Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“Deal. Go ahead, liar.”
I smiled and shook my head. “Okay. Well, I live in a co-op. My building has twenty-four apartments. An older gentleman, Mr. Thorpe, lives across the hall from me, and he has two female cats. He shows them in competitions.”
Bennett’s eyes had dipped to my mouth and now jumped to meet mine. He cleared his throat. “Show cats? I didn’t even know that was a thing. But it’s fucking weird, if it is.”
I sort of agreed. Although that wasn’t the point of my story. “Anyway. I have a male cat. He’s not a purebred or a show cat, just a regular tabby that I got suckered into adopting. That’s a story for another day. Sometimes Mr. Thorpe goes up to Seattle to visit his brother for a day or two, and he asks me to take care of Frick and Frack. If he goes for longer, he boards them at this woman’s house who lets all the cats have free roam of her apartment. I’ve used her, too. Sometimes she has, like, thirty cats, yet it doesn’t smell. I have no idea how.”
“Okay. Are we getting to the lie soon? I’m not a cat person, and this story’s turning boring. Just get to your big, fat lie.”
“Stop being so impatient. Anyway…Mr. Thorpe’s cats are of course indoor cats, so I pretty much just need to run over and feed them twice a day. Six months ago, I was watching his cats and accidentally left my apartment door open when I went across the hall to feed them. By the time I realized it, my cat had run over, and I found Tom humping one of Mr. Thorpe’s prized Persians in his bathroom.”
“Who’s Tom?”
“My cat.”
“Named for Tom and Jerry?”
“No. Hardy. I love him. Anyway, I didn’t mention what had happened to Mr. Thorpe, assuming his cats were fixed, even though mine was not. A few months later, one of his cats gave birth to eight kittens.”
Bennett raised his brows. “And you lied about it?”
“I found out during the quarterly co-op meeting. All the neighbors were there, and Mr. Thorpe had them riled up over how irresponsible some pet owners are. He assumed the cat got pregnant when he boarded her or at the pet park he takes them to for socialization.”
I saw Bennett was about to open his mouth to poke fun, so I stopped him. “Yes, he walks his prized cats to a park so they can socialize. On a leash. But I’m the horrible person in this story, and I still feel guilty, so no making jokes about Mr. Thorpe or his stupid cats.”
“Got it. No making fun of Thorpe. Just your whorey cat and his lying mother.”
Bennett bared that boyish smile again, and my belly did an unexpected little flip. I attempted to ignore it.
“Anyway, so I didn’t own up to my cat’s crime, but I am paying child support. I don’t want you to think I’m a total deadbeat.”
He perked a brow. “Child support?”
“Once a week, I sneak over to his apartment and leave a case of the expensive food he feeds them at his front door.”
Bennett burst into laughter. “And you say I’m nuts?”
“What? I’m just ashamed. I can’t shrug the financial responsibility.”
“Who does he think is leaving the food?”
“I don’t know. I avoid him because if he asks me point blank, my face is going to flush when I lie.”
“That sucks. I’d be screwed if I didn’t have a poker face.”
I drank some of my ice water. “Your turn. Give me an embarrassing story.”
He scratched at the five o’clock shadow on his chin, which I decided he wore really well. “Let me think. I don’t get embarrassed too easily.” A minute later, his face lit up, and he snapped his fingers. “Got one. My parents thought I was gay.”
I chuckled. “Good start. Go on…”
“I was probably ten or eleven when I discovered masturbation. The Internet wasn’t big yet, and materials were scarce. So I used to swipe my mom’s magazines. Cosmo was my favorite, but she didn’t pick that one up too often, so most of my collection was pretty desperate—Good Housekeeping, Woman’s Day, Better Homes & Gardens. On a good week, one of them would have a bikini shot in it for an article on avoiding swimmer’s ear or some shit. But sometimes all I got was a shot of a comfortable bra for an article about avoiding breast-related back pain. Anyway, I stashed them under my mattress when they weren’t in use. One day my mom found them when she was changing my sheets and asked me why I had them. I said I liked to read the articles. She seemed suspicious of that answer and asked what the last article I’d read was. The only thing I could think of fast was the one next to the pictures I’d jacked off to—’How to Make Men Notice You’.”