Chapter 23
TATE
“THIS IS SO FRUSTRATING!”
Tate snarled at the mass in his hands and heard Mulligan’s hiss of support nearby as the kitten puffed up its back, ready to pounce on the green ball of yarn in his hand.
“How in the heck is this supposed to be fun or relaxing? I feel like the world’s biggest idiot – and it looks like crap. I can’t show this to anyone…”
He let his shoulders slump as he sat there, debating on whether or not to stab the stupid knitting needles into the drywall as a therapeutic signature that he was never, ever attempting this again… and didn’t.
“I’d have to fix the walls if I did,” he muttered hotly and settled with shoving the sticks into the green floppy skein of yard that was mangled because Mulligan kept attacking it with his hind legs.
“And what in the h-e-double-hockey-sticks does it mean by ‘knit one, purl two’? Was I supposed to buy a bunch of fake pearls, or is that code for something? And what does the video mean, ‘pick and throw’ – cause I’m really ready to throw something… ”
The infernal YouTube videos he’d watched went so fast, and they moved their fingers so quickly it made him feel like a bumbling buffoon. The yarn was all a bunch of wavy lines, two sticks, and squiggles as they weaved their hands, and magically it ‘knit’ together.
That was not happening for him.
It was snarled, a few awkward ‘knits’ that looked more like ‘knots,’ and if you pulled hard enough, it unraveled. Putting the yarn down on the couch, he looked at Mulligan, who immediately started purring.
“Yeah, buddy… I need something that makes me a little less on edge, too,” he whispered, petting the kitten, and then froze. “Awww crap…”
Grabbing his phone, he called Nettie.
She answered on the fourth ring, her voice sounding breathless and frustrated like she’d been busy and he was bothering her.
“Hey, are you busy?”
“Just sitting here waiting for you to call.”
“Why do I feel like you’re being sarcastic?”
“I am.”
“Look, if I caught you at a bad time…”
“No, it’s fine. I was trying to do laundry and didn’t have my phone with me when you called.
While I’d love to say you make me breathless – apparently, kicking a doorjamb by mistake with your pinky toe will create the same effect,” she hissed out in frustration.
“So, you now have my complete attention – what’s up? ”
“I need you to feed Mulligan while I’m gone for an away game.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“I’m busy.”
“With what?”
“I’m kidding… sheesh, calm down, Cujo.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“You call me Sticks,” she reminded him.
“I think one is much better received than the other.”
“Why Tate – was that almost a joke?” Nettie seized on his retort, and the mocking tone to her voice had him rolling her eyes. “Or were you flirting with me?” she asked, her voice lowering softly. “Friends don’t flirt…”
“Good thing that we’re not friends…” he said in a hushed and telling whisper, hoping she understood that this banter back and forth between them was everything he’d come to hope and wish for – and more. “It’d be a real shame if all this flirting led to us doing something else…”
“Like what?”
Oh yes – she was breathless and he felt his hands clench at the rush of desire in her voice. Yeah, that sweet tone had nothing to do with an injured toe.
“Playing doctor…”
“Do you want to play doctor with me, Tate? Are we taking this relationship to a new level now – with role playing?”
“We’re barely friends, remember? Who said anything about a relationship?” he chuckled knowingly. “A Podiatrist is a doctor. Can you move your toe? Is it swelling or turning colors?”
“A podiatrist, huh?” Nettie chuckled. “So much for pillow talk and flirting?”
“You’ll know,” he whispered roughly, his voice deep and full of emotion as he closed his eyes at the image that came unbidden to his mind.
He could picture her dark brown locks across his pillow, imagine her sweet smile, and the way she’d close her eyes when he kissed her.
“And if we ever are in bed, I’m not sure how much talking there would be…
but if you want to hear all the sweet words – I’ll give it a shot. ”
“Um, my toe is purplish…” she said hoarsely, ignoring his last comment.
“Broken,” he replied softly, knowing she’d drawn a line. “Tape it to your other toe. I’ve broken mine twice. If it’s the knuckle, then see a doctor. If it’s the digit, don’t bother.”
“Says Doctor Cassidy…”
“I’m not the doctor in the family. Call my sister and test her medical knowledge.”
“No – the last time I injured myself she made me strip…”
“Oh then you should definitely call her - and I’m on my way over right now.”
“You’re making this weird.”
“Should I yell or get mad that you’re refusing to get medical attention… because you’re shy, Sticks?” he chuckled knowingly, imagining just how pink and embarrassed she probably was right now at his blatant interest.
Nettie had to know by now that despite his initial misgivings, the worry, the intense rejection deep down of anyone or anything that could take away from his focus on his career.
Nettie was there – and she wasn’t alone.
He wasn’t alone.
As Tate lay back on the couch, Mulligan immediately moved into position, his favorite spot, lying on his sternum – and purring. It wasn’t a problem now, but he was growing, and eventually, it would be a ten or twenty pound mass of sassy attitude in that spot.
A spot that would always be his kitten’s… and hers.
“So, will you come watch Mulligan for me?” he invited softly. “You could make yourself at home, stick around for a while, and sleep over… if you wanted.”
“So you decided to go from ‘cute and needy’ to ‘creepy’,” she replied flatly – and that didn’t sit well with him in the slightest.
“And maybe this conversation needs to end,” he clapped back hotly, realizing she wasn’t going to budge an inch.
No, something was bothering her, or it was him.
And if it was him, he really didn’t want to know or hear about it.
He was already frustrated about his attempts at knitting to find out why she enjoyed doing that stupid project so much - and he really needed her to feed Mulligan.
He refused to ask Gina again after last time and really didn’t want his mother coming over because then she’d start in on him – again – about how he should add some color, get out more, or meet a sweet girl.
Well, that box was already checked off; she was just being stubborn about it.
“Maybe it does…”
“Are you feeding Mulligan for me tomorrow night or not?”
“Is this how you ask a favor of me?” Nettie scoffed in disbelief and then paused before replying a terse and quiet, “Then your answer is ‘no’.”
“Whaddya mean ‘NO’?”
“N. O.,” she said firmly. “If you cannot ask me nicely, and we’re not dating, then why would I go out of my way to do a favor for you? If you treat me like this – then you always will – and I deserve better from a friend.”
“We’re not friends,” he tossed out, using her words that she always brought up. “Is this about us? About me? About us dating?”
“You’ll know when we’re dating,” she mocked – and he could practically see her expression in his mind’s eye.
“Forget it.”
“Seriously?” she asks in disbelief. “Who are you going to get to feed Mulligan while you are out of town?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Actually – yes. I know you, and I know you won’t ask Gina again because in your mind, she went back on a promise. You’re not hard to read, Cujo…”
“Quit calling me that,” he interrupted and then quickly shot back “Sticks…”
“You win – no more nicknames… Cujo.”
“Wrong… Sticks. You’re my Sticks - my friend, my girlfriend, the woman I’m going to hold in my arms, the woman I want to see sleeping in my bed someday, and…”
“In your wet dreams,” she retorted, obviously flustered and interrupting him before he could continue or say something he’d regret – but that comment was like throwing gasoline on a wildfire.
Heat raced up his spine, flared in his brain, and caused his heart to skip a beat as his temper, his emotions, his everything ignited like a nuclear bomb within him.
“Maybe! Does that make you happy? Maybe, okay?” he exclaimed – and heard her gasp. Whoops…
Both sat there for a moment, neither saying a word. He could hear something in the background, maybe it was the television, but something was there, and he wondered if she could hear Mulligan’s purring.
“Bye,” he hesitated hoarsely, feeling very uncomfortable at her reaction.
“Uh-huh,” she whispered, ending the call.
This was not how he imagined his evening.
Twenty minutes later, Tate was glaring at the clock on the wall, waiting and wondering if he was going to have to make the first move again.
Nettie could be so stubborn, almost as stubborn as he was sometimes, but he didn’t like how things ended.
Was it so repulsive to think that he might be interested in her as more than friends?
That hurt.
More than he wanted to admit.
Sitting up, he moved Mulligan off his chest and winced at the tiny daggers that tried to cling to his chest as he set the cat down beside him. Mulligan glared at him, hissed, and jumped away – obviously in a bad mood now, too.
“Kiss and hiss are both four-letter words, you mongrel…” Tate snarled after the cat. “You love me and we both know it – so hiss all you want! I’m here when you are done being pissy at me…”
Picking up his phone, he texted Nettie while whispering to himself, using a few tactics from Emil’s suggestions to help when he felt too strongly or got temperamental.
According to his therapist, he was a high-intensity person, which sounded stupid as could be defining someone like that, but Emil managed to make it make sense.
“Some people cry when they feel overwhelmed, some laugh, while other’s lash out or get upset. You’re not actually mad, Tate – you just feel a high level of anxiety or struggle to cope in the moment, so let’s work on a few coping mechanisms…”
And they honestly helped.
Deep breathing exercises, a worry stone he kept in his pocket and rubbed when he felt it building inside of him, counting exercises, and reciting his goals with tactics on how to get there.
“Be nice, be approachable, ask for her input…”
I hope your toe is okay.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so stupid sometimes,” Tate muttered, staring at the screen as he saw the message was marked as Read. “I hope your toe is okay? Really? That’s what you are starting with?”
It’s fine.
He lifted an eyebrow in awareness. ‘It’s fine’ was what his mother said to his father when she was pissed off. Even Gina had muttered that a few times under her breath at him recently.
You’re mad.
You’re changing the dynamics.
He didn’t have a response, well— he did, but it wouldn’t help his case. Neither of those comments was a question. They were statements designed not to continue a conversation, and that wouldn’t work. He wanted things to be okay between them, and if he had to bend, then so be it.
Could you please feed Mulligan for me, friend?
How convenient – FRIEND.
And yes.
Thank you.
He let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding as he realized that she was coming to his place to care for Mulligan. That was a relief, but she was texting him again.
I was going to anyway…
I knew it.
No, you didn’t – but I wouldn’t let that sweet kitten suffer just because you are pressing my buttons.
I enjoy pressing your buttons, Sticks.
I know you do, Cujo.
Tate chuckled softly as he hearted the comment. Honestly, he loved that she called him a pet name, even if it was a rabid dog from a movie that was on a drooling killing spree and had to be put down. A moment later, he saw her heart his comment, and smiled.
Sticks is growing on me – don’t let it go to your head.
It won’t. I promise.
Mulligan chose that moment to return, licking his chops and then scaling the couch before circling in his lap to find a comfortable spot. As the kitten settled down, he looked up at him with those bright blue eyes and began purring. Tate smoothed the tabby’s fur and sighed.
“I’m crazy about her… I think it’s time to take things to another level,” he whispered to the kitten, who hissed in agreement before Tate replied simply like they were speaking their own language. “I love you, too, Mulligan.”