Page 87 of The Auction
And he still wore it. Which told me more about his feelings toward his mom than he’d ever communicated.
“We’re not naming him Bear,” he said. “His kitten self would be offended. What about Kittten-who-eats-and-shits-a-lot?”
I scowled at him.
“What about Patch?” he offered.
“Pedantic,” I said.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Boooorrriiiinnnggg,” I sang.
He rolled out of bed and away from AP on a groan. Wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, I took a hot second to admire his body. He scooped up AP and set him on his wide shoulder. The kitten loved it when he did that because it gave him a height advantage over practically everything in the house.
“I’m calling him Patch,” he said.
“Fine. Patch. How about Aristotle Patch? Then we can keep calling him AP.”
“Fine,” he said. He turned his direction to the kitten who looked him back square in the eye. “You’re AP or Patch.”
“Meow!”
“He agrees,” Creed said. “Now we need to think about what we’re going to do with him at night.”
“Why? He’s litter box trained. As long as we keep the door open to Herb’s study-”
“It’s not Herb’s study. It’s our study. You need to stop thinking of this place as your dad’s prison.”
I sat up in bed. I liked to wear his oversized t-shirts. Because even when they were fresh out of the laundry they still smelled like him a bit.
“And start thinking of it as yours,” I quipped. Then it occurred to me I probably had to stop doing that, too. “Yeah, sorry. Force of habit.”
“Baby, you ever want to get some dick, you are going to have to figure out a way to be nicer to me. Isn’t that right, Patch? Mommy needs to be nicer to Daddy if she wants orgasms again.”
He was gently scratching my baby under his chin and Patch was fucking eating it all up.
Traitor.
“We need a little area for him to go at night.” Creed said. “Now that he’s healthy, we can set him up with a bed and shit.”
“Okay, but still in this room. I don’t want him to have separation anxiety right out of the gate.”
“Instead you want to traumatize him when he sees how hard Daddy is going to bone Mommy?”
Creed leaned over, with Patch keeping excellent balance on his shoulder, and smacked a kiss on my lips.
“You never did say if you would go out on a date with me.” I reminded me. We’d been too locked in on kitten care since that conversation by the barn. “I’ll be nice to you and everything.”
“Well, then how can a fella say no? We okay to leave him for a few hours?”
“Yeah, now that he’s eating wet food, he’ll be fine. I’ll still set him up with a safe area so he doesn’t get into trouble, though.”
“Then I’ll take you to town for dinner and a few beers,” he said. “You’re paying.”
“Me?” I squealed. “Where’s the chivalry?”
“Babe, you been skimming extra twenties out of the grocery bills for weeks now. You got plenty of cash.”
