Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“Why don’t you look as happy as I thought you’d be?”
I shrug while offering a nervous laugh. “Sorry. It’s quite something that you remembered that little nugget of information from our first date, and I’m probably just in shock. That’s all.”
Brady frowns. “I expected high-pitched squealing, hugs, kisses, maybe other kinds of gratitude.” He waggles his eyebrows.
Really? Does he really expect sexual favors for a cat? I should buy him a gift certificate for a new tattoo and expect him to let me move in with him. How would he like that?
“Well, now I have a cat. What am I supposed to do with her…” I wrinkle my nose “…him while expressing other forms of gratitude?”
Brady’s mouth opens to speak, but I cut him off.
“I think it’s best if I get this little guy home, and we hang out another night.”
Never. I’m breaking up with him right now; he just doesn’t know it yet. Screw it. I’ll use body wipes until I figure out an alternative plan. I can’t risk him buying me a sofa or something else for a place I don’t have. Later, I will send him a lengthy message after I give my explanation more thought. It will go something like this:
Dear Brady,
Thanks for the cat and the gym membership. I will always remember you as my first anal partner. I think we have different needs at the moment. Best of luck with your quest to own your own gym. It’s been fun. ~Em
P.S. I’ve been living out of my car for nearly three months, and I have epilepsy.
I’m just spitballing. I might tweak a few parts of it, hence the need to give it some more thought. I’m living a lie, waiting to get caught, and I can’t go on any longer. What if I have a seizure? What if he gets some harebrained idea and decides to come to my house, a trailer where someone else lives now?
It’s all too much work for just a shower.
“I can put the cat back in the box, and it won’t take that long.” He reaches for the cat.
My jaw unhinges. “You’ve kept him in a box? Are you serious? What is wrong with you?” I won’t elaborate by telling him the way to a woman’s sexual soul is not with the words: It won’t take that long.
With an eye roll, Brady parks a hand on his hip. “There are holes in the box. I’m not an idiot, Em.”
“I just can’t. I’m too excited.” My words hold no excitement, so I nuzzle my nose into the cat’s neck and bring out the baby talk. “You don’t want to go into a box, do you? No. Not my little guy. We need to get home and name you.” Shooting Brady an apologetic smile, I sigh. “Sorry. Rain check?”
Brady’s nose twitches, and he sniffles. “Yeah, it might be a good idea. My allergies are already acting up.”
This really highlights the seriousness of our relationship and how it’s on a one-way track to nowhere. What if this cat lives ten years, give or take? Are we really planning on staying together but living separately for that long? Or would I have to get rid of the very cat he gave me if we moved in together or got married?
“Thanks again.” I step forward to kiss him, but he backs away, eyes turning red. I try to keep from laughing at the insane irony of the whole situation.
“Later.” He returns a stiff smile. Is it possible that he, too, is questioning his decision?
CHAPTER SIX
Two of my four clients are not home during the time I clean their houses. Guess who’s guaranteed two showers a week? Guess who needs more than two showers a week during the hellish heat of summer?
Since I sent Brady the breakup text two weeks ago, things have been a little chaotic, and not just in the personal hygiene department. Turns out, Harry Pawter—yes, I named my cat Harry Pawter—doesn’t like being led around by his collar and leash, like a dog, to go to the bathroom. He’s super fucking finicky and insists on a litter box, probably because they got him used to one at the shelter.
Sans any other great ideas, I’ve been hiding him in basements (and sneaking his litter box into houses) while I work. Then I have to pussyfoot him back out when I’m done at each house. Nighttimes are tricky, depending on where I park for the evening, which is usually at one of the big box stores that allow overnight parking.
After a few rough nights with Harry Pawter and a couple of pee accidents on my clothes, I come across a fortunate discovery. Suzie and Zach's garden shed is in the shade, and it’s relatively cool. Problem solved. Around ten at night, I sneak Harry Pawter to the shed with his litter pan, food, water, and a blanket. Since I’ve been helping Suzie lately with her gardening, I’m the only one who goes into the shed.