“Work on what?” I gape.
4
MILE FOUR
LET’S GET YOU OUT OF THESE CLOTHES
Garrett pulls into a driveway—specificallyhisdriveway. This isn’t my first time at his place. Over the last five years, I’ve been here for random dinners, game nights, or his annual Super Bowl party. It’s less party and more he and Anker glued to the TV, while I play with Ditka, Garrett’s cat, between eating my weight in garlic knots.
This is the first time I’ve been here without Anker. In fact, this may be the most prolonged period I’ve spent alone with Garrett. I honestly don’t know why I agreed to this, but here I am. The only clue Mr. Cryptic has given me thus far is that we’re going to tap intoFeisty Jensen,as he calls my sassier side, which seems to only come out with him.
“I’ve not rearranged since you were here last, if you want to go caneless,” he says, unlocking his front door and ushering me in.
It’s sweet how nonchalantly he says that. Anker does the same thing anytime I come over. They both always let me know if they’ve changed furniture at their places. Garrett organically took to some of the things Anker does around me like giving me heads up on room layouts and where things are on tables. With most people, there’s a “training period” as they adjust tointeracting with me. It’s not that the visually impaired require a lot of adjustment, but just a few little tweaks here and there. Just like my best friend Catherine, Garrett took to it in a way that never makes me feel like I’m a chore.
“Thanks,” I say, placing my cane in the corner near the front door before slipping my shoes off. “Is that my friend?” Smiling, I spin towards the sound of a bell jingling towards me. “Hey, baby boy.” I scoop Ditka up.
“He’s not a baby. He’s a fearsome attack cat,” Garrett grumbles.
“So fearsome,” I coo at the pudgy tuxedo cat that lies flat on his back like a rag doll, allowing me to stroke the soft fur of his belly. His purr hums in my ears. “Who’s daddy’s pudgy little attack cat?”
“He’s not pudgy. Also, I’m not his daddy. I’m his…human.”
His human?My mouth tugs up. That might be even cuter than the idea of Garrett as a cat daddy. Though his feline parental origin story isn’t exactly voluntary. Two years ago, the kitten fairy visited him in the form of Ditka being delivered to Garrett’s front door with a note from his mom that readThis is my grandson, you best take care of him.
“Just his human?” I flash a knowing expression. “Says the man who has cat beds in just about every room of his place and an app he watches his cat on while at work like a feline stalker.”
“The app is just to make sure he doesn’t destroy the place. Don’t let the face fool you, he’s a furry little terrorist,” he mutters but still reaches over to offer ear scratches to Ditka, who leans into his daddy’s touch.
“Don’t let him fool you, Ditka, your daddy is just a big ole softy.”
“You say that now. Just wait until you see what I have planned for you.” The devilish curl of his mouth is audible.
No, no vagina.Ignoring that flutter low in my belly, I clear my throat. “What do you have planned?”
“Leave the cat, come with me.”
“Okay, but after whatever you have planned, I get more Ditka cuddles. And snacks,” I say, pressing a kiss to Ditka’s head before depositing him on the floor.
“But first we need to get you out of those clothes.”
“Excuse…me?” I choke out.
“Calm down, this isn’t one of your dirty audios.”
“Erotic,” I say with all the indignation of a snooty noblewoman from a Regency novel. “What exactly do you have in mind for me?”
“Follow me to find out,” he says, striding towards the hallway that snakes down to where the bedrooms and bathroom are.
I could just ignore his request and play with Ditka, but I hear his collar’s bell jangle behind Garrett. “Traitor,” I mutter.
“I’m in the guest room. Second door on the right,” Garrett calls.
Stupid curiosity.It won’t be the cat that dies, it will likely be me. Shaking my head, I trail along the wall, allowing it to guide me down the hallway. Even with how well-lit Garrett’s house is and my familiarity with it, I still like to use things to anchor me, so I move around safely.
Garrett’s house is similar to my brother’s. It’s a midcentury house at the end of a cul-de-sac in a neighborhood near the hospital and university. It’s quiet and residential compared to my building near downtown, with its rows of shops, cafes, and restaurants easily accessible for me to walk or take the bus.
In the guest room, Garrett presents a pair of shorts that his sister Lara left on one of her recent trips and one of his T-shirts to change into. “You have to tell me what we’re doing,” I whine.
