Page 43 of The Wingman

“She’s kind of slutty like that,” she says, and I laugh.

“So, feeding you isn’t going to make you fall for me, is it?” I ask.

What the fuck are you doing, asshole?

“Not in this lifetime,” she says with a laugh. She winks and adds, “Don’t worry, you’re safe to cook for me all you want.”

“Good,” I respond, and shove the key into my pants with more force than necessary. She eyes me for a moment, her brow furrowed. “You like seafood?” I ask, redirecting.

“Love it,” she says, her smile back in place. She brushes a loose strand of hair from her face. “Honestly, Rider, I’m so hungry, I’d be happy with a hot dog.”

“I am not feeding my girl a hot dog after a twelve-hour shift,” I say without thinking.

My girl.

Fuck me.

Jules is turning as an alarm sounds, and I can only hope the high-pitched sound drowned out the crap I just spewed. The next thing I know, she’s waving me away, and running through the double doors, disappearing from my sight. Once she’s gone, I head back outside and climb into my vehicle. I head to the grocery store, pick up all the ingredients for tonight’s meal, and grab a bottle of white wine. I’m about to head to the cash register when I think of Peaches. Turning around, I walk to the pet aisle and grab her a treat. One way or another, I’ll get her to like me.

Twenty minutes later, I let myself into Jules’ condo, and a sense of warmth falls over me. Her warm scent of vanilla and citrus fills my senses as I make my way to the kitchen. It’s only my second time in her place and it’s strange being here without her. Meowing reaches my ears as Peaches comes around the corner, rubbing up against the doorway. Her back arches when our eyes meet, and I set the paper bags on the counter and hold my hands up.

“Hey Peaches,” I say. “Take it easy. I’ve got something for you. I’m just going to reach into the bag real slow and get it.”

What the fuck? I’m negotiating with a cat now? I must really like Jules to go through all the effort. I slowly reach into the bag, and she sits at the crinkling sound of the bag of Friskies. “Chicken and liver, all things cats love according to the packaging.” I say and shake the bag.

She purrs, and slowly moves toward me. I rip into the bag as she eyes me like she’s the superior being in this arrangement, and I’m not about to disagree. “You like these, huh?” She turns, and her tail lifts. “Playing hard to get, are you? Don’t worry. I can sell you on them. They don’t call me the wingman for nothing.”

I walk to her bowl and drop a couple in. They tinkle on the bottom of the metal. She saunters around the table like I didn’t just give her the best treat in the world, and I can’t help but wonder if all cats are assholes.

“Okay, Princess. You can drop the act and eat. I’m so over this.”

Her head lifts like she’s done with me too, and I wash my hands in the kitchen sink as she slinks to her bowl and chows down.

I do a fast fist pump. “Point goes to the wingman.”

I dry my hands and pull the food from the bag to lay it out on the counter, and the next thing I know, the cat is weaving its way in and out of my legs. She’s either looking for affection, or hoping to trip me. I’m pretty sure it’s the latter. I open the pantry, but her container of food is nearly empty. I check the shelves for the bag, but come up empty.

“Okay Peaches, where does your mom keep your food?” She walks to the garage door, just off the kitchen, and purrs. “We’ve really got a rapport going on here, don’t we?”

I open the door and Peaches darts into the garage. I follow her and come across a shelving unit with dry goods, cat food and cat litter, but my attention shifts when I spot two freshly painted chairs off to the side. I step up to them, and examine Jules’ handiwork. If I had to guess, I’d say they were antiques, and the fresh nails make me think Jules repaired them herself. I steal another glance around the garage and notice a few more pieces in the corner. One, a swivel mirror that’s hanging to the side as the stand is broken. Two, there’s an old wooden bedframe worn from time. All it needs is a little love and attention to restore it to make it right again. What is it about old broken things that she likes so much?

Clearly impatient with my snooping, Peaches lets out a loud meow, and I turn in time to see her knock a can off the shelf. It dents and rolls across the cement floor. “My God, what is your problem.” Her eyes narrow in on me as I place the can back on the shelf, and grab the bag of food. Her lips peel back, like she’s unimpressed with me, and flies past me to enter the kitchen first. “Does your mother know how you behave when she’s not around?”

Okay, I really need to stop talking to this cat, but then another thought hits. “And don’t you dare tell Jules that I was snooping,” I warn. “Or no more Friskies for you. Got it?”

She hisses at me and I arch a challenging brow. “Fine, you tell her about the snooping, I’ll tell her about the can you tried to destroy.”

She gives me a wide-eyed, almost innocent look, but I’m not falling for it. She’s evil and I’d be wise to remember that. I fill her bowl, give her a drink of water and wash up again. With the wine in the fridge chilling, I turn my attention to the seafood casserole. I cook up all the seafood, boil the pasta, and make the cheese sauce. Once done, I search for a casserole dish, combine the ingredients, and slide it into the hot oven.

With that done, I snoop around the house a bit more. I head upstairs and glance into the spare room. It’s full of old furniture that Jules saved from the dumpster. The sound of a car pulling into the driveway reaches my ears and I take the steps two at a time, meeting Jules at the door

. I pull it open and her eyes go wide.

“Did you forget I was here?” I say, and slide my hand around her waist, unable to wait another second to get my mouth on hers.

“No, you just surprised me.”

I dip my head, and press my lips to hers. Her weary body leans against me and it makes me want to take care of her all the more. I tug her bag from her shoulder and toss it over mine.

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