Page 185 of Waiting Game

“You have hands the size of trash can lids.”

“I do not.”

“You fucking do. Who’s the one who gets your fingers shoved up her cooch every couple days? Me. That’s who.”

A snicker sounds in my ear. It’s so juvenile that it’s oddly charming. “True. I concede to your experience.”

“Thank you,” is my prim response as I reach my apartment.

When I unlock the door, it’s not so much of a surprise that Cupid isn’t waiting for me. I don’t freak out anymore, mostly because I know she’s with Betsy.

And sure enough, Cupid’s got a hold of her scruff as she finally walks toward me with a determination that tells me I’m late with the food.

I hold up my hands. “I’m coming, I’m coming?—”

“You are? Oooh, is this when we do cam sex face-to-face?”

I roll my eyes. “I was talking to the cat!”

“That a euphemism for pussy? I don’t think it’s gonna stick, babe.”

“Cole!” I grumble.

He laughs some more and it gets louder once I put him on speaker.

Of course, that’s when I take a picture of Cupid with Betsy in her mouth because that’s cute as hell.

“Awwwwwwwww,” is his response as he receives the photo. “I mean, it’s not your pussy, which I’d prefer a picture of, but I’m glad they’re getting along.”

“You’ll see it shortly.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line. “I will?”

“I saw the pregame shots. You turned around to flash your ass on the screen to get me hot and bothered, didn’t you?” I tease as I switch the voice call over to video.

That’s when I see his face is as hot pink as his pants were earlier.

He grins sheepishly at me. “I wish I were as devious as you think I am, babe, but nah. Liam called my name.”

“What did he say?”

“That I looked like a Ken doll on the bottom and Batman on top.”

“A dastardly combination.”

“You know it.” His tone turns sulky. “He said my butt was getting bigger too.”

“I like it. It’s a bubble butt.”

“You’re not making me feel better here.”

“Why? Because you’re the only one in this relationship who can appreciate when the other’s butt wiggles?”

He seems to ponder that for a second, then he grants me a decisive nod. “You’re right. I’ll stop being sexist.”

Snickering as I pour kibble, distribute meds to both the oldest and the youngest cats under my roof, then put out a couple pouches of wet food on a plate, I snag a hold of Betsy from Cupid because she’s been known to drop the kitten into the dish of wet food and it makes her fur stink.

With her in one hand, I press her to the camera. “Say hello.”

---