Page 46 of Wild Side
“Buttfuck Nowhere. Got it. Text me the address. I couldn’t find that on a map if I tried.”
“Thanks,” I grumble, not loving having to ask him for even more help.
“Don’t thank me yet. You owe me for this. And whatever story we come up with, you’re gonna do it. No bitching and moaning. You’ll come back here, put your head down, and get to work.”
My molars clamp. He knows I’m finicky about the shit they do with my character, but I’m not in a position to negotiate right now. “Yup.”
“Good.”
With that, he hangs up, and I’m left sitting in the sun, staring at the screen of my phone, feeling more out of control than I have in many, many years.
When I come back inside, I find Tabitha sitting at the kitchen table with Milo. He’s focused on coloring, and she’s completely absorbed, eyes locked on him. Sometimes I catch her like this—zoned out and staring at specific parts of him. Like his ears or his lips.
I chalk it up to her being tired.
She starts when the patio door clicks shut behind me, but Milo looks up and gives me such a genuine smile that I can’t help but smile back at him.
Then my eyes land on his paper, and my smile sours.
He has covered the paper with his most impressive cat drawings. Which is to say that an abundance of deformed cats covers the page.
“Lookin’ good, pal.”
“Drawing Cleocatra,” he says with a pleased smack of his lips.
“She looks…” I glance at Tabitha, who’s already glaring at me as though daring me to insult his cat. “Super cool. Love it.”
Tabitha relaxes back into her chair now, arms crossed beneath her breasts and a smug smile on her face. She looks—so to speak—like the cat who caught the canary. I take a seat and can tell by the gleam in her eye that she’s enjoying watching me struggle.
Still, there’s something cozy about all of us sitting at the table together. We’ve been ships in the night, doing what we need to do but avoiding each other at all costs. Yet, as I sit here withthem, I realize I like the simplicity of it. Even if things aren’t perfect, there’s a sense of closeness that I’ve always craved.
With that thought in mind, Cleocatra leaps up out of nowhere onto my lap. She does this little purr-meow thing that I’m sure some people would find cute. Me? I start and lift my hands like someone just threw anthrax at me.
Tabitha’s lips purse, and her head tilts. Another silent threat.
“She loves you.” Milo nods, sneaking a peek up at me and looking extremely satisfied about his cat and me forging what he perceives as a friendship. “Pet her. She’s soft.”
It’s not that I trulyhatecats. I’ve just never had pets. Haven’t had the time, or the space, or the inclination. More mess, more responsibility. And truthfully, their short life expectancy just seems like you’re signing up for guaranteed and unnecessary heartache.
My hand moves closer, and the tawny cat bunts against it, a rumble starting instantly in her throat.
“Aw, look at that, Milo. How sweet. Rhys loves Cleo too.” Tabitha’s grin is just a little too pleased.
Myfiancéeis pushing her fucking luck with this trick.
I glare.
She smiles sweetly.
Then she hits me with a subtle tip of her chin. I know what she’s signaling, and as much as it’s a conversation I don’t want to have, I know it needs to be done.
I nod and watch her tongue dart out over her lips as though she’s nervous too.
“Speaking of love, Milo.”
His head shoots up, suspicion dancing in his baby blues. “What’s wrong?”
My chest aches for him, and I clear my throat to cover the soft keening sound that lurches into my throat. I know that feelingall too well. Assuming any news is bad news because you’ve been getting just a little too much of it lately.
