“And don’t eat the shrimp.” Her voice is shrill, which isn’t a sound I’ve heard from her either.
I glance around, spot her cat batting at what looks like a shrimp tail on the floor, though I don’t see any other evidence of a tray, and sprint across the room to shoo him away.
He hisses at me, which is not unlike the way my brother’s pet goat reacted the first time we met, but while I was setting up a surprise that Grady’s goat had full reason to react poorly to back then, today, I’m making sure Waverly’s cat doesn’t get sick.
“Just looking out for you, little buddy,” I tell him.
He hisses again.
Fantastic.
I make my date puke and her cat hiss within thirty seconds of walking into her suite.
This is not auspicious.
At another sound from the bathroom, I head back to the door, where I practice activenot listening. “This is me not being here and not hearing anything while I ask if you want me to go get your security team. Or some water. Or—well, anything.”
“This isnothappening,” I hear her say softly.
Dude.
For real.
“Do you really live life on the road if you don’t live the consequences of eating some bad shrimp every now and again?” I ask. “There was one time, my second season with the Fireballs, when we ended up staying at a new hotel that was so excited to have us that they laid out a private reception for us, but the meatballs weren’t cooked all the way through and the whole team was sick for two days afterward. Weirdly, we lost those games less badly than normal, but I think the home team took pity on us.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you talk a lot for a guy?”
“Usually my sis—”do not say sister, idiot“—kabob. My siskabob. My food. It talks to me.”
“You have a very weird relationship with your sister.”
It’s a good sign that she knew what I was going to say, right? That means she digs me enough to pay attention. Even when she’s indisposed. “Only on occasion, and unfortunately, those occasions overlap with me seeing and talking to you more often than statistically probable.”
There’s another ominous noise from the bathroom that I am definitely not hearing but that makes me wince. “You sure it was the shrimp?”
“Only thing I ate this after—” She cuts herself off, and you don’t want to know why.
“Please don’t tell anyone,” she says when she can talk again.
“I’m getting your security people.”
“Cooper—”
“Tell me which one if you have a preference. And it’s not because I can’t handle you not feeling well, okay? If we were both normal people living next door to each other and I heard you through the apartment wall and I came over to check on you, I could totally handle everything you’re dealing with. But we’re not normal people. On a scale of my brother’s goat to the Queen of England, you’re right up there with the queen, which means if you so much as sneeze wrong, I’m obligated to notify the people who can get you to a doctor.”
Do I want to be her hero and stay and make her feel better?
Fuck me.
I do.
But she’s not a normal woman.
And the sigh on the other side of the bathroom door says she knows it. “Five minutes,” she says.
“Waverly—”
“Five damn minutes, Cooper. I won’t die of dehydration infive damn minutes.” She pauses again to do what she’s doing, and I pause to let her.
