Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“You’re Catwoman on Halloween. How is that not business related?”
“Parker O’Toole, one of the guys on the team, took some photos when we were moving his mom’s stuff, and I guess he made a reel out of them, or maybe he has a social media person who does that. Anyway, he tagged me, so I posted it to my reels because he added a clip of Bumbles to it, but there were some comments on it about staying in my lane and posting authentic content.”
Hattie rolls her eyes. “There are always going to be haters, Kitty. You can’t let them dictate what you post and when.”
“They just don’t usually comment on my posts like that.”
“Your following is growing. It was one post, and it’s Halloween. Grab Prince Francis and we’ll post one about you and your sidekick, how about that?”
She takes a few pictures and a short video of Prince Francis doing what he does best, pretending he’s my scarf while biting my ear. I post that one with a happy Halloween message and head downstairs to wait for Miles.
He arrives four minutes early. He’s dressed as Batman, obviously. It’s a bit ironic, considering our beginning, when I’d pegged him for a cat-hating jerk. I smile as I take in his costume. The torso is made to look like rippling abs. His smile slides off his face like an egg off a greasy pan. “Holy fu—” He doesn’t finish the curse as his gaze lifts over my shoulder and his voice rises two octaves. “Oh, hello, Lucile and Hattie. It’s nice to see you again.”
I glance over my shoulder. My mother and sister are peeking around the door frame. They look like part of some cartoon comedy sketch with the way my sister’s chin rests on top of my mother’s head. “Seriously? Can you please have some chill?”
“We need a picture! You two look perfect together!” My mother rushes down the hall to the living room while Hattie pulls her phone out of her back pocket.
“You don’t need a picture,” I tell Hattie.
“I wouldn’t mind some photographic evidence of this,” Miles replies.
I arch a brow.
He lifts one padded, cape-covered shoulder. “You look amazing, and I definitely need a new screensaver.”
I wrap my arm around his waist, and he slings his over my shoulder.
“This feels a lot like prom. Or what I think prom would have felt like if I’d gone.”
“You didn’t go to prom?” Miles asks.
“Stop making weird faces and smile, Kitty!” Hattie takes a few pictures, and then my mom comes out with a Polaroid camera and her phone and takes a bunch of her own. Finally, I’m allowed to grab my purse and escape. I’m grateful that my mom and sister do not stand on the front steps and wave as we pull out of the driveway. Instead, they stand in the kitchen, faux leaning against the counter, pretending they’re making tea when they’re really watching us leave.
“I need to know more about this. You didn’t go to prom? Why not?”
“I skipped it. Me and my friend Kat went out for ice cream sundaes and then hung out at the local cat shelter instead. Prom wasn’t my scene, and it wasn’t Kat’s either.” I answer the unasked question I know is coming. “Was there a little FOMO? Sure. But we stopped by one of the after parties to see what the fuss was all about on our way home from the shelter.”
“And? Did you regret the decision?”
“Nope. Half the girls were either crying or barfing, and all the guys were sloppy drunk. We decided we’d made the right choice and went home feeling satisfied with our decision.”
“I feel like this is the glossed-over version of the story.”
I give him the side-eye. It’s the abridged version, but the rest isn’t important, and the embarrassing parts don’t need airtime. “Did you go to prom?”
“I did. I took my girlfriend at the time. At the end of the night, she was one of the barfing and crying girls, and since I was the designated driver, I got to watch all my friends get sloppy drunk and then pray no one would hurl in the car on the way home.”
“Sounds like a bust.”
Miles shrugs. “It wasn’t the most ideal scenario, but Josh was there, and after everyone passed out, we went swimming in his parents’ pool and ate his older brother’s edibles, which made up for all the crying and puking I’d dealt with earlier.”
“If you’d skipped out on prom you could have gone directly to the fun stuff, though.”
“My story wouldn’t be quite so interesting, or nostalgic.” He arches a brow. “Who is this Kat person anyway? And is it coincidence or purposeful that you’re Kitty and you have a friend named Kat? And how often did people call you Kitty Kat when you were together?” Miles asks.