I STARE at him for a long, frozen moment.
Yes.
No.
No, it’s not what I want, but I can’t fall for him, and he can’t fall for me, and somewhere in between banter about books and stupid texting conversations and gummy bears and sex so good I cry, I think that’s what might be happening, and if I give in and the whole thing shatters, if my life shatters for a third fucking time—
“Yes,” I manage to say, even though my chest is aching like someone just struck it with an anvil. “It’s what I want.”
“But we didn’t finish your list.”
“It’s… it’s fine. It’s whatever.”
“Bullshit,” he says, his gaze searching mine. He swipes his hand through his damp hair. “Penny, why are you lying? What happened?”
I open my mouth—to say what, I don’t know—but before I can muddle through my thoughts, a plaintive little meow breaks the silence.
“Was that a cat?” he says, looking around.
I drop to my knees, wiping furtively at my cheeks to get rid of the stubborn tears, and peer underneath the bush. “Oh my God, there’s a kitten.”
Cooper gets to his knees too, putting his hand on my arm to stop me from reaching into the bush. “Wait, it might bite. Let me do it.”
He carefully pokes around the underside of the bush. There’s another meow, louder this time, and then he pulls out a skinny orange cat with big, amber-colored eyes. I’m not sure how old it is, but if I had to guess, only a couple of months. It hisses, showing Cooper its teeth. I reach out for it, and Cooper gingerly deposits it in my arms. It curls up in the crook of my elbow, giving him a look that clearly says it thinks I’m the superior option here.
“Does it know I’ve never interacted with a cat before?” Cooper says.
“Never?”
“Never. Be careful, it could have rabies.”
“I doubt it.” I stroke my finger between its ears, and it meows again, sounding a lot less annoyed. It must have been freezing underneath that bush. “I wonder what it’s doing here, it’s cold.”
“There’s no tag?”
“Nothing.”
“Weird,” he says, brushing his hands on his knees before straightening up. “Should we like… bring it to the firehouse or something?”
I raise an eyebrow as I stand. “Isn’t that for babies?”
“Probably.” He eyes the thing like he expects it to start howling like a banshee. “Be careful, Pen. It could hurt you.”
I laugh. “Cooper, it’s a three-pound kitten. Hardly threatening.”
“I don’t trust it.”
“Stop being such a baby. Look, it’s cute.” I hold it up. It meows again, batting at the air with a tiny paw. “I had a cat when I was little, they’re perfectly adorable animals.”
“Dogs are perfectly adorable animals,” he says. “Cats are magical beings with malicious intent.”
I hug the kitten closer to my chest. It needs a bath for sure, and some food. I can’t even keep a cat in my dorm room, but I’m already hoping that when we bring it to a vet, they don’t find a microchip. If anything, I can try to convince my dad to take it in. “Can it stay at your place tonight?”
He wrinkles his nose. “Fine. Let’s take it back to the house. It’s not like we can bring it to the bar.”
I bundle the kitten inside my coat, which it must appreciate because it rewards me with a purr. “I think it’s a her.”
We each send a text—to Mia and Sebastian, respectively—and head toward his house. It’s cowardly, but having something immediate to focus on makes it easy to ignore our unfinished conversation. It doesn’t even feel awkward as we walk together, and I can’t decide if that’s a positive or a negative.
When we get to the house, Cooper heads straight for the kitchen. He grabs a bowl and fills it with water, then takes a can of tuna out of the pantry. “This is probably fine to give her, right?”
I settle on the floor, sitting with my legs crossed, and pull out the cat, holding on so she won’t bolt. “Yeah. Just a little. She might just want the water for now.”
He spoons a bit of the tuna into another bowl, then sets both down on the floor. He sits with his back to the refrigerator, looking at the kitten with a dubious expression one might usually reserve for slightly expired cheese, but I catch a flash of relief when she goes for the water and takes a couple of sips.
I stroke a hand down her back. “Can I give her a bath in your sink?”
“Sure, sweetheart.”
I swallow. “Callahan.”
“I don’t want to change things, Penny.” He reaches out tentatively and rubs the kitten’s ear. She looks at him, but doesn’t back away or anything. Even though she’s not a newborn, fortunately, she’s still tiny, and his hand looks so big in comparison. “We started something, and I want to finish it. I don’t want to sleep with anyone else right now.”
I bite my lip. “What happened to one-time hookups?”
“I changed the rules for you.” He reaches over, cupping my chin with his hand and tilting my head up, so we’re looking each other in the eyes. I swallow; he looks as intense as he did when a hit slammed him into the boards right in front of our faces late in the second period. “Tell me you really want to stop, and I’ll respect that, but if you’re asking, I want to keep going.”
It would be smart to put distance between us. To try to just be friends. But he could tell I was lying, and I can’t bring myself to try it twice. Not when my heart is hammering and I’m dying to kiss him so badly, I’m having trouble thinking straight.
“Fine, but we’re not dating,” I manage to say.
“I know.” He rubs his thumb across my cheek. “There’s so much more I want to do with you.”
“Show me,” I whisper.
He leans in, kissing me firmly on the lips, but the kitten meows loudly. We both succumb to laughter, breaking away as the kitten leaps into Cooper’s lap; the initial distrust seems to be fading quickly. He picks her up, looking her in the eyes, and she reaches out to bat at his nose.
“Besides,” he says, “I need us to be good. We’re cat parents now.”
When he stands, I follow. He hands the kitten off to me, clearing away the sink and running the water.
“I thought you didn’t even like cats,” I say.
“I don’t,” he says. “I like this cat. We’re going to take it to the vet tomorrow, and if it doesn’t belong to anyone, we’re keeping her. So buckle up, because you’re Mommy and I’m Daddy.”
“If we’re her parents,” I say, trying to keep my voice even although I’d really like to let out a happy scream, “she needs a name. The cat I had when I was little was named Lady.”
For some reason, that makes him snort. “Sorry,” he says, checking the water temperature with his finger. “Just makes me think of Game of Thrones. Which we’re watching next, by the way.”
“Um, no. I was going to suggest Twilight.”
“We’ll watch both.” He looks back at me and the cat. “Tangerine.”
“What?”
“Her name. It should be Tangerine.”
I hold her up. She doesn’t seem to mind the name, necessarily, but that might just be because she’s eyeing the sink like she knows she’s about to suffer the indignity of a bath. “Tangy?”
He kisses me. “Yeah, like you. Your taste, anyway.”
“Cooper.”
He grins. “What?”
“You’re the worst.”
“Sure,” he says, his eyes practically sparkling with amusement. “Get over here, Mother of Cats.”
