“Sure. I have a couple of T-shirts that would fit you.”
“Okay. Thanks.” He reaches back to grasp the collar of his shirt and tugs it over his head, smoothly pulling it off while keeping the mess contained.
Listen, I see shirtless guys a lot. Torsos attached to all sorts of bodies—young, old, fit, not-so-fit. I don’t usually get flustered around exposed skin. I think maybe it’s happening now because… I don’t know, because it caught me off guard? I’ve been hanging out with Gregory for almost a month, and I had no idea he had this going on under there. Remember how I just noticed Gregory’s forearms? Like, literally today? Well, if we’re keeping a list, which apparently I am, we should add chest and abs to it.Countableabs, which is an important modifier. They’re all on display in those low-rise jeans he’s wearing.
I clear my throat when our eyes meet. “Yeah. Um. So, let’s go.”I spin around and head for the door to my house, pretending I don’t notice the grin on his face.
“Mom?” I call out.
“In here,” she replies from the living room.
She’s on the couch with a book in her hands. She looks up when I enter, followed by a shirtless Gregory. Her brow inches up.
Margarine leaps from her bed and approaches us, tail pumping. “This is Margarine,” I tell Gregory, and he immediately bends down to pet her.
“This is Gregory,” I say to my mom. “A cat threw up on his shirt.”
Gregory straightens and waves. “Hi, Mrs. Madden.”
“Nice to meet you, Gregory,” my mom says.
“He works with Dad,” I add, and my mom’s face clears like,Ah, that kid. “And I’ll get him a new shirt in a minute. But first, um. We brought cats.”
“You brought cats?” my mom says, like I just saidGrass is purple.
“They’re stray cats,” Gregory adds helpfully.
She just stares at us.
“We found them behind the grocery store and have been taking care of them,” I say. “But one of them seems sick, and we don’t know what’s wrong.”
“That explains the cat vomit,” my mom notes. Gregory nods emphatically.
“We didn’t know what to do, and I thought you would. Like with Margarine.”
“And when you say youbroughtthem…” My mom trails off meaningfully.
“They’re… in the garage?” I say it like a question, as if that will lower the chances of her getting pissed.
My mom pinches the bridge of her nose. “Amelia.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do and I couldn’t just leave them there.”
“You can’t keep bringing stray animals home, honey.”
“I’m not asking to keep them,” I say quickly. “I just… I think maybe Fiona needs to go to the vet.”
“You named them?”
“Well, yeah,” I say, because of course we did.
Gregory wisely stays silent.
“And you can’t pretend you’re not happy with the first animal I rescued.” I look pointedly at Margarine, who, after inspecting Gregory, went back to sit next to my mom.
The sigh my mom lets out is a mile long. “I’ll call Dr. Valentine.”
18PLAYLIST:as calm as a hurricane
