21. Nadia
21
NADIA
I find myself anticipating Dalton’s arrival that night more than I should.
I don’t know what it is. Maybe the coziness of the cat family. The ups and downs of caring for them. His willingness to help.
Or how we ended up in the same bed.
Is this the way my mom feels about Dad coming home? I can almost juxtapose her happy expression on my face.
It feels the same.
Is this a bad thing?
We do live together. He’s kind of … great. And we noticed each other from the very start.
Maybe it’s inevitable.
I’ve spent the last half-hour picking up kittens and setting them back in the crate. Maybe we should get a taller box. They are not litter box trained yet. Mama Cat isn’t quite up to the task of cleaning them up, and I really don’t want formula poop all over the apartment.
Mama Cat and Catzilla are asleep on the bed—mine, not theirs. Their kitty pad is empty in the corner.
The kittens are awake and feisty after being fed.
Ferris Mewler uses Pumpkin as a stepping stool to grasp the top edge of the crate. Then he’s over the top, belly caught on the lip, front paws outstretched as if he can touch the ground.
I pick him up and set him back inside.
But then it’s Greyson who straight up launches himself over the top. I catch him with both hands, my palms stinging from tiny baby cat claws.
“Back in you go.”
Greyson mews at me, probably using some kitten-curse words.
The lock jiggles as Dalton inserts his key. I know that sound well by now. So do the cats, as they look up at the door expectantly.
I inhale sharply as my anticipation peaks. My heart actually leaps .
Should it be doing that?
It doesn’t matter.
It’s doing it whether or not it should.
The aroma of hot pizza reaches me before I see his face.
He’s brought dinner?
The door opens only a crack. “Is it safe to avoid escaping cats?” he calls.
Greyson is sneaking over the wall of the crate. I lift him off and set him next to his siblings. “All clear!”
Dalton enters quickly, holding the pizza box over his head as if the cats could reach it.
The smell does something to them. Mama Cat abandons the bed to weave between Dalton’s legs.
Catzilla hops down after her to sit at his feet.
“Apparently our kitties like pizza,” I tell him.
“I see that.” He steps carefully across the floor, trying to avoid errant paws. Both cats follow closely.
“You stopped for food?”
“I thought it would be too crazy to cook. And if you had, we would have something to heat another time.”
My chest flutters like someone blew a dandelion inside of it. He thought of us, of me. “I haven’t had a moment to cook at all.”
“Then we can eat it hot.” He sets the box on the bar and the two older cats immediately hop up to investigate.
“Cattarina!” I cry, standing to pull her down.
Dalton laughs. “She’s motivated.” He picks up Mama cat. “Or maybe MC Catter, Can’t Touch This, is a bad influence.” He lifts the kitty to his nose. “Are you, now?” He sets her on his shoulder and strokes her back. “So skinny.”
“That will take some time, especially if she keeps letting the babies nurse.” Both Greyson and Ferris have escaped the crate. They are getting too strong to stop, recovering much faster than their mother.
“Into the litter box,” I tell them, lifting both and scooting toward the bar. I set them both inside, letting them sniff so they start to understand what happens there.
Greyson already gets it, letting a stream of pee fly into the litter.
Ferris takes a bite.
“Ferris!” I lift him out and clear out his mouth. “That’s for pooping, not eating!”
Dalton laughs. “They’ll figure it out.”
“Greyson just peed in there!”
Mama Cat jumps back to the bar, and Dalton moves her down again. “She’s obviously getting her energy back.”
“She needs to take over her brood.” I snag her and put her in the litter box with Ferris. “Don’t let your kid eat the rocks.”
Ferris noses the litter again.
Mama Cat whacks him on the head with her paw.
“Tough love,” Dalton says with a laugh.
The two exit the litter box, followed by Greyson, who seems pretty pleased with himself, holding up his head as he crosses the floor.
Dalton bends down and extends a hand to me. “Your dinner, Madame?”
I take his fingers, that spark I felt a few days ago returning, becoming a buzz that sizzles through my whole body.
He lifts me up from the floor. “Should we get plates or eat it straight from the box like new parents who don’t have time for dishes?”
“Straight from the box. I’m too tired for anything else.”
“Done.”
We head into the kitchen to wash our hands. It’s strangely intimate, taking turns soaping up and rinsing off, passing the same kitchen towel between us. It’s nothing like showering together, but something about it feels the same.
“You sit. I’ll get us water,” he says.
“Was your shift okay?” I ask. “You must be tired.”
“Not too bad. I might be getting used to it.” He removes two cups from the cabinet.
I open the pizza box, drawing both cats onto the bar again.
“Goodness, kitties,” I say, setting them both down. “No, no.”
When Catzilla crouches like she might jump again, I hold a hand in front of her face. “No, Cattarina. No, no.”
She narrows her eyes at me, then turns and heads to the bed, jumping up to glare from a distance.
Mama Cat looks between Cattarina and me, then hops into the crate where Doppelg?nger and Pumpkin are mewing like they’re all alone in the world.
“Now we can eat,” Dalton says, setting our cups down.
The pizza is half meat lover’s, half veggie. Opposites, sharing a space.
He remembers my order like I do his.
Six weeks of living together, and we know each other.
Except what it feels like to touch him. To kiss that mouth.
I focus on my slice of pizza to scatter those wild thoughts, the peppers and mushrooms threatening to slide off as if giving chase to my far-flung feelings.
We tuck into the warm and savory food, each taking turns glancing back at the room to see what the cats are up to.
MC settles in with her two.
Cattarina fetches Ferris and Greyson, the wildlings, and brings them onto the mattress with her.
“So much for the cat bed,” Dalton says, reaching for a second slice. “Are we going to make the parental circle of protection around them again tonight?”
I realized earlier that with the bed against the wall, I could sleep with them on the inside, and the kittens weren’t in danger of falling.
But I simply say, “I guess so.”
I don’t miss how he swallows hard, even though he hadn’t taken a bite. He’s thinking about it, all of us in the bed.
I am, too.
We finish half the pizza and put the rest away, then warm a round of kitten formula and each take two kittens to feed. Soon, we won’t need this routine. The kittens can start solid foods now that they aren’t so weak. Then Mama Cat can really recover.
They’re going to be fine.
Dalton showers as I pick up the formula from the feeding. When he comes out, I go in, deciding a quick shower would be good for me, too, since we will be in such close proximity.
The room smells of him. The herbal shampoo, a woodsy body wash. I close my eyes, letting the water wash over me, cocooned in the warmth of where he just was.
Naked.
And now I’m here.
Naked.
An ache spreads through me. I haven’t dated anyone seriously in two years. I had a boyfriend in college. When I graduated and left to get my MBA, we tried staying together as a long-distance relationship.
But the time apart revealed how little we had in common when we couldn’t Netflix and chill the night away. Our phone conversations became texts. Then those became fewer. We didn’t break up so much as stop talking, until one day he said it seemed like we were done, and I agreed.
Not bad, as far as endings go.
We haven’t talked since, although every once in a while I feel this twinge of having known someone so well, so intimately, and now I don’t know them at all. I couldn’t tell you where he lives. What he’s doing.
I don’t remember what he puts on pizza.
I’ve dallied longer than I intended. Dalton may already be asleep.
For some reason, this upsets me, so I hurriedly turn off the water and towel dry.
I had pinned my hair up rather than wash it, but I let it fall, soft and damp on the edges. I brush my teeth, wondering if he’s awake. If he’s anticipating me sleeping on the bed with him.
Or if the darn cats have finally decided to curl up in their own bed and I’m not needed.
That would suck.
I shouldn’t have worried on any count. When I leave the bathroom, the small kitchen light is on, but the rest of the room is bathed in darkness. It’s been a good compromise since we have been getting up to feed the kittens.
I can see the form of Dalton on the bed. I peer into the crate.
His voice is low. “They’re all up here. Ferris has already tried to tumble off twice.”
My belly quivers as I approach the bed. “Ferris is the wiliest of them all.”
“I concur.”
My eyes adjust. Dalton lies against the wall, all six cats dead center on the bed.
“I can be on the edge,” he says.
“I like it over here.”
“Then we officially have sides,” he says.
“We do.” I shiver lightly with another couple-oriented detail now solidified between us.
Both of our comforters are on the bed, his Transformers one covering him, and my blue one on the open side.
Sliding beneath the sheet is wildly intimate. Even with the cats between us, and no clear path from my body to his, it’s unabashedly sexy to slip into bed beside him.
“I’ll take first shift if they wake up hungry,” he says.
“I’ll get up, too. It’ll go faster.”
“All right.”
His voice reverberates through me in the dark. It’s low and sexy, like an audiobook narrator.
Which makes me think of romance novels. Then First Base to Love . Then cock .
I don’t think I’ll sleep, but then my eyes pop open in the dark.
Something feels different.
The kitchen bulb is on, leaving a soft glow over the room. I hold my breath, listening. No mewling or cries from the kittens.
I’ve rolled onto my side, facing away from Dalton and the cats. I turn slowly, ever so carefully, to look at them.
They’re not there. The space between us is empty.
I sit up. Where are they?
Dalton stirs. “Everything okay?”
“The cats are gone.”
He looks down. “They moved.”
I slide out from under the covers. “Let me look.”
But I needn’t have worried. The whole lot of them are in the cat bed.
Catzilla opens one eye, then closes it again.
I tiptoe back to Dalton. “Maybe we were too restless.”
“Maybe.”
I’ve already slid back under the covers when I realize I don’t need to. There are no kittens to keep from falling off.
I’ll have to blow up the air mattress. I’m about to leave again when Dalton says, “I checked the lease.”
I stay put. “Really?”
“Two pet maximum.”
“Uh oh.”
He sighs. “I guess we’ll have to keep quiet about the cats.”
“We will.”
“And hope they don’t need anything in here.”
I grip the comforter. “Would they evict us?”
“I’m not sure. They’d probably give us a few days to re-home them.”
But where would I do that? The rescues are full. Camryn couldn’t handle the whole litter with her allergies. I don’t know very many people in LA.
My breath hitches.
Dalton’s arm crosses the bed to brush against my shoulder. “Hey. We’ll figure it out. So far, so good.”
His touch sets off another jolt, like the one we talked about a week ago.
I shouldn’t bring it up. Not here. At night. Both of us are in bed.
But I do. “I felt that,” I say.
“Me, too.” His voice has that low, sexy quality again.
His hand stays on my shoulder, heavy and warm. I never want him to move it. A shower of sparks courses through me every time I breathe, shifting my body just enough that the contact changes. Each tiny alteration in pressure, every bare increment of skin newly touched, is like a flame making its way across me.
I’ve never been so sensitive to something. Dopamine and oxytocin. They’re working overtime.
“Will it fade?” I ask. “It seems like it’s growing more intense.”
“Do you want it to go away?”
His question is simple, and so is my answer.
“No.”
His eyes catch the faint light of the kitchen bulb. His face is shadowy but so familiar. I can picture the cut of his jaw, the breadth of his brow, the angle of his nose.
“Nadia?”
My name is like a question in the dark.
“Yes?”
He says nothing in response, as if his next words are too big, too much. I wonder how he’d phrase it. Would he ask me to move closer? To kiss me? If this is a good idea?
If he should leave the bed?
Suddenly I can’t bear that possibility. I don’t want him to go. I don’t want to go either.
So I take a leap.
And I move closer.