Chapter Twenty-One: Little Steps
chapter twenty-one
LITTLE STEPS
Miles
K
itty and I barely make it through the door before our mouths are fused and she’s trying to pull my shirt over my head. It’s impossible to do both at the same time, so we disengage for a few seconds so we can make shirt removal happen, and then we’re back at it.
I’m very glad I restocked my wallet with condoms, otherwise I’d have to take a pause to run out to my car to get them. Kitty ends up sitting on the entry table, the mail from the past week scattered on the floor. And the drywall behind the table isn’t in the best shape when we’re done. But we’re both orgasm sated, and Kitty no longer looks sad, so all good things.
The stress relief seems to be an energizer as we tackle boxing up the things my mom will need for her new apartment. Once we have everything on the front porch I call Josh, who offered his truck to help with the move.
What I don’t expect is the second truck, containing Parker and
Austin, another player from the team. “I brought reinforcements,” Josh says as he walks up the front steps.
Kitty is inside, packing pantry items.
“Great, that will definitely make things move faster.” And it will. Both Parker and Austin are great guys, and they play on the same line. It might give me a chance to talk to them about the recent data I pulled for the upcoming game with New York in a more relaxed environment. Parker has shown huge improvement over the past week and a half, and he’s been coming to me more often, asking to look at numbers objectively and letting me explain what they mean and how that can help improve his game.
My only issue is that he’s a relentless flirt. And I would really like it if he didn’t flirt with Kitty.
“Pantry items are packed!”
I turn to find Kitty walking toward the front door, only her eyes peeking out over the top of the box. “Here, let me get that for you.”
“I’m good. It’s awkward, but light. I’ll just set it next to your car, so it doesn’t end up with all the other boxes.” Her eyebrows pop when she spots Josh next to me. “Oh, hey, Josh. I didn’t realize you were coming to help.” She sets the box on the porch and holds out her fist for a bump. “Sorry, my hands are dirty, and sweaty. It’s nice to see you again.”
Josh bumps it back and gives her his customary panty-melting smile. “It’s nice to see you again too, and it’s cool that you’re helping Miles today.”
Most women, from infant to grandmother, have the same
reaction to Josh and his smile, and that’s to giggle. Except Kitty doesn’t giggle. Or blush. Or duck her head. She just smiles and slides her gaze my way. “I don’t mind.”
Parker and Austin amble up the driveway. Parker is about as subtle as a flashing neon sign with his team hat and shirt. Austin is dressed in regular clothes.
As soon as Parker sees Kitty, his eyes light up. She’s wearing a pair of jeans and a non–Kitty Whisperer shirt. Most of those are loose, but today her shirt is fitted. And it has a V neck.
Kitty is usually a modest dresser. But that V shows off a hint of cleavage. Barely anything, but it was the first thing I noticed when I picked her up. Well, that’s untrue. The first thing I noticed was her pale blue leopard print bra because she was struggling to get into her shirt at the top of the stairs. But the cleavage V was a close second.
And Parker, being an almost-nineteen-year-old walking hormone, can’t seem to control his eyeballs or where they go as he approaches, because they are firmly locked on her chest. He raises his own palm to his beefy pec and stumbles back a step. “I can’t even. I’m in the presence of a celebrity. Kitty Hart? The Kitty Whisperer.”
Kitty glances from Parker to me and back again, questions in her eyes. “Um yes, that’s me, but I’m hardly a celebrity.”
“Parker O’Toole.” He climbs the steps and takes one of her hands between his. “You take care of my great-grandad’s cat, Bumbles. He’s in love with you, by the way. Both my great-grandad and his cat. And I can completely understand why. I’m
halfway in love with you already, and I’ve just met you.” He starts to raise her hand to his lips.
Kitty’s eyes are wide. She tries to jerk her hand free, but Parker can bench two hundred and fifty pounds and shoots a puck at over a hundred miles an hour.
“I wouldn’t do that. I just cleaned a litter box, and I haven’t washed my hands yet. You can get worms!” she practically shouts.
Josh coughs to cover a laugh.
“We need you on the ice tomorrow night, not in the ER pumped full of penicillin. And the headline on that would not be great. ‘NHL player hospitalized for ingesting cat feces,’” I add, hoping he’ll get the hint.
He does. He drops her hand and shoves his in his pocket, pulling out a travel-sized bottle of hand sanitizer. “Thanks for the warning, and the horrible mental image.” He squirts a dime-sized amount in his massive palm and holds it out to Kitty, who accepts the sanitizer.
“I’m on the team Miles nerds out over numbers and stats for.” He thumbs over to me and Josh. “And this is Austin. He plays right wing, and I play center. Do you watch hockey? You should come to a game.”
“I don’t have a lot of time for TV,” Kitty says honestly. “But my dad was an avid hockey watcher.”
“No time like the present to start. And the live games are the best. I can totally get you tickets.” Parker winks, completely oblivious that he’s making Kitty uncomfortable and that I want to punch him in the face.
“Oh uh, that’s really nice of you—” Her eyes dart my way, and she takes a slight step in my direction.
“Can we get a selfie? You’re a big deal in the cats of Instagram world. I follow you on social media.”
“Way to be creepy,” Josh mutters.
Parker is too busy putting his arm around Kitty’s shoulder and yanking her into his side to catch the dig. And Kitty, being Kitty, is far too nice to say no.
Parker makes a face that reminds me of Derek Zoolander or basically any guy in the history of cocky jocks who believe that every single person in the world would be honored to have a selfie taken with him. To her credit, Kitty knows how to pose for a photo. She angles her body, rolls her shoulders back, adjusts her glasses, and smiles.
Parker takes eleven million pictures in five seconds. As soon as he lowers the phone, Kitty slips out from under his beefy arm and takes one large sidestep toward me and hugs my wiry one. It presses her boob against my biceps, which I appreciate, apart from the fact that other parts of my body are also appreciative, and those parts need to chill out until we’re alone. Hopefully later tonight.
“Miles?”
“Huh?” Clearly I’ve missed something.
“Do you want to check to make sure we’ve got everything before we start loading up?” She tips her head up and bats her lashes at me.
“Oh yeah. Probably a good idea.”
“We can get started with this stuff?” Austin motions to the boxes and furniture on the porch.
“That’d be awesome.”
“I’ll put this box on your hood, so it doesn’t accidentally get put in the truck.” Kitty nods to the box near the steps.
“I can do that.” Parker’s eyes dart between me and Kitty.
“I’ll give the pantry one more pass, then,” Kitty offers.
“Sure. I’ll be right inside to help you.”
She pushes up on her tiptoes and presses her lips to the edge of my jaw. Then she parts her lips and follows it with a gentle bite.
I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, and she gives me a saucy wink before she disappears inside.
Parker watches her disappear around the corner before he punches me in the shoulder. I stumble back half a step, not because I don’t expect it, but because even his playful punches are hard. “Dude. Are you boning the Kitty Whisperer?” He thrusts his hips a couple of times.
Austin punches him in the arm, not playfully. “Asshole, we’re standing in the middle of a subdivision, and you’re basically a walking advertisement for our freaking team. You can’t make obscene gestures in public. And there are kids playing.” He inclines his head.
Three doors down there’s a woman standing on her lawn, while her toddler does circles on his tricycle on the driveway. She’s very clearly watching us. I raise a hand in a wave, and she waves back.
“Shit. Sorry.” Parker also waves. “But seriously, the Kitty Whisperer. Man, she’s even hotter in person than she is on IG. I bet she’s feisty in bed.” He waggles his brows.
I rub the back of my neck and fight with my lips not to move toward the sky, because she is, indeed, feisty in bed. “This isn’t the locker room, Parker, and while you might be okay with talking about your sexual exploits with everyone you know, I don’t kiss and tell.”
“So you
are
hitting that.” He smirks and nods knowingly.
“Can you stop being a frat boy for five minutes?” Josh grumbles.
“Can we get the trucks loaded?” I motion to the stuff on the porch. “And can you not flirt with Kitty,” I say to Parker. “You’re making her uncomfortable, and she’s too nice to put you in your place. And if you touch her or make any further inappropriate comments, I exercise the right to punch you.” I hold up a finger to stop him from interrupting. “And I won’t give you the low-down on New York’s defense, which is what we had trouble with the last time we played them.”
He holds up his hands. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t realize you two were an actual thing. I won’t flirt with her. Just don’t leave me hanging for tomorrow’s game. We’re having a solid run.”
I leave them on the porch and check on Kitty. Who I find in the pantry, filling another box. “Hey. Sorry about Parker.”
She sets a bag of fusilli inside the box. “He looks like he’s still in high school. Does he even know how to use a razor?”
I laugh. “He’s eighteen. He doesn’t know how to do much other than run his mouth.”
She chuckles.
“I told him to cut it on the flirting.” I lean against the door-jamb. “And if you don’t want him to post one of those selfies, I can tell him that, too.”
“I don’t care about the selfies, unless you do.” She tips her head, her expression questioning.
“I’m fine with it if you’re fine with it.”
She pushes up on her tiptoes, trying to reach a box of cookies on the top shelf.
I grab it and pass it to her. “And if you want tickets to a game, I can get them for you, no problem. Maybe you want to bring your sister or something. If she watches hockey. But no pressure.”
She steps closer and runs a hand up my chest. “I’d love to see what you do.”
“My job isn’t very exciting. The game is where all the action is.”
“I don’t know if I agree with that, but it would be fun all the same.” She wraps her hand around the back of my neck and pulls my mouth to hers.
I get caught up in the kiss until one of the guys comes looking for me. “Let’s put a pin in this until we’re alone again.”
We finish moving my mother’s belongings into the home early in the afternoon. I thank the guys and Kitty for their help by taking them out for lunch, and then Kitty and I head back to the home to finish unpacking.
The next day I move my mother into the home. We decided that it would be best to wait until she settled in before we brought Prince Francis over for a visit; otherwise, it could be confusing.
I carry my mother’s bag as we walk down the hall. She’s in one of the highly monitored wings of the home, with individuals who suffer from similar ailments. The staff assured me that she would have people her age to mingle with, and that while the first few weeks are usually the most challenging, she’ll adjust.
I unlock the door for her and usher her inside, the nurse aide following.
My mother walks down the short hall and steps into the small living room area. The whole space is less than a third of the size of her house, but it should be much more manageable for her. She crosses the room and stops in front of the bookshelf. It’s next to the lounger. She trails her fingers along the trinkets—the ones we were able to save from Prince Francis’s twitchy paw.
She picks up one of the framed photos. It’s of her, me, and Toby, taken probably a year before he died and things fell apart. She looked happy. We all did.
She stands there for a moment, just staring at the picture, and I worry that I shouldn’t have put it there. That it’s the thing that’s going to tip her over the edge. That she’ll get angry and have a meltdown.
She turns to me and gives me a small smile, her eyes soft and watery. “Did you do all of this, Miles?”
I slip a hand in my pocket and nod, trying to hide my
surprise that she remembers I’m me. “I had some help from a few friends.”
“It looks . . . familiar.” She sets the picture back on the shelf and crosses the room. Her eyes are clear, like she’s here with me in this moment and not floating in the past. She gives me a tremulous smile. “Thank you. I know I’m lost in my head a lot of the time and that I forget so many things, but I want you to know that I love you, Miles. And I’m sorry I forgot how to be a mother when you needed me the most. I didn’t know how to deal with the hole I created in our family.” She wraps her arms around me, and I swallow down the emotions, folding her into a hug.
“We all lost ourselves for a while when we lost Toby. I’m sorry I didn’t go outside with him when I should have,” I tell her.
“It was never your fault, Miles. It was my job to be watching, not yours. I’m sorry I’m going to forget this. I wish my mind was still mine.”
“It’s okay, Mom. It’s not your fault. And I love you, too. And I’ll keep telling you, no matter how many times you forget.”