Chapter 14
Kenzie
Getting a brand-new kitten is just what I needed. I know a lot of people swear by a new haircut or working on a revenge body after a breakup, but let me tell you, get a pet. Nothing occupies your time—or your wayward mind—like having a sweet ball of fun to look after.
I almost never think of Lamebrain Lawson or that weird moment at the lighthouse two weeks ago.
I’m also convinced that thinking my roommate was leaning in for a kiss was probably an elaborate hallucination.
After all, my brain can’t be trusted. A second before that, I’d been vividly imagining my improbable demise.
It’d been immature to avoid Trevor for days afterward, but after pheromonal and emotional confusion on the heels of being scared out of my wits, I needed some time to process. I think everyone can agree that jumping into a new relationship right after being dumped is a bad idea.
Fortunately, I never had to set that boundary with Trevor because on the day we brought home our newest roommate, I realized how wrong my imagination had been. There were no more tense moments or lingering gazes.
Trevor was just…Trevor.
My friendly, easy-going roommate.
Jet, named for her jet-black fur and how she likes to race all over the place, is now healthier than ever—and hungrier than ever as she weaves between my legs, meowing as I open another can of soft food.
“You can really pack these away, can’t you?” I tease Jet while dropping a kiss on Banks’s head.
The cat sling Trevor bought me was the perfect thing to help with Dr. Brooks’s instructions on how to slowly and safely introduce the two very different personalities to each other.
Being able to reassure skittish Banks with hands-free snuggles while Jet careens around the house like a fighter plane on steroids has been super helpful.
I support Banks’s back while bending to dump Jet’s food in the tiny pink bowl Trevor bought for her. He also bought her a miniscule collar with rhinestones so she’d be as dressed up as Banks with his assortment of bowties.
Slipping my finger around the base of the can, I offer my fingertip to Banks. He gratefully licks it clean, pawing at the braid over my shoulder.
“Let’s start on pancakes. What do you think?” I ask my favorite cooking companion.
It’s been a lazy morning. My roommate is still sleeping, even though it’s almost noon, but I’m betting the scent of buttery pancakes might lure him out. Trevor got home much later than expected last night since his away game went into the thirteenth inning before ending in an unfortunate loss.
Though I can’t bring myself to watch when my ex is the starting pitcher, I’ve been watching the other Waves games, realizing how much I missed them.
Last night, Jet and I bounced around the living room when Trevor’s home run brought in three runs in the top of the eighth.
Banks just patiently waited until I sat back down again to curl into my lap for the rest of the game.
I’ve got a fat stack of pancakes piled high on a plate before Trevor stumbles into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.
His hair is adorably disheveled, his normally clean-shaven face scruffy with yesterday’s growth.
What would that stubble feel like? Would it be soft?
Would it scratch? I fist my fingers when the unexpected impulse to touch washes over me.
What had I declared mere seconds ago?
We’re just roommates.
And roommates definitely don’t think about sliding their fingers over the other’s masculine jaw.
“I made pancakes,” I announced brightly, holding up the spatula.
Trevor blinks, his gaze drifting from the vase of garden-picked ranunculus on the counter to the stack of pancakes before finally landing on me. Then his eyes widen before he slaps a large hand over them. “What are you doing?”
I glance at Banks, but he, too, has no idea what Trevor is talking about. “Making pancakes. I thought you might be hungry.”
“I am. I’m always hungry, but why…” He pauses with a rough swallow. “Why are you… Um, I don’t think—”
His sentence cuts off in a weird coughing fit as Trevor makes a bunch of random gestures with his free hand.
“That.” He points blindly. “We can’t have that. I know we don’t have many house rules, but—”
Trevor clears his throat so loudly that Banks twitches in fear. I smooth a hand over Banks’s back while Jet tugs on a loose string on the hem of Trevor’s gray sweatpants, nearly biting his ankle.
“You need to wear pants in the house, Kenzie. I can’t walk into the kitchen and have you Donald Ducking it. It’s—” The rest of that sentence drops off with an exhale that’s half sigh, half groan.
What is he talking about? I glance down, realizing that my sleep shorts are completely covered by the hem of the hoodie Trevor loaned me on the beach—something I should have given back that day but can’t seem to part with.
“I’m not.” A giggle spills out of me as I lift the edge of the sweatshirt. “I’ve got shorts on. Look.”
After a breath, Trevor peeks through his fingers like a kid afraid of a haunted house. A thick pulse of warmth floods my chest at the sight. How can a grown man be this adorable?
“See.” I tug the hoodie hem higher.
Heat flickers as his eyes trace up my legs before stalling on the curve of my hip.
Though I’m technically covered by strawberry-print fabric, I hadn’t considered that these shorts are…
well, really short. My heartrate skips at his darkening expression, at the slackening of his lips.
Then Trevor runs a palm over his face, turning away.
“I’ve got— I forgot something in my room. Be right back,” he calls, all but running down the hall.
It’s several long minutes before Trevor reemerges empty-handed, his affable smile back on his face.
He eats with enthusiasm, complimenting my cooking as usual.
Then he gets on the ground with Jet in the living room, giving her tons of attention.
I sit cross-legged with Banks on the couch, that odd buzzing sensation now resonating beneath my breastbone.
Trevor lies on his back, lifting Jet into the air while unabashedly making airplane noises.
Jet’s loud purring spreads through the room like sunshine.
My wayward brain suddenly subs the kitten out for a giggling baby, drool slipping down her pink lips onto her joyous father.
There’s no doubt that Trevor would make an excellent dad—engaged, playful, supportive, protective.
“We should make a video,” I blurt because my heart cannot handle the wholesome tableau before me—imaginary or otherwise.
“What?” Trevor pushes up on an elbow, and I swear I try not to notice how every muscle beneath his Waves technical shirt bunches.
“For Princess, that pig that needs adopting.”
We’d learned about Princess during our follow-up visit for Jet and that a soccer—sorry, football—player from London had made a promotional slideshow to encourage her adoption.
Apparently, Princess the pot-bellied pig is a bit of a diva.
Tiaras, dresses, and gourmet food are non-negotiables.
Her former owner, an eccentric but tender-hearted older woman, recently passed away, and Fur-Ever Homes has been having a hard time finding a new family for her.
Dr. Brooks had offhandedly suggested that having another professional athlete supporting Princess’s adoption search might help expedite the process.
“Oh, yeah. I’d almost forgotten,” Trevor says, sitting all the way up and setting Jet aside. “Want to film it now?”
“Um, sure. Let me get my phone.”
We spend a few minutes brainstorming what would be the best way to draw attention to Princess’s cause.
“I think Callum lays out the specifics, but there could be more of an emotional appeal,” I say, watching the slideshow again.
“I got it.” Trevor cradles Banks in the crook of his arm before moving in front of the windows.
With the sun shifting behind the house, all the young leaves on the trees twinkle like thousands of peridots.
I love this time of year when bright, brilliant green returns to the world.
It’s also an incredible backdrop for Trevor’s Waves-blue shirt and the pop of his bicep as he holds a relaxed Banks one-handed.
I give my head a slight shake and focus. “Tell me when.”
“Give me a ‘three’ aloud and then just count ‘two’ and ‘one’ silently with your fingers and then start filming,” Trevor prompts before lifting his lips in that well-known smile.
His response reminds me that this isn’t Trevor’s first time being in front of a camera.
In addition to post-game press conferences and on-field interviews, he’s done numerous ads for a variety of products over the years.
Throughout his career, he’s been in the company of not only other elite athletes but celebrities, billionaires, and politicians.
For the first time since we’ve met, I feel a little intimidated, which is ridiculous because Trevor is literally in his pajamas with bedhead, holding my favorite cat in the world. Jet paws at my fuzzy socks, reminding me she’s in the mix now too.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” I say to Jet, causing Trevor to give me a questioning grin.
“You’re right.” He scoops up Jet and places her on his shoulder, where she ceases her incessant fidgeting. I guess if I was slung over Trevor’s strong shoulder, I’d surrender too.
What? No!
I grind my teeth together to stop myself from shouting We’re just roommates aloud.
“We should include Jet too,” he says, unaware of my inner turmoil. “Though she’s not technically from Fur-Ever Homes, the viewers won’t know that.”
Then Trevor nods at me, all business. Ready to go.
I open my mouth to mention the bedhead, but it’s so endearing I don’t say anything. Instead, I whisper, “Three,” give the rest of the count silently, and press start.
“I’m Trevor Chapman, catcher for the Virginia Beach Waves, and I need your help finding an adorable pot-bellied pig, named Princess, her forever home.
She’s special, but what rescue animal isn’t?
This guy”—he pauses to give Banks a kiss behind his missing ear—“required a lot of care and attention when I first adopted him, but nothing, and I mean nothing, is better than the unwavering love from a feline…or porcine”—Trevor winks at the camera and I nearly drop the phone—“friend.”
Not to be left out, Jet takes this opportunity to voice her tiny kitten meow.
Trevor chuckles tenderly at Jet, and I swear I feel myself ovulating. “I didn’t forget about you.”
He holds her steady with his free hand before kissing her head as well.
“So, reach out to the good people at Fur-Ever Homes to learn more about Princess today. She could be what completes your family like these two completed ours.” He pauses, looking straight into the camera, though I feel like he’s peering into my soul. “Every pet deserves a loving forever home.”
When Trevor holds his smile, it takes me a few seconds to realize we’re done.
Mostly because I can’t stop staring. Have I ever seen Trevor wink?
Have I ever seen him turn on the charm like that before?
Usually, when he’s in press conferences, he has this almost aw-shucks demeanor.
He’s humble and is the first person to deflect attention from himself toward his teammates.
“How did it look?” Trevor asks, dragging me back to the room.
“Oh.” I swallow before taking an unsteady gulp of air. “Stay there. I’ll show you, and we can redo it if you want.”
We end up keeping the first take because, let’s face it, it was perfect.
I send it to Trevor and then find the sweetest picture of Princess relaxing on a hot-pink chaise lounge with an elaborately designed tiara and an undeniable smile.
He tacks the photo on for an additional three seconds, writes a caption about Princess’s various needs but how she’s worth the extra care, adds the same hashtags Callum used, and then posts.
“Done.” Trevor flops on the couch like the world hasn’t tilted on its axis.
That buzzing starts up again, but this time it feels like a deep, persistent thudding. It takes me a few seconds to realize why.
Trevor said ours.
“She could be what completes your family like these two completed ours.”
I pinch myself on the thigh before I can overthink it. I’m always joking that Trevor is my older brother, he must mean that the cats are ours like two siblings would share a pet.
Right?
Trevor stands, stretching. “I should—”
“Do you want to go with me to play pool?” I ask in a rush.
I really—and I mean really—wanted to abandon the Do It Scared list after the whole vomiting-over-the-side-of-a-moving-boat-and-nearly-falling-to-my-death escapade, but the idea of not finishing what I’ve started gives me hives.
The fact that I pushed it aside the last two weeks, albeit for a good fluffy cause, has been niggling me nonstop.
It takes Trevor a second to mask his shock at my question. When he hesitates, pressure burns in my chest, making me want to yank the words back.
“Sure,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Let me get showered.”
“Oh, me too.” I hop up from the couch.
As I race to my bathroom, I remind myself it might be a bad idea to jump into another relationship after a breakup, but it’s never a bad idea to hang out with your roommate.