23
Projecting
“Release the kittens!” shouted my mother.
Two Happy Homes volunteers pulled away the safety gates and a horde of mewling kittens rushed forward into the giant Happy Homes playroom, where Logan sat in the middle of the floor, wearing a Happy Homes–branded polo that was dusted, like the rest of him, with high-grade catnip. As I watched the wave of cats overtake him—bouncing into his lap and climbing his back like a mountain—it occurred to me that between my mom and me, the Stone women were uniquely skilled at finding inventive ways to torture Logan.
“Welcome to Happy Homes!” he recited nonetheless, spitting cat hair out of his mouth. His face was stretched in a grin as the kittens used him as a human climbing wall. He was doing his best to convey he was having the time of his life, bless his heart.
“Cut!” my mom yelled. Thankfully, between me and the professional camera crew she’d hired, we’d convinced her one long continuous shot was both impractical and a painstaking craft detail no one who watched the commercial would notice or care about. The downside was, my mother had insisted we try out a few variations on the opening. This particular one involved Logan covered in cats.
“Quick break. Logan, I love what you’re doing, you’re a divine leading man. But I’m not getting the right energy from the cats.” Mom narrowed her eyes. “Alexis, will you jump in and play with them a little? Get them in the mood. We want the right kind of playful—sweet, not rabid.”
“I’m sorry.” I crossed my arms. “Are you asking me to be a kitten fluffer?”
“Just get in there.” She waved in Logan’s direction. “Get them to deliver.”
“Ugh. Fine.” I left my comfortable perch and walked to Logan. “But has anyone mentioned you’re taking this a little too seriously?” Mom was dressed in head-to-toe black like some sort of auteur filmmaker. I was honestly surprised she wasn’t sporting a beret. Behind her, the team of Happy Homes volunteers widened their eyes and shook their heads at me in silent warning. Touchy subject, apparently.
“There’s no such thing as taking it too seriously,” Mom said sweetly. Lee liked to say she took after our dad and I took after Mom, but sometimes it couldn’t be more obvious that Lee was Elise Stone’s daughter. They were two peas in a very demanding pod.
“No filming me,” I warned. “I’m just fluffing, then I’m out.” I crept through the kittens, then knelt next to Logan. “You doing okay?” It had already been a whirlwind day. After meeting my mom, the crew, and the “creative team” here at the Houston Happy Homes headquarters at the unhealthy hour of 7:00 a.m., Logan had borne a solid half hour of my mom’s effusive thanks, and then he’d been ushered into a closed-door storyboarding meeting I wasn’t allowed to attend. He’d walked into the meeting wearing a suit and a determined expression. He’d walked out wearing a Happy Homes polo, looking dazed.
“Of course I’m doing okay,” Logan growled, clutching a wriggling cat. “I’m covered in kittens. This is the best fucking day of my life.”
“Language!” chirped my mother, and Logan called back, “Sorry, Elise!”
I frowned. “Then why do you look so angry?”
“Because this camera is going to capture me eating my heart out with these adorable fucking monsters—sorry, Elise—and the whole state is going to see me being soft. Mane’s going to seize on my weakness like a shark smelling blood in the water. I know because it’s what I would do.”
“This commercial is meant to show your softer side.” I lunged, removing a kitten who was about to spring into Logan’s face. “It could win over new voters.”
Logan’s eyebrows drew together. “If you say so.” He eyed me. “Will you get down here already?”
I crouched slowly, checking I wasn’t going to squash any cats. As soon as I was on the floor, I was bombarded by wet noses and tiny claws. I scooped a midnight-black kitten who was climbing a little too deep into my lap. “Getting fresh, Count Dracula.” Around us, the room buzzed with Happy Homes staff and the camera crew, but no one from the campaign. “Why didn’t you bring anyone with you? Did Cary and Nora not want to make the drive?” It was only two hours from Austin to Houston.
Logan shrugged, dangling a string. A tiny calico gave it everything she had, launching her body all of three inches in the air and still missing. “I didn’t want to meet your mom as a candidate. You know, with security and entourage. I wanted to meet her as myself. Besides, they’re all freaking out about the first debate. T-minus two days now.”
“Well, I think my mom likes you, for whatever that’s worth.”
His eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Oh, sure. Almost as much as Ben, I bet.”
“Almost? Hey, your mom thinks we’re actually dating.” He watched the leaping calico and frowned. “Almost as much.”
“Welcome to my life. Second-place trophies as far as the eye can see.” I leaned over and tried fluffing a few kittens so their fur stood taller. I honestly had no idea what my mom expected. When I looked up, Logan was studying me. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said, though the way he was looking at me suggested otherwise. “Will you look at this guy?” He pointed to gray-and-white Mischief, who chose that moment to spring up and bite the collar of Logan’s polo, hanging on for dear life. Logan turned to me with an amazed expression. “He’s trying to eat me.”
“Mischief tries to eat everything. In your case, I think it’s because you let my mom rub you down with catnip. Which was ridiculous, by the way. You could’ve said no.”
“To Elise? Ha.” Logan scooped up Mischief and cradled him. “Seriously, look at this face. As soon as I’m done campaigning, I’m adopting as many animals as I can fit in my house.”
“Your post-election dream is to become an animal hoarder?”
He smiled wistfully. “I have a lot of post-election dreams.”
“Well, you might not want to mention that one to Nora. You can fit a lot of cats in the governor’s mansion.” I looked at Mischief, who was now curled into a ball in Logan’s hands. “I’ve wanted a cat for a long time.”
“I know my excuse. Zero time. Why are you waiting?”
Normally, I told my mom I didn’t have enough space in my apartment or a million other practical excuses. But with Logan, the truth came out. “I guess I’m scared to be the most important person in something’s life. I’m scared to have it all come down to me. What if I’m not good enough? What if there are better options for parents?”
Logan was opening his mouth to respond when two kittens launched what could only have been a coordinated attack. They both sailed past Mischief to land on Logan’s head, where they clung to his hair like mountain rappelers. “Oh, shit,” Logan yelped, then, “sorry, Elise!” He jerked backward and Mischief leaped away.
“Alexis!” my mother called, but I was already on it.
“Hold still, let me help.” I crawled into the empty space between Logan’s long legs and reached for his head—then slipped on the linoleum. I fell hard against his chest, knocking him backward on the floor and collapsing on top of him. Logan’s entire body went rigid.
Oops. Carefully, I extracted the cats, then studied him. No tiny claw marks on his face. He looked normal, except for the fact that he was staring at me.
“Hi.” His soft voice didn’t match the intensity of his eyes. “Did I crush any cats?”
“If you did, they deserved it.”
We grinned at each other. His body was warm and solid beneath mine, the firmness of his muscles easy to feel under his thin polo. All those hours playing soccer were evident in the hard planes of his body. I’d collapsed between his thighs, where I fit snugly, and our faces were close enough that if he tilted his head, he’d brush my lips.
“Good idea,” my mom called. “We’ll get B-roll.”
“Oh, shoot, my mom.” I’d honestly forgotten about her. I started to jerk up.
“No, stay there,” my mom insisted. “For the B-roll. You’re hearing me say B-roll, right, honey? Like Scorsese.”
Logan shrugged, a small, pleased smile curving his mouth. “Director’s orders. You’re going to have to stay.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t forget—she thinks we’re dating.”
“Right.” I couldn’t leap away from Logan in embarrassment. I had to act like I was his girlfriend, used to touching him. What would that look like?
I started by relaxing my shoulders. In response, he put an arm around me, drawing me even tighter against his chest. The sensation of my body rubbing against his—against his soft polo, the starchy denim pulled tight over his thighs—made me look away so he couldn’t catch my expression. This is what it would feel like to lie in bed with him on Sunday mornings, stretch out on the couch watching movies. To be his real girlfriend. Logan—strong, tall, chiseled-jawed, and gruffly beautiful—would hold me just like this, look down at me just like this. Smile just like this. The sense of certainty was so vivid it felt like getting a glimpse into an alternate universe.
I met his eyes cautiously, hoping he couldn’t read what I was thinking.
He stroked my hair away from my face, lightly skimming my temple. “Have I told you I like that you’re an animal person?”
I smiled. “I like that you’re tall. Makes you an excellent floor cushion.”
His grin grew wider. “You know, when you really smile, you do it with your whole face. I can see your smile in your eyes. It’s the best thing.”
The same tender feeling that made me agree to Lee’s deal washed back now, somehow warmer.
“Great shots,” my mom yelled. “Now let’s get going on a new scene.”
The sound of her voice had me scrambling up like a teenager caught with my bedroom door closed.
“Easy,” Logan warned, hands covering his crotch.
As I tried to roll both safely and elegantly away, I spotted something in the corner of the room under the cat tree. It was a full-grown cat, a tabby. I picked myself up and edged nearer. It was obvious the cat had been through an ordeal. Its fur was ragged, missing in places, and the tip of one ear was gone. It was curled up under the cat tree, quietly watching the kittens with large, wistful green eyes that flicked back and forth as the kittens played.
“Mom,” I called. “Who’s this?”
She looked up from where she’d been pointing at something in the cameraman’s notebook. “Oh—that’s Patches. She’s our oldest cat. Been with us for close to a year, I think. We took her from a shelter that was going to put her down.”
I walked slowly to Patches so I didn’t scare her and crouched down, sticking out my hand. She sniffed it experimentally.
“I don’t understand why no one wants her,” Mom said. “She’s a little rough-looking, sure—we think she got attacked by another animal. But she’s the sweetest girl. I hate that she’s spending so much of her life in the shelter.”
Now that I was close up, I could see that the spots where Patches’ fur was missing looked scarred, like she’d been bitten and the fur refused to grow back. To my surprise, she leaned into my touch and rubbed her face against my fingers. I scratched her head and ears and heard the sound of the world’s tiniest, quietest motor. She was purring.
“We let her hang out with the kittens because she gets lonely,” Mom said. “She’s perfectly happy to sit and watch.”
I stroked Patches’ face. She’d been overlooked. That wasn’t fair. Patches had love to give. She deserved better.
“I’ll take her,” I said.
The sounds of the camera crew moving behind me stopped. “What was that, Lex?”
I turned around. Everyone was watching me. I took a deep breath and said, in a louder voice, “I want Patches. I’ll take her home.”
My mom almost dropped her clapboard. “Really? Oh, Alexis, that’s fabulous! Two of my favorite girls, coming together!” She turned to the cameraman. “Please tell me you got that.”
The intensity of her enthusiasm made my face heat. As did the look on Logan’s face as he walked over and scooped Patches up.
“Hey, Patches,” he crooned, letting her settle into the crook of his arm. “You coming back with us to Austin? Going to help me campaign?” He gave me a knowing look. “I can tell she’s a Democrat.”
Patches was looking at him and purring, so it was safe to say she was at least a Logan Arthur fan. And I was starting to see why Logan had been reluctant to go on camera. It turned out l’enfant terrible of Texas politics, the man who sent paparazzi running, the politician with the most f-bombs on record, got really, really soft around small, four-legged creatures. I scratched behind Patches’ ears, brushing Logan’s forearm with my own. “I’ll allow you to recruit her if you agree Cary still does the coffee runs. He hates it too much to take it away from him.”
“Deal,” Logan said. Then, just as lightly, “Big decision you just made. Feeling good about it? None of those worries creeping in?”
It was a big decision. Taking Patches home meant my whole life would change. I took a deep breath. “No, I’m terrified. But look at her. Even if I’m not the best, fanciest cat mom, I can at least make sure she’s not alone. Always coming in last while the other cats get all the attention. I know what you’re thinking,” I added quickly, watching Logan’s mouth quirk. “And before you say it, I am not projecting.”
“Smile for the camera,” Mom called, and we turned to find one of her Happy Homes staffers snapping pictures of us on her phone. “This one’s for the adoption wall.” My mother’s eyes shone as she looked between me and Logan. “Look at the three of you. What an adorable family.”
To my surprise, Logan wrapped his arm around me and tugged me closer.
“So sweet,” Mom sighed. “Logan, hats off. I’ve been trying to get Alexis to adopt for years and the first time you’re here, she’s sold.” She tapped her chin. “This bodes well for our commercial. Speaking of!” She whipped around to the camera crew. “Next scene is in the dog wing, and after that the reptiles.” She spun on her heels. “Location change!” As she strode out of the room, everyone scrambled to break down equipment and follow.
Logan’s face had turned pale at the mention of reptiles. I elbowed him. “I think my mom might like you as much as Ben now.”
That raised his spirits. He kissed Patches’ head and thrust her at me, then started jogging backward, careful to avoid the kittens. “Watch this. I’m about to climb into the lead. Oi, Elise!” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Where were we on Scorsese? I think we got up to hour two of that Master Class. I’m dying to hear about hour three.” He winked at me, holding up a finger for number one, then hurried out of the room.
“He’s very competitive,” I whispered to Patches. She made a half exasperated, half amused sound, which were my thoughts exactly.