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“Oh, please, Cash. Drop the macho act. From the second I saw you two in here together, I knew you were crazy about her. And I knew she was crazy about you. Will you two stop being fools and just get on with it?”
I smile, shaking my head as she finds a carrier to put Monticello in. I don’t have the heart to tell Janice we’ve already got on with it in one way, been there done that. I just don’t really want to have that conversation with her. Still, as I drive Monticello to my condo so I can clean up first—I don’t think dog piss will naturally lend itself to a bedroom kind of thank-you, if you know what I mean—I think about what she said. I think about how maybe Sage Everling isn’t the total player she pretends to be. I think that maybe, like me, she can be beaten at her own game.
* * *
My heart poundsas I stand at the door to 704, the cat carrier in my right hand as I knock with my left hand.
“Coming,” a smooth voice says, and I take a deep breath. I wonder what she’s wearing. I wonder how she’ll react. I wonder so many things.
The door opens, and there she is, hair in a simple bun. She’s wearing tight jeans and a red top, her blue eyes sparkling.
“Cash?” she inquires, taking a step back. But then her gaze lands on the carrier in my hand and she gasps.
“Monticello?” she asks now, leaning down to peer in the carrier. Her beloved cat lets out a guttural cry, and she quickly ushers me in, tears falling. I step inside her abode. Perhaps the better word is oasis.
Everything is airy and clean, bright white floors and walls accented by earthy-toned decorations. There’s an eclectic yet elegant vibe happening, from the black marble countertops to the chandelier in the living room. It’s sophisticated and beautiful, but not over-the-top. It’s a balance between expensive taste and simplicity, and it works.
Sage is opening the door to the carrier, tears falling freely now as she scoops up her beloved cat.
“I can’t believe it. Baby, where have you been?”
As the reunion continues, another cat ambles out from the living room meowing. It walks toward me, and I think it’s going to rub my leg. Instead, it runs headfirst into me, stumbles, and shakes its head.
“Sorry. That’s Barcelona. He’s blind.”
“Oh, whoops. Sorry,” I say awkwardly to the cat, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do. Why do I feel so out of my element?
I reach down to pet the cat, who purrs. Sage puts down Monticello, and the two cats have a reunion complete with rubbing, hissing, and then eventually running off to another part of the condo.
“Where’d you find him?” she asks, wiping away the tears. I think about what Reed would want me to say, about how he’d want me to lie. I opt for the truth. Again, I’m an asshole, but not a total one.
“The shelter. An elderly man brought him in. Found him in his trash out back. Janice asked me to bring him to you.”
“Well, thank you. Thank you so much,” she says, shaking her head. “I’ve been worried sick. I know he’s just a cat, but he’s so much more to me. I’ve had him for five years now.”
I grin as she leads me into the living room, asking if I want a drink.
“I’m fine.”
We sit on her sofa, awkwardly. Finally, I break the silence. “So, why hairless?”
It’s the only question that comes to mind. Definitely not a question in my repertoire.
She smiles. “Because I always wanted one. Since I was little. My parents wouldn’t get me a cat. My mother said she didn’t want cat hair everywhere. So, I asked for a hairless cat. Mom said they were the ugliest creatures she ever saw. When I got in the position to be able to afford one, it was the first thing I bought.” She smiles big.
“I take it pissing off your mother is at the top of your hobby list?” I ask.
“You got it,” she says, winking and then laughing. “I’m a pro at it too. Although it isn’t hard. There are millions of ways to accomplish it, mostly doing something that insinuates you’re poor. Like buying items that aren’t name brand or wearing sweatpants in public. Mom’s all about the image.”
“Interesting,” I say, not sure what else to say. Sounds like there’s a lot going on with the family. A lot of baggage.
“Not really. I try not to interact with my family that much anymore. But that’s a long story. You didn’t come here to hear about my mom dramas. Thank you again.”
“No problem. Really. I’m glad he’s home.”
We sit again, close enough on the couch that I could reach out and touch her. I think about it, wonder if she’s thinking about it too. Just sitting here, I can feel the tension between us, the chemistry radiating. I think about that night, how our bodies moved so perfectly, how her confidence just got me going. I think about what it would be like to take her on this perfectly white couch, right in the airy living room.
I run a hand through my hair, exhaling. “I should probably get going,” I say, shaking my head. This is dangerous territory.
