Page 54

“Yeah.” I glance down at the kitten, who’s wedged himself against my side like he’s trying to merge with my ribcage. “He looks fucking heartbroken.” My mind’s already calculating how much fur is sticking to my shirt. “Gimme the lint roller.”
He hides it behind his back, smirking. “Nope.”
“Then get rid of this thing.”
“Were you not loved as a child?”
I flop back on my bed, arms over my face. “Suck my dick.”
Jameson kicks my legs as he heads for the door. “I'm going to PetSmart. Watch my boy.”
My boy. What a dumbass.
After he leaves, I roll onto my side and stare at Mookie. He’s passed out cold, looking like he’s never had a single worry in his tiny cat brain. Must be nice. I’m spiraling about potential fleas in my sheets, and why hasn’t Camdyn texted back?
In a moment of weakness, I snap a pic of Mookie sprawled on my pillow and send it to Cam. No caption. That’s cute, right? The kind of thing girls smile at?
Only, she doesn’t text back.
An hour crawls by, and my mind’s running wild. What if something happened to her plane? What if she’s ghosting me?What if she met some smooth-talking Texas cowboy who doesn’t have a roommate that adopts stadium cats?
You wouldn’t blame her on that last one.
Mookie stretches, one paw touching my arm like he’s telling me to chill out. Maybe it’s the stress about Camdyn, or maybe I’m delirious from cat fur, but I reach over and scratch behind his ears. Just once.
Doesn’t mean shit. I still want my goddamn pillow back.
A knockat the door nearly gives me a heart attack. I’m trying to figure out how to ditch Mookie for the game when it comes. Probably Jameson, arms full of enough pet supplies for a zoo.
But when I open it, awkwardly cradling a cat who won’t shut up because his nap got cut short, it’s Camdyn. My stomach flips, but this time in a good way. She’s in a Husky softball shirt and leggings, looking like she rolled out of bed but still perfect. Her eyes fall to Mookie, nose scrunching in that way that makes me forget how to speak.
“You got a cat?”
“Uh, kinda.” I glance at Mookie, who’s staring at me like I hung the moon. “It’s Mookie.” I wave her in while the cat tries to decide between being held or reclaiming my pillow.
She follows me inside, watching as I set the furball free. “Where’d you find it?”
“In the dugout. Jameson stole it.” I turn my hat backward, laughing as I grab my bag. “He says we’re parents now. He’s making a parental agreement for me to sign.”
She laughs, picking up a baseball from my bed and snapping it between her hands—the unconscious pitcher’s habit that somehow makes her even hotter. “He made me sign an agreement to ‘help’ him with our anatomy project.”
I roll my eyes, shoving my spare hat in my bag. “Of course he did. We have a roommate agreement he edits every week.”
“Oh, shit.” She backs against my bed, hip pressed to the edge as she tosses the ball my way. “I shoulda called first. You got a game, huh?”
“Yep.” I catch it one-handed, trying to play it cool while my heart’s doing backflips. “You coming?”
The pause lasts forever. “Actually, yeah. I am. Haven’t seen a night game in forever.”
“Wait.” I try to keep my voice steady. “You’re actually coming?”
She hasn’t watched me play all season. The idea of her in the stands makes my palms sweat like a rookie.
“Oh, well, I…” She fidgets with her shirt hem, leaning on my cabinet. “If you don’t want me to, I won’t.”
Our eyes lock. “I want you to.”
Her smile messes me up. I peel off my shirt, reaching for my game day one, way too aware of how her breathing changes. Her eyes trace my abs, cheeks flushing pink. “How long do you have?”