Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
I push up on my toes and kiss the bottom of his chin. “I need to use the ladies room.”
“Can I get you anything?” Miles asks.
“A water would be good.” That last drink was strong, and I’m feeling the effects. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
He dips down to kiss me, the hard plastic of his nose poking me in the cheek.
Someone snaps a photo, cooing about how cute we are.
I’m accustomed to being called cute. I’m not particularly tall, and most of the time I wear cat cartoon–inspired shirts.
I excuse myself from the group and disappear down the hall in search of the bathroom. On the way back to the living room I notice Barnaby and Cleveland sitting by the sliding glass door, looking like they want to be on the other side of it.
I check with Sadie to see if they’re allowed outside.
“Oh yes. Give me a minute, I’ll take them out. It’s getting close to Barnaby’s bedtime, and we always give him one last run around the yard,” she says.
“I can do it for you. I really don’t mind.” As fun as this party is, I could use a few minutes before I dive back into being social.
Her gaze shifts from me to her pets and their swishing tails. “You’re our guest. I can’t ask you to do that.”
“Honestly, I would love to,” I assure her.
Her husband, Matt, pops his head in the kitchen and asks where he can find lemon slices. “Give me a second and I’ll cut up another one.” She bites her lip, then says to me, “You’re sure you don’t mind?”
“Totally paws-itive.” I wink. “You take care of your guests, and I’ll take care of the fur babies.”
She squeezes my arm. “You’re amazing, Kitty. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
I leave her in the kitchen and grab a poop bag from the roll by the door, tuck it into my sleeve since this costume has no pockets, and let Barnaby and Cleveland outside. Barnaby runs across the deck into the expansive yard, which lights up as he trots across it, tongue lolling happily. Cleveland flops down on the deck and starts grooming his stomach.
A few seconds later Barnaby comes bounding back toward the deck, a Frisbee twice the size of his head in his mouth. He skids to a stop in front of me, tail and butt wagging with his excitement.
“Do you want to have a little play?” I ask.
He drops the Frisbee at my feet and barks once, butt still shimmying back and forth on the deck. Cleveland pauses in his grooming to give him a disdainful look, then returns to his task.
I pick up the Frisbee, which Barnaby playfully tries to grab from me, but when I manage to free it from his teeth, he prances around a couple of times and then plunks his butt on the deck.
I throw the Frisbee, and he rushes across the lawn, jumping into the air to catch it before it hits the ground. I know I shouldn’t be gone long, or Miles will wonder where I’ve disappeared to. I’m not used to huge crowds, or this many people knowing who I am. Sure, I have a lot of followers on social media, and people in my town know who I am, but this is a different level of attention. It makes me wonder how intense it must be for the players, since they have so many fans who would recognize their faces.
I toss the Frisbee again and wait for Barnaby to bring it back. Cleveland jumps up on the railing and slinks across it, his focus on the tree that hangs over the edge of the deck.
I hear the taunting chatter of an animal, and Cleveland’s tail flicks back and forth. Barnaby drops the Frisbee on the deck and trots over to Cleveland, who is still as a statue, apart from his swishing tail. Barnaby whimpers, and Cleveland lets out a low growl.
I decide it’s time to take them inside. The last thing I need is Cleveland trying to scale a tree or Barnaby chasing down a poor animal and using it as a chew toy. Not that he could do a lot of damage, but no one likes to round out a party with a dead squirrel.
I open the sliding door and call both of their names, but they either ignore me or can’t hear me over the chatter of voices inside the house. I whistle to draw their attention, but Cleveland’s back arches and his tail puffs up.
“Crap.” Whatever is in the tree has them totally entranced.
The sound of an animal scrambling in the tree is followed by the rustle of branches, and then something lands on the railing and skitters onto the deck. Cleveland yowls and hisses, and Barnaby barks, which scares the bejesus out of the animal—and me.