“He’s not a guy,” Dutton interjects. “He’s a fucking cat.”
“He’s a very misunderstood man, and he’s carrying around a lot of childhood trauma,” Mickey says, not joking in the least. “But he’s gonna do right by his woman and their kids.”
Oh, hell. I mean, it’s a nice sentiment, even if it is weird as fuck that Mickey treats Mr. Tittles like an old buddy from high school instead of a stray cat. But it’s also awkward because I really don’t want Mick to feel like he has to contributefinancially. He’s here on scholarship, and I doubt he has the extra funds for vet bills. My dad, however, does. And I have zero qualms about charging all of Hazel’s expenses to a card my dad pays off monthly. Maybe that seems immature or entitled, but I look at it this way: I’ve basically sold my soul and given in to his demand that I pursue a career in finance. I figure my soul is probably worth a few thousand bucks, so I’m not worried about it, especially since neither my dad nor his wife could be bothered to let me know that Hazel never even went to the vet in the first place.
That information would have been helpful.
“Don’t worry about it, Mick,” I say easily. It feels douchey to flaunt my dad’s bank account, but I also don’t want my friend to think he’s on the hook for a lot of cash. “I’ve got it covered.”
“Dude, Mr. Tittles is no dummy,” Dime crows. “He went uptown looking for a sugar mama, and that’s where he found Hazel. That girl’s got money.”
I start to laugh, but Mickey looks ready to throw hands. Shit. We don’t need an all-out brawl in the middle of conditioning, and especially not one that started because one guy seemingly insulted another guy’s cat.
“That’s enough,” Mickey fumes. “I’m done with you shitheads trashing Doug like he’s the scum on the bottom of your shoe.”
Ollie does a double-take. “Who the fuck is Doug?”
Mickey pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s counting backwards from ten and praying for patience. “Doug Tittles. Hazel’s baby daddy. What the hell, Ollie? Did you think his first name was Mr.? What is wrong with you?”
I’m still processing this new information, but Mickey’s not done with his rant. “For your information, Doug’s got his own money, and he wants to contribute both financially and emotionally. He may not fit your closed-minded little mold ofwhat a partner should be, but he loves Hazel, and he is fully prepared to step up.”
“You work in a pizza shop every summer,” Dutton points out. “How the hell does Doug have the cash to help out? Oh, wait, lemme guess. Doug owns the pizza shop, right?”
Mickey glowers at the man who will most likely be his brother-in-law someday, and I begin to think we might really have a fistfight on our hands before the day is over.
“Fuck you, Sparky,” Mickey volleys back, deliberately pissing Dutton off. “Of course Doug doesn’t own a pizza shop. That’s ridiculous. He could never pass the ServSafe test. He licks his own asshole, for shit’s sake.”
“Does he run drugs?” Dime asks. “How does your smelly feline friend have money?”
Mickey clenches his fists. “Doug doesn’t smell bad. He had a few unfortunate run-ins with the trash cans at our old place, but those were isolated incidents. And he’s got money because of his social media following. It’s fucking bananas that you can actually get paid once you hit a certain number of followers.”
“Let me get this straight,” Dutton says, wiping sweat from his forehead with the hem of his t-shirt. “You started feeding a stray cat a couple years ago. You named him Doug Tittles for reasons I can’t fathom, and you talk about him like he’s an actual person, right? Then, on one of his sleepovers at the hockey house, he gets Hazel pregnant, and now they’re expecting kittens. And it’s all okay because Doug the feral cat is a good guy and also a social media influencer with a healthy bank account? Holy Jesus, did I hit my head on a barbell or something?”
Mickey thinks for a minute. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”
“Dude,” Dime says, piping in, “quit the pizza shop and let Doug rake in the cash for you.”
“I don’t feel right about that,” Mickey says, taking a drink from his water bottle. “Doug’s a good friend and money can ruinrelationships. I don’t want that to happen, but I do take a small cut just to cover props and stuff. That camera equipment is not cheap. And when we did the Christmas Tree challenge? Damn. That one was expensive. Doug still has glitter in his fur.”
“Wait a fucking second,” Ollie says, halting his work on the leg press. “Mr. Tittles is Doug the Ginger?! How the hell did I not know this? That cat has half a million followers! I love that guy.”
Mickey just nods. “Yeah, he is, and you would have known that if you’d have ever tried to have a conversation with him instead of just talking shit behind his back.”
And with that, Mickey sets the medicine ball back on the rack, gives us a half-hearted wave, and heads for the shower.
14
Liza
Blue’s already seated at a table near the fireplace when I walk into Drip. He looks good because drop dead gorgeous is a natural state for him. His hair is wet from the shower, and curling at the ends. He's wearing the same clothes most of the guys do, sweats and a BU Hockey hoodie. I’m certainly not judging. I wear hockey merch most of the time, too, because it’s free and it’s comfortable. Those are two of my favorite things.
Blue also looks exhausted, and for half a second, my brain wonders if he’s tired from all the x-rated activities he was up to in my very naughty dreams last night.
An unexpected moment in the freaking equipment room with Blue freaking Halliday was the sexual awakening I didn’t know I needed. And now that the door has been opened, all I want to do is explore.
Well, part of me wants to. There's a devil on one shoulder who’s eager to try anything and everything with the delicious specimen of manhood who’s only twenty feet away from me. After all, that’s why I’m here. We’re meeting up specifically to discuss how all of this is going to go, since we went straight to the good stuff on Friday night and skipped the logistics.
I want to talk to him. I want to discuss this. I think we need rules, and a plan, and boundaries.
