The idea of getting one for myself is intriguing, but I don’t think I have time in my life for a pet right now. My schedule is wild, and I’ve never done anything like that before.
Also, felines have never really liked me. I’ve had a few friends with service dogs, and they don’t seem to mind my grumpy and callous demeanor, but Quinn has a cat, and the fucker always bites me on the ankles every time I walk past her.
Which, of course, he thinks is hilarious.
But I’m hoping these cats will be kind enough to me today so Dex will have a good time. I need this to go well. More than anything.
I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, watching a handful of people go into the store and then back out again.
This is yet another date that has no real accessibility for me—at least, as far as I can tell from their poorly done website and social media feed, which had only one photo of a cappuccino with cat paw print foam art and a four-sentence About Me section.
But I’m doing this for Dex. I’m showing him that while I might not be able to do it all the time, I can meet him halfway. As often as life will allow, anyway.
Of course, that’s long-term thinking, and that’s not something we talked about. A date, sure, no problem. I can do that. It’s meant to lead to more fucking.
But what’s supposed to come after?
I jump out of my skin when a hand suddenly appears nearmy window, waving at me. It takes a second for me to recognize Dex. He’s wearing a backward cap, which makes him look annoyingly like Thom—though they have very different faces, which helps. He’s also wearing a shirt with the sleeves cut off and basketball shorts.
I feel a little out of place in my jeans and polo.
Maybe I overdid it.
Fuck, I totally overdid it.
Opening the door, I get up and give him a slow up and down. Why does he have to look so fucking good in everything? I lick my lips, then wave my hand at his body. ‘You didn’t dress up.’
‘I didn’t even shower,’ he tells me. Fuck, why do I want to bury my face in his neck and smell his sweat? ‘It was dress nice or be late.’
‘Points off for you?’ I ask.
He throws his head back with a laugh and shakes his head, pulling out his fucking notebook. He lets me see him mark me with a+1. At least we’re off to a better start today.
‘For putting in effort,’ he says and points at my shirt and jeans. ‘Hot.’
My ears burn, and I take a breath, then take the advice I’d gotten from Leaf and hold out my hand. Touching. There needs to be more touching.
I will not stroke his arm like it’s a dick when we’re in public or in front of innocent kitten eyes, but I can hold his hand.
And I think this may even count as flirting.
A strange expression moves across his face when he stares at my extended hand, and then on an exhale, he slides his fingers between mine. It’s annoying how good it feels. How well they fit together.
I want to let go.
And I want to pull him closer.
Instead, I tug him toward the curb. He trips a little and blushes as he rights himself, so I pull him closer to me, our hips touching as I reach for the door.
‘Wait,’ I say, and he cocks his head. ‘Speak for me?’
He blinks. ‘You don’t have to keep taking me to these places. I sign,’ he replies, like I need reminding. Like I don’t see his gorgeous fingers signing me filthy-as-fuck words in my dreams.
‘This sounded cute. Leaf recommended.’
He looks a little nervous at that, which is probably fair. Leaf is probably the last person anyone should get advice from, but the idea seemed unique.
And I really need to score some points.
