Page 81 of Wild Side
Clearly.
Rhys:
Listen, I’m not a cat person. But as far as cats go… that one is fine.
Tabby:
That one? Fine?
Rhys:
How is she?
He ignores my jabs, so I send him a picture of Cleo coiled up with white paws tucked tight.
Tabby:
Good. But now that you mention it, I caught her meowing by the basement door before I brought her on the couch.
Rhys:
She can sleep down there while I’m gone.
I actually laugh. This big, tough, emotions-locked-up-tight man for whom I adopted a cat solely to piss off is now worried about her coping while he’s gone.
Tabby:
Adorable.
Rhys:
The two of you are like a fungus. I can’t get rid of you, so I’ve just learned to like you.
My head tilts. As far as Rhys goes, that’s pretty expressive. And kind of… sweet?
Good lord, this guy has really fucked with my head.
Tabby:
I wish you had put that in the wedding vows. It’s very romantic.
The dots swirl as he types, and I glance up at the TV to see what I’m missing. In the center ring stands his current nemesis, Million Dollar Bill. He’s wearing a tailored suit and a cocky smirk, one hand on his championship belt and the other wrapped around a mic.
And he’s shit-talking my husband.
I know it’s loosely scripted and they’re following a storyline, but my brows furrow and my molars clamp down on each other all the same.
Tabby:
I hate Little Willy and his stupid, smug face.
The dots stop and start up again.
Rhys:
You’re supposed to. Everyone loves to hate him. If it helps, he’s a nice kid. Young and eager, but a natural. I like wrestling with him.
Tabby:
