KITTY COMFORT Miles
K
itty sits in the back seat while my mother sits in the front. She insisted that we bring Prince Francis along. I’ve never had him in a car before, so I pop an antihistamine to counteract any potential issues being in such a confined space with a cat may cause. On the upside, if I end up having a reaction, I have an EpiPen and there are lots of medical professionals where we’re going.
When my mom realizes we’re at the hospital again, she becomes agitated, and it takes a team of staff to get her out of the car and back to her room. All the while, she yells at me, telling me I’m taking her away from her home and that I’m only doing it because I blame her for what happened to Toby.
Kitty stays in the car with Prince Francis, which is preferable to having her witness more of my mom’s meltdown once they get her through the doors. And even though I know it isn’t her fault that she reacts this way, it’s painful to watch.
Eventually they manage to calm her down. I return to the car and find Kitty has moved to the front. Prince Francis is in one of his favorite places: draped across her shoulders.
I drop into the driver’s seat. “I’m sorry about this.”
She squeezes my arm. “You don’t need to be sorry. Would you like me to drive?”
“I’m okay.” I feel the opposite of okay.
“You don’t need to put on a brave face for me, Miles. I wouldn’t be okay if I was in your shoes, so whatever you need from me right now, I’m here, whether it’s just to be present, or drive, or listen.”
I feel like a deflated balloon. “Do you mind driving?”
“Not at all.” She unbuckles her seatbelt, unwraps Prince Francis from around her neck, sets him on the dashboard and exits the car, closing the door behind her, presumably so Prince Francis doesn’t get any ideas about doing a runner.
I do the same and meet her at the hood.
It’s cold today, the air puffing out in foggy bursts before disappearing.
She tips her head up, her expression full of compassion and sadness. She opens her arms. “You look like you could use a hug.”
I don’t even care that I’m so emotionally transparent. I wrap my arms around her, and hers wind around my waist. “Thank you.” I lay my cheek on top of her head.
“No thanks needed. I’m sorry that was so tough.” She squeezes.
“You make it better,” I mutter.
And it’s true. She does. I don’t know how this happened, or
when we shifted from mutual disdain to like, but Kitty appeared in my life at exactly the right time. I send a thank-you to the powers that be and the internet for putting her on my screen and in my path.
I’m not sure how long we stand there, but eventually the muffled angry meows from inside the car force us apart. Kitty gets behind the wheel and Prince Francis immediately takes up residence on her shoulders again, grooming her hair, then shaking his head around when it gets stuck to his tongue. I attempt to relocate him to my lap, but he’s determined to be an accessory.
“I’m so sorry you had to deal with that.”
Kitty pulls out of the hospital parking lot and heads toward my mother’s house. “It’s really okay, Miles. She was actually quite pleasant but mostly confused. I understand there’s a very different side to that, especially when she’s confronted with reality.”
I let my head fall back. “Yeah, that’s been the biggest challenge. Telling her Toby is gone sets her off. It sucks to lie to her, but I don’t want to send her over the edge all the time.”
“There’s no winning in a situation like that, for either of you. It hurts to see people you care about falling apart like that.”
“I’m guessing you know this from experience, what with losing your dad when you were younger.” I realize I need this kind of connection, someone who can relate to what I’m dealing with, even if it’s not quite the same. Both of us have big holes in our lives created by the absence of people we love.
Kitty nods. “My mom really struggled when he passed away, which makes sense. They were best friends. They had the kind of
love you see in Hallmark movies, and they made you believe in soul mates and forevers. He would literally do anything for her. The sun rose and set on my mother and my sister and me. Was it the same for you with your family?”
I think about that for a minute. What life was like growing up, how suddenly everything shifted. “Toby and I were close. He was more athletic than I was, better at sports, more of a natural, where I had to work hard. He played hockey like I did. And we always played together in the driveway. My mom would keep her car in the garage so we didn’t put dents in it.”
Kitty makes a face. “Did she learn that by trial and error?”
I chuckle. “Oh yeah. Toby hit the driver’s side door and put a solid dent in it, but I didn’t want him to get in trouble, because he was always the more mischievous of the two of us. So I said I’d been the one to do it. I don’t think our mom believed us, but after that she parked the car in the garage.”
“It sounds like you had a great relationship with her.”
“I did. We all did. Obviously, our family wasn’t perfect, but we were good. And then we lost Toby, and all those good memories were overshadowed by all the bad things that happened afterward. My mother fell apart. And my dad . . . he was devastated.” I shake my head, thinking back to that day. “They blocked off the entire street when Toby got hit. Our neighbors were the first ones on the scene because it happened in front of their house. I heard it from inside the house, and when I went outside Toby was . . . his helmet hadn’t been on properly. Sometimes he’d loosen it because he hated the chin strap.” I pause, choking on emotions. “It was
clear he was gone, but I still wanted to believe he was okay. My next-door neighbor stopped me from running across the street to get to him, and someone else went and got my mother in the backyard. By the time my dad got home, there were police cars everywhere and an ambulance. I think my mother broke that day. It was probably the same for my dad, but he had to keep it together when my mother couldn’t. When Toby died, so did our family.”
“My heart hurts for all of you.” Kitty reaches over and gives my hand a gentle squeeze before she puts it back on the wheel and signals left into my mother’s subdivision. “Your mom told me a bit about what happened that day.”
The flashes of memory are hard to handle, and I swallow down the pain.
“She remembered that Toby was gone?”
“For a few minutes she seemed . . . clear? Like she knew what was real and what was the past. She admitted that she forgot things a lot, and she remembered losing Toby and how hard it was on you.” She pulls into my mother’s driveway and shifts the car into park, cutting the engine. “From my own experience, and from hearing more than one side of yours, it’s easy to get caught in the fantasy of what if things had been different and live there.”
I nod, absorbing her words. “That’s it exactly. I want to go back and change the past, but I can’t. And the way my family imploded after that was more than I could handle. I believed I was the reason it happened. And no matter how hard I try, it’s difficult not to feel that way still.” And in that moment, I see the
truth in that statement. That my ignoring my brother and my mom’s request to watch him is the reason we lost him.
“Tragedy can tear people apart, inside and out,” Kitty says softly. “You just have to find a way to let it go so you can heal from it.”
Prince Francis stretches out and settles a paw on my shoulder, headbutting my face and licking my ear while meowing plaintively.
I chuckle, glad for the levity, and give his head a brief scratch.
“Do you have to go back to the city, or do you want to come inside?” Kitty inclines her head toward the house. “Or does it hold too many sad memories tonight?”
“I can handle the memories.” I don’t want to leave now, not when it feels like Kitty and I are closer than ever.
I gather up Prince Francis, who surprisingly doesn’t try to jump out of my arms, and we head inside.
“Should I make us some tea?” Kitty asks once we’re standing in the mostly packed living room.
“Maybe we can see if there’s something stronger hanging around?”
“Oh sure. I think I remember seeing brandy in the pantry. Let’s check.” I follow Kitty to the kitchen, and she opens the pantry door and pulls on the string dangling from the ceiling, the bare bulb lighting up the small space.
There are plenty of canned goods and cat treats. Prince Francis winds between our legs, meowing insistently. I spot a bottle of brandy and another of vodka, both on the top shelf, covered in
a thin layer of dust. I pluck them from the shelf and Kitty grabs the dry food.
“I’m not sure what we have to mix this stuff with,” I admit as I set them on the counter and open the fridge. “Ah! There’s grapefruit juice and—” I frown and pull an old-school clear Tupperware jug that I remember from my childhood and hold it up for Kitty to see. “This looks suspiciously like Tang.”
Kitty’s cheeks flush and she ducks her head. “That’s because it is Tang. Don’t judge me. It’s a guilty pleasure.”
“I’m not knocking your Tang love. I’m the guy who orders the orange drink from McDonald’s on purpose.” I motion to the selection on the counter and pull two glasses from the cupboard. “What juice and booze combo would you prefer?”
“Tang and brandy?” It’s more question than a definitive answer.
“How about I make one of each, and you can taste them both before you decide?”
“Sure. Sounds good.”
Prince Francis yowls at her from the floor, his brow furrowed in displeasure because his wet food dish is empty. Kitty opens a new can of wet food, spoons half of it on his plate, and puts the rest in the fridge.
Once I’ve made two very stiff drinks, Kitty tastes them both and chooses the Tang and brandy combination, I down my Tang and vodka and make myself a second one before we head to the living room.
I purposely sit between two cushions, and Kitty drops down beside me, folding her legs under her so her feet rest against the
side of my leg. “I didn’t understand how bad things were with your mother until today,” she admits.
“Neither did I. It’s sort of been triage up to this point. I was struggling with the decision of putting her in a home, but after today I know it’s the right move,” I admit.
“She’ll be safe there. Did you find out what happened that she managed to get out undetected?”
“Apparently she timed her departure with shift change and walked right out the front doors. By the time they realized she was gone, she was already on her way here.”
“Wow. That’s . . . impressive? She must have had a moment of real clarity.”
I nod. “Either that or she got lucky? I guess she’d been asking about Prince Francis and when someone was bringing him to her. I told her I’d arranged for a visit. It’s possible it got stuck in her head and she ended up here. After this, I doubt they’ll let her keep him at the home. I worry that she’d lose him, or forget to feed him, or go in the opposite direction and overfeed him.” I run a hand through my hair. “Maybe I should take him back to my place. I’m not sure how Wilfred would feel about having a cat in the house, but I don’t see a lot of other options.”
“I could take him. He could live with me.” As if he knows we’re talking about him, Prince Francis jumps up on the back of the couch, headbutts me in the cheek, then continues on, putting his butt right in my face as he rubs his cheek against Kitty’s. He then sniffs her drink and hops down to perch on the arm of the couch.
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering. I see how much your mother loves Prince Francis, and if he lives with me, we can arrange for regular visits. He travels well in a car, and I’d be happy to take him.” She reaches behind her and scratches his head. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a cat in the house, and he’d be the perfect addition to my family. And if things change and your mother ends up being able to take care of a cat, we can transition him back to her.”
“Would you be okay with that? Keeping him temporarily?”
“We used to foster cats all the time when I was a kid. Smokey was our full-time kitty, but we would keep other cats for a few weeks at a time. We even had a few that stayed with us for close to six months.”
“Wasn’t it hard to let them go?” I can’t imagine giving up Wilfred. Although with everything going on with my mother and my work schedule, it’s been tough. Joe and Mark have been great about taking care of him while I’m dealing with this.
Kitty lifts a shoulder and lets it fall. “Sometimes. But we knew they were going to good homes, with humans who would love them and take care of them, so it helped ease the sting.”
“Why did you stop fostering?” I ask.
Kitty takes a long sip of her drink. “Smokey was my dad’s cat, always sat on his lap when he was watching TV. Basically followed him around like a puppy. He’d even go for walks with my dad. He ran away a few months after my dad passed and I just couldn’t fathom getting a new cat. It was too hard. My heart couldn’t take
any more bruises. We were struggling to keep our heads above water as a family. So we put fostering on pause and never really took it off. Until now.” She gives me a small smile.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay with that? Should you talk to your family first?”
“My mom has mentioned getting another pet, but I’ve often been the one to shoot down the idea. I’ll run it by her first, but I think both she and Hattie will be on board. Although I have a feeling Hattie will be out of the house as soon as she graduates from college.”
“Why do you say that?” I met her sister at the pub the other night, but I didn’t get a chance to really talk to her.
“She’s ready to move on with her life.” Kitty props her cheek on her fist. “Our house is a lot like your brother’s room.”
“How do you mean?”
“Nothing has changed since my dad passed away ten years ago. Everything is the same, from the paint on the walls to the furniture in the living room. The only space that’s shifted is Hattie’s room. It’s grown and changed with her.” Kitty’s lip slides between her teeth. “My mom still sets a place for my dad at the table.”
My heart clenches, and I set my mostly empty glass on the coffee table so I can take Kitty’s hand in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Is that okay for you?”
Kitty sighs and looks up to the ceiling. “At first it was one of those things my mom did out of habit, and we’ve all accepted it as normal, I guess.”
“Just like my mom never changed Toby’s room.”
Kitty nods. “I think in a lot of ways the situation with your mom mirrors my own. I’m starting to see that by not doing anything to really change the way we do things, I’m helping keep things . . . stuck. If I give in to change, I’m letting go, and I’ve had a hard time doing that.”
“But you’re not the one who sets the place setting for your dad every day.”
“There have been times when I assumed my mom forgot, so I went ahead and did it for her. But maybe she hadn’t forgotten, maybe it was intentional, and me setting the place anyway makes me part of the problem, not the solution.” She laces her fingers with mine. “When your mom said that she thinks you blame yourself for what happened to Toby, it really hit home. Because in a lot of ways, I blame myself for what happened to my dad. If I’d been paying attention, I would have realized that Smokey wanted me to go upstairs for a reason. Maybe I would have gotten to him in time. But I didn’t. So I’ve trapped myself in this loop of guilt and fear. I haven’t been sure how to move forward, maybe because I feel a lot like I don’t necessarily deserve to.”
“Do you ever feel like maybe we were meant to come into each other’s lives at exactly this time? Like destiny had a plan,” I ask.
“And it involved a hairless cat.” Kitty smiles softly and nods.
“And a trip to the ER.”
We both grin.
“And being tackled to the floor over a water gun.”
I cringe. “I’m never going to live that one down.”
“I didn’t mind being tackled by you.” Her smile turns coy. “Sort of like you didn’t mind being attacked by my lips.”
“I loved being attacked by your lips.” My gaze darts down as her bottom one slides between her teeth.
When I meet her gaze again, I see my own desire reflected back at me. We lean in at the same time, tipping our heads, eyes falling closed as our lips connect. Not an attack this time, but a gentle press. Soft, but sure.
I slide my hand under her hair and curl my fingers around the back of her delicate neck, parting my lips as she does the same. Every movement is a mirror, synchronized. We both hum and shift, and suddenly Kitty’s no longer beside me on the couch, she’s straddling my lap. She runs her hands over my shoulders and up the sides of my neck, fingers dragging along my scalp as she presses her chest to mine.
She’s all soft curves as I trail my fingers down her side and let my hand come to rest on her hip. I want to pull her closer, touch more of her, get lost in the feel of her, forget about today.
Our glasses clink and mine push against my cheek as we deepen the kiss. We both pull back at the same time.
“Stupid glasses,” Kitty mutters and takes hers off, folding in the arms and tossing them aside.
I do the same, and then we’re back to making out.
Eventually her hands start to roam, leaving my hair to trail over my shoulders and down my arms. She gives my biceps a squeeze and makes a noise, somewhere between a hum and a sigh, and goes lower, until she reaches my belt buckle. I’m still wearing a
dress shirt and tie, having come directly from a team meeting. She tugs the shirt free from my pants and shimmies back on my lap to give her enough space to start unbuttoning. I don’t know exactly how far this is going to go tonight, but I’m unbelievably grateful that Josh tossed a box of condoms into my glovebox after I told him I’d asked Kitty out on a date. I’m also extra grateful that he took it upon himself to put one in my wallet, even though I assured him we weren’t at the getting naked stage. It looks as though I might be wrong about that.
Kitty works her way through the buttons, but because I’m still wearing a tie, when she gets close to the top, she breaks the kiss and leans back. She makes the same face she did when she attacked me with her lips in the bar. “Here I am trying to take your clothes off without even asking if it’s okay.”
“I would have said something if I wasn’t on board with the shirt removal, but I appreciate you making sure.” I tug on my tie, loosening it enough that I can pull it over my head. “Would you like to finish the job, or would you prefer to go back to making out?”
She taps her bottom lip. “Both, to be quite honest, but I feel like the last two buttons will be a challenge if our lips are locked. So first we lose the shirt, then we go back to making out?”
“I’m absolutely willing to delay gratification for ease of shirt removal.”
We both smile, and she unfastens the last two buttons. I tip my chin up for her when she reaches the collar, and her fingers slide between the fabric and the hollow of my throat. When she’s done, she kisses the bottom of my chin.
I’m about to come back in for another kiss, but she covers my lips with two fingers. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to delay gratification for a few more seconds and take a moment to appreciate how sexy you are without a shirt on. The last time you were shirtless, I was trying to make sure you weren’t going to bleed out from Prince Francis’s nails.”
“I’m more than happy to be the recipient of your appreciation.” Being around guys who are built like brick shit houses means sometimes I get self-conscious about my lack of beefiness. But Kitty somehow makes me feel like Adonis.
She runs her hands down my chest and back up. “Oh! We should be even, shouldn’t we?” Before I have a chance to unpack what that means, she pulls on the sleeve of her cardigan and tugs it free from her arm, then does a half wave with the other one, dropping it to the floor. She grabs the hem of her Kitty Whisperer T-shirt and yanks it over her head.
Under that shirt is a very sexy bra. It’s pink and gray cheetah print—which should not be a surprise at all—with pink lace trim. And the cleavage. Good God the cleavage. Kitty has an incredible body. And I want to put my hands and mouth on every inch of her.
“Miles?” Her voice is soft and uncertain.
“Huh?” I drag my gaze away from her chest and up to her face. On the way, I notice that her neck and chest have turned a slightly blotchy red color.
“Should I put my shirt back on?”
“What? No. Hell no. Why would you suggest such a thing?”
“You looked like a deer in headlights. And not in a good way.”
“Shit. Sorry.” I give my head a shake. “I got lost in how sexy you are and how much I’m looking forward to ogling your nipples the way they ogled me the last time I was shirtless.”
Kitty grins. “Oh, that’s good. They’d actually be doing that right now if they weren’t hidden behind layers of fabric and padding.”
“Should we set them free and give them what they want?” I arch a brow. “And what I want, too, obviously.”
Kitty nods and her hands move to her chest, which is when I realize it’s a front clasp bra.
“I could do it. If you’re okay with that.”
“I am. It’s a bit tricky, though.” Her cheeks flush pink.
“If my struggle becomes embarrassingly long, you can help me out?”
“Okay.” She nods once and rolls her shoulders back, jutting her chest toward my face.
As much as I want to dive right in and flick that clasp open, I slow things down. This is an experience I want to savor, a slow unveiling. I skim along her sides and wrap my hands around her waist, thumbs sweeping along the underside of her bra. I lean in and kiss her collarbone, then dip down and drag my lips along the lace edge before I sit back and follow the same path with my fingers until they meet at the clasp.
“Fold it out toward you, then one side goes up and the other goes down,” Kitty whispers.
“Thanks for the tutorial.” I slip a single finger under the clasp
and do exactly what she says. At first, I go in the wrong direction, but it only takes me a second to realize it opens the other way. The two sides separate, and I grip them in my fingers, holding them together.
I lift my gaze to Kitty’s. Her chest rises and falls with anticipation.
“This feels a lot like unwrapping a Christmas present,” I tell her.
“It’s my favorite holiday, aside from Halloween, which really isn’t a holiday but should be,” Kitty replies.
“I agree.” I release the cups and the bra slides over Kitty’s shoulders and drops onto the floor at my feet. If my brain were a gif, it would be the single word
boobs
flashing with balloons being dropped on my face in a torrent. “Can I touch them?” I ask her chest.
“We would like that,” she whispers.
“Awesome.” I cup one full swell in each palm. “Hello, ladies.”
Kitty laughs, and I smile as I lean in and press a kiss to each swell, then circle a nipple with my tongue before I cover it with my mouth. I devote the same attention to the other breast—no one likes to be left out—and Kitty’s hands slide into my hair, gripping the strands tightly as she arches.
Eventually she pulls my head back and claims my mouth with hers again. Unlike the soft, easy kisses pre-shirtlessness, this one is full of passion and desire. Our teeth clash and our tongues tangle. Kitty’s chest presses against mine, skin to skin, and we wrap our arms around each other, like we’re trying to fuse our bodies.
Our hands roam over bare skin, touching, groping, caressing. When we break the kiss, we’re both panting.
Kitty’s hands drop to my belt. “We should—” Her words are cut short when she screams and bars an arm across her chest. Her eyes are wide and her cheeks are flushed pink. “Oh my God!” She brings the other hand up to cover her eyes.
I look down at myself, wondering if I’m the problem, but all I see are my own nipples and my semi-abs and my hard-on pressing excitedly against my fly. I glance over my shoulder and shout profanity.
Sitting on the back of the couch, directly over my left shoulder, is Prince Francis. And he’s glaring at us like he’s been possessed by some demon.
“What the hell, buddy? Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to stare?”
His eyes flick over to me and then back to Kitty. He puts a paw on my shoulder and tries to bite my ear.
I bat him away, but instead of leaping off the couch, he drops to the cushion beside me, extends a leg, and starts licking his parts.
“Maybe we should take this to the bedroom?” I suggest.
Kitty makes the Vulcan sign with her fingers and peeks between the space. “That would probably be a good plan.”
My childhood bedroom is not the most ideal location for hot sex; however, my mother’s couch with a cat staring at us or alternately licking his own balls is less ideal. I grab my shirt and drape it over Kitty’s shoulders, putting a hand on her waist to steady her
as she shimmies off my lap. I push to a stand in the narrow space between the couch and the coffee table. My hard-on bumps into her stomach through my pants.
Kitty looks down and it’s as if her hand has a magnet attached to it, because it rises and cups me. I groan and she hums. Prince Francis’s head appears beside my leg.
“Okay. This is getting creepy, let’s go.” I grab her hand—the one currently cupping my junk—and pull her toward the stairs.
We rush up them, Prince Francis trotting along behind us, and I push her into my bedroom and follow her inside. Prince Francis tries to slip in the narrow gap, but I snatch him up. “Sorry, buddy, this is for adults only. No cats allowed.” I toss him back out into the hall. He lands on the floor with a soft thud. I close the door and turn around. “Now where were we?”
Kitty lets my shirt fall to the floor. “I was about to take your pants off.”