Page 25 of Kitty Season (Green Line Ice #2)

I n a life littered with fuck ups, today as a whole, might have been my most monumental.

At midday I decided I needed a real gift for Quinn, just in case the threesome thing fell through, which it most likely would.

At one, I arrived at Tiffany’s wearing my best ripped jeans, biker jacket and of course, my piercing.

At twenty seconds past one, I was asked to leave, a decision that was reversed when I begged and dumped the entirety of my savings account, and the profits of hawking my three most prized Superman comics, on the crystal clear counter.

“It has to be Tiffany’s.” I pleaded. “My girlfriend lost her shit, I mean, lost her mind over one of your boxes, and it was found in the trash and held a gag gift. She deserves a proper one, holding more than a name badge from the cafe where she works.”

At one forty-five I left the Tiffany’s, and headed to a florist. There, the last of my cash was spent on three red roses.

At two-ten, I jumped on the Green Line to head home.

It was there, in the half empty carriage that smelled like cat pee, that I came face to face with the man whose abandonment of me was the only useful thing he ever did.

He had no clue who I was, but even aged as they were, I recognized his eyes in an instant.

How could I not when their exact replicas reflect contempt back at me every morning in the mirror.

Turns out it wasn’t cat pee. It was my dad’s. He reeked of it, amongst other things. As did the woman who once called herself my mom. She was asleep, tucked into his side, a scrap piece of cardboard with a crudely written note,

Veterans. Can you spare some change?

Propped against her stomach.

What a sick, disrespectful fucking joke.

The only thing my parents are veterans at is using whatever and whoever they can, lying and ripping people off.

Their deceit and dishonor to those that have served so bravely made me sick to the core.

But because I’m the world’s biggest moron, I couldn’t stop myself from placing those three perfect roses in Mom’s lap, and the Tiffany’s box containing a pair of silver earrings molded into the freakishly suitable shape of two swallows, into the faded Red Sox hat resting in Dad’s.

Unable to stay a second longer, I jumped from the train three stops early, and the remainder of the day blurred into a pathetic montage of misery—walking home in the rain.

Longing for a girl I’d mistreated for months to wrap her legs around me, and tell me I’m not the loser I know I am.

Wallowing in bed, smiling, and listening to the woeful singing of another I’d treated like shit, with his stupid troll rolling between my fingers.

That God-awful music blasted through Skip’s headphones, caused Noah’s impatient knocking, and me leaving my solitude to rescue the front door from.

Face to face with Noah and Lotte’s excited smiles, I directed them to Skip’s room, and did exactly what my DNA had programmed me to do, I lied.

“I’ll meet you there soon. I just have to wrap Quinn’s present. ”

I had no intention of going. Not when I needed Quinn and Skip more than I needed air.

All traces of dusk were long gone when my buzzing phone woke me, my last remaining Superman lying over my face, ruined by the treacherous tears that sleep prevented me from holding back.

Skip

You’re ruining her birthday, you knob.

Get here now or I swear to God I will end you.

As I read, I could picture that damn blush coloring his cheeks, his pouty frown. And could hear his voice cracking with his version of furiousness, a mere annoyance to most.

Yes I’m deserting her, but she has Brady, and Brady is ten times the man I am.

Again and again I reinforced those words, but something heavy and dark, deep within the pits of my gut nagged and thundered and tugged.

The idea of them hating me …

Like I hated my parents …

Like I hated myself …

“This is fortuitous timing. You’re going to be over four hours late and I will undoubtedly be unwanted. Maybe we can help dull each other’s wrath.”

Many, many, many thoughts cross my mind while leaning into the passenger side window, but I put them to the side in a bid to keep the surprise out of my voice. “Professor Plum. You’re?—”

“Out of my mind to accept Coach Harris’s invitation?”

Fuck. Quinn’s going to be pissed.

“I was going to say it was too wise and beautiful to be inviting a stranger into your car in the middle of the night, but both suit.”

“You’re hardly a stranger, Mr. Becker,” she replied, eyes checking her ruby red lipstick in the mirror.

“Just strange then?”

Letting her hand fall from her mouth, I watch her lips transform from pouty to wicked. “Aren’t we all?”

Any hope I carried of Quinn forgiving me, is dashed the second I walk into her folks with Plum on my arm.

Plum’s choice. Not mine.

I suggested we enter separately, but despite her confident on-campus appearance, she clung to me like a baby koala. Maybe that’s why Skip is so fond of her.

As pissed as she looks, Kitty’s a drop dead bombshell in shorts she must have stolen from the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders, and that damn split jersey tied in a knot under her boobs.

Even so, the skin-crawling itch demanding I run to her, resonates not from my need to get inside those glittery pants, but just to hold her.

“Wh … why are you here?” she splutters, finger aimed directly at the Professor who stills like prey would do in the sight of a T-Rex.

“And why are you there?” That’s aimed at me.

Before I can reply, she closes the distance between us and tugs me free from Plum.

“Why is she here, Dad? Please tell me you didn’t invite her? ”

“Quinn Josephine Harris!” Enter Quinn’s mom, who like her daughter, is an absolute rocket. Equally fiery too, it seems. “How dare you be so rude to our guest. Faith I do apologize. Please forgive our daughter’s rudeness. One too many celebratory drinks.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, I assure you. After all, I was late and on the arm of her boy?—”

“Boy am I sorry!” Quinn yells at the top of her lungs. Used to her oddities, her parents don’t flinch, but Plum almost hits the ceiling. “Like Mom said, a little too much drinky-drinky.” Laughing like a hyena, she tightens her grip on my arm and yanks me outside.

There’s no way she’s going to let this drop, but for now, she’s touching me, soothing the rawness I’ve felt all afternoon, and that’s exactly what I need.

My respite lasts all of five seconds.

“Why are you so late? And why didn’t you answer my calls? And why are you with her?”

With each question, her voice rises, the final so loud it draws the attention of every set of eyes here.

The truth—I saw my loser parents and spent a manly afternoon crying in my room—burns like acid on my tongue, but I can’t tell her any of that because she, like everyone else here, believes my moms are my real family.

No one, not even Noah who has known me since junior hockey, knows my secret.

No one ever will.

Squirming, and trying to come up with some fraction of the truth, I shift my eyes from her clenched fists and take in my surroundings.

Holy fucking Kitty Kat.

I knew Quinn was rich, but this is … really rich.

From the outside you can tell the house is your typical white, pillared, cookie-cutter monstrosity, but now I can see just how huge a monstrosity it is.

The yard, if you can call it that, is maybe two or three suburban blocks wide, and fully decked out with palm trees, a pool and pool house bigger than ten dorm rooms. It’s more luxury resort than family home, and holy pink shit, they have pet fucking flamingos.

“Holy shit, Kitty. You have fucking flamingos,” I say like twit. “You really are a princess.”

“I’m not a princess you idiot … I kind of wish I was, though.

Your beheading would be much easier.” She drops my hand, then pushes me in the chest, then grabs me again, pulling me in and hugging me.

It’s very confusing, but also kind of nice.

She smells like cookies, rage and sin. My favorite combination.

“Now stop stalling and tell me what happened.”

“Umm. Well. I wasn’t sure if I should come. I didn’t want to cause more trouble with your folks. It was stupid and cowardly and I’m sorry.”

Quinn relaxes her grip, holds me at arms length and takes me in with a worthy amount of skepticism. “And that’s the truth? There’s nothing else?”

“It is. And there’s not.” Cognizant that her rather large, rather terrifying father may be lurking behind me, I don’t kiss her like I want to, instead I press my lips to her soft cheek and inhale. She really does smell incredible. “Happy Birthday, Kitty.”

“Heads up!” The tender moment comes to a halt when the beach ball Cory spikes from his position beside the pool, sails around Quinn, smacking squarely into the side of my head. “Yazzzz!” he cheers. “You owe me twenty, Basse. Told you I could smash him from here.”

Chuckling, I raise my head. Kind of wish I didn’t. Brady, Noah and Shane are standing a foot away, arms crossed over puffed chests.

Shit.

Maybe it’s not just Coach I need to worry about. I’m confident I could hold my own against one of them, but all three. At the same time. Nope, that’s not my kind of threesome. Guess it’s lucky I have a tiny blonde ally.

“Guns away, boys,” Lotte demands, running her arm over Noah’s flexing bicep.

“Troye is a Bear now. One of you, and I’m sure he has a perfectly good reason, not only for almost ruining Quinn’s special night with his tardiness, but for breaking her heart by arriving with her most recent mortal enemy. ”

I rub my hand over the back of my neck. “Thanks, Lotte. I think.”

“Why did you rock up with Faith?” Brady grumbles, stepping forward from his man-pack. “I didn’t know you two were … known to each other.”

It’s the distraction my shit attitude and smart mouth needed. Good Ol’ Skip never lets me down.

“Relax, Buddy. I’m not known to your hot professor. Not as well as you are anyway.”

“She’s not mine?—”

“Besides,” I interrupt, closing the gap between us and leaning into his shoulder. “I thought you’d be glad. Without me you could have slipped Quinny our present all on your lonesome.”