it makes me feel like less of a zombie. Especially when I see Casper, another of my feline horde, hiding in the pile of towels.

Though I haven’t eaten since breakfast, I don’t bother with food and crash-land into bed, towel and wet hair and all.

For what feels like endless moments once Casper deigns to leave the clean laundry and to amble over to the bed to cuddle with me, I stare at the ceiling and try not to cry. Then, a notification dings around my small bedroom.

I don’t react because I don’t care.

That’s when the walls close in.

I swallow at the return of the pressure in my chest.

My mind races like it usually does, shitty thoughts dive-bombing me in the darkness until my lungs feel as if they’re being squeezed in the hand of a giant.

Another ding sounds, then another. That’s when I stop thinking about how hard my heart is pounding and I start caring when ding, after ding, after ding echoes around my room.

With a scowl and the onset panic attack forgotten, I clamber off the mattress and return to the bathroom where I scoop up my jeans and dig out my cell from my pocket.

There, I see the flood of notifications and my eyes widen when I realize Cole wasn’t joking about him swiping right on me…

Attention well and truly snagged, I wander back to my bed, but I ignore his messages on the dating app and, instead, head to his profile.

How uncanny is it that we connected onHooked-Up?

The clue might be in the title, and it might routinely be for one-night stands, but the site claims to work on compatibility too.

Are Cole and I compatible?

It seems unlikely, though the joker I met today can’t be all fun and games—not when he’s also a hockey star.

“‘Likes pop music and horseback riding. Eating Hawaiian pizza and arguing with people about whether or not ham and pineapple are the only pizza toppings that count.’” I read the few lines off his profile to Casper, who grooms himself in response.

Because Cole’s words are sohim, I switch over to the messages and read what he’s got to say there.

Cole: So, have you seen the notification yet?

Cole: It feels like the white elephant in the room.

---