Page 93 of Rewrite the Rules

I pulled off a miracle. One reputable breeder in Kansas, one remaining F-1 kitten, and I had to jump before it was too late. In my excitement I stupidly signed a contract without paying attention to the final price. I agreed to a one-thousand-dollar deposit and apparently my firstborn child. I figured my book advance could cover whatever the cost. Now, I’m not so sure.

“Oh, just plainly for ears. No reason. But at eighteen thousand dollars can you ride him to work as well?”

Joel laughs in a honey-sweet rumble—the best sound in the world. Definitely worth the anxiety-ridden call I’m going to have to make to Reese. I need her legal knowledge to figure out how to get me out of this contract in case the kitten I just agreed to buy in cash is the cost of a mid-trim SUV.

“If you keep feeding him every time he begs, I may be able to.” Joel leans into the side of my face and breathes against my hair while his lips rest on the hollow behind my ear. He acts as if Cody doesn’t exist.

“All right, I’m out before you start an encore on the balcony this morning.” Cody rises, mug in hand, smug grin on his face.

Joel snorts but my cheeks flush again.Dammit.

“Ma’am?” Cody looks at me, face serious.

“Yes?”

“Don’t forget Quinn’s number, please.”

“I promise to forget it if you ever call me ma’am again,” I shoot back.

“Wait,” Joel says as he pinches playfully at my side. “How the hell did you get her to agree to that? I thought she was taking Quinn’s number to her grave.”

“I’m that good,” Cody responds. He pokes my shoulder as he passes. “Tell him.” With that, he disappears into the condo. Felices purrs on my lap as if relieved. The hate between them is most definitely mutual.

“Tell me what?” Joel pulls off his glasses and shields his eyes against the sun. I trace my fingers against the thin skin under his eyes and he leans his cheek into my palm. There’s no way. This feeling? This isn’t friendship. For either of us.

“Nothing.” I nestle back into his chest. The crisp smell of his cologne is so familiar. Even from the first time we kissed. Like a smell I remembered from another life. I entertain myself watching Felices’s playful tail swat at imaginary flies. We’re almost like a little family. I don’t want to think about disturbing this. Whatever this is. It’s working. I’m happy. There’s no need to rock the boat. “It’s absolutely nothing.”

thirty-one

Adler

december

The hot beads of water dampen my hair. It’s knotted and ratty from neglect. I massage conditioner into my scalp hoping to coax the tangles free. I hate wrestling my hair with a comb—it’s an underestimated form of torture.

The past couple weeks have flown by thanks to my frenzied state of writing. Writer’s block is difficult and it’s indeed painful to stare at a blank page. On the other hand, there’s something I’ll call writer’s obsession—it’s just as daunting. I think it’s similar to love. You can’t eat, can’t sleep, you become so immersed and narrowly focused that nothing and no one else in the entire world matters until you finish the damn thing.

Joel has been incredibly supportive. He’s given me space outside of work knowing my deadline is looming. Lately when we see each other, it’s brief. Our dynamic is starting to mirror that of a true ‘fun bunny’ relationship. He comes over, he’s in, he’s out, and I’m right back on my laptop, tweaking, editing, rewriting, restructuring. I guess myself at every turn. It’s not just because of the pressure of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Or the big follow-up toToy With Me.

It’s my story with Joel.

I have to get it exactly right.

Quinn is far less understanding about my reclusiveness. After cancelling girls’ night for the third Friday in a row, she showed up at my door demanding proof of life about forty-five minutes ago. She all but broke down my door, groceries in hand, and forced me to take a shower. She held my laptop hostage over the filled sink until I retreated to the bathroom.

In this moment, I’m grateful for her persistence and bossiness. The hot water cascades over my head as I close my eyes which desperately needed a break from the screen. By the time I’m clean, dry, and feeling refreshed, Quinn is sitting on my couch in front of a plentiful charcuterie tray on my coffee table.

“You’re such a good wife. You always take care of me. Can I just marry you?” I ask.

Quinn smiles. She’s pleased that I’m looking somewhat human again. “If I meet any more idiots on Tinder, I may have to take you up on that.”

“Speaking of idiots on Tinder,” I say as I join Quinn and pick at some cheese and crackers. “Did Cody Kartlin ever text you?”

“He did,” Quinn says as she pops an olive in her mouth.

“And?”

“And what?”

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