Page 21 of Resistance Training

VIVIAN

I t is strangely comforting to watch this man wrestle with his emotions about accepting responsibility for a feral kitten, to the same degree I’ve seen him struggle with his feelings for me.

But if I’m being honest, I’m just a little bit jealous of this little girl because Brad has decided to take her home with him.

It was cute, but it hurt. Like being stabbed in the heart with a Hello Kitty knife.

The vet tech at the animal hospital confirmed that there’s no microchip, that it’s a girl, around seven weeks old—old enough to eat solid food and to be properly socialized.

When she told him that black cats are less likely to be adopted from shelters, Brad frowned and huffed but immediately declared that he would look after her until he can figure out what to do with her.

He had asked me if I could take her, but my landlord has a one-pet limit.

The vet tech said he could put up a sign on their bulletin board in the waiting area, that there was a good chance someone would adopt her.

But he just shook his head and said he’d figure something out, as he picked up the kennel and I followed him out of the exam room.

He said almost nothing as he drove to the pet supply store I directed him to.

Anything he did say was grumbled while staring straight ahead.

He had resolved to look after this kitten until some vague point in the future when he seemed to envision himself suddenly relinquishing her to another home, but he very much resented that he felt this responsibility.

He also seemed really confused by how any female mammal could find him so off-putting, and that warmed my heart.

Almost as much as I enjoyed watching him startle every single time she hissed at him.

When we drove back to his parking garage, he turned off the engine of his compact SUV and grumbled, “Can you come in and help me get her acclimated?”

“It would be my pleasure,” I replied.

The vet tech had given us some tips as well as a pamphlet on how to socialize a feral cat.

I was, honestly, flattered and surprised that Brad had reached out to me for help, and I really do love this for him.

Being a cat daddy. It makes my heart and ovaries ache, but the former best friend in me knew he would be amazing at it and that this little kitten has no idea how lucky she is.

And I have been dying to see where he lives. His condo is only a five-minute drive from my house. How have we never run into each other before?

He opens the car door for me and takes the kennel from me, holding his free hand out to help me out of the passenger seat.

He’s still frowning and being a grumpy grumpster grumpyface, but his hand is warm and I give it a little squeeze as a silent thank-you.

He holds the door to the lobby open for me and then leads the way.

I’m still a little hurt that he didn’t want to hang out with me at Powell’s, but this is as good a way as any to spend time with him outside of the gym.

As soon as he opens the door to his condo and I walk in, my eyes get watery.

Not from allergies.

Because the first thing I see when I enter his open living room area is a wall of bookshelves. Floor to ceiling. The entire width of the room. With built-in spotlights under the shelves. And so many books.

“Should I let her out of the kennel?” he asks.

I sniffle and try to swallow a sob. “No!” I squeak out.

He puts the litter box filled with cat food and supplies on the ground, cradles the kennel in his arms, and turns around to find my face wet with tears. He is genuinely perplexed at the sight of me. “What happened?”

“Nothing!” I hiccup, waving at his bookshelves. “That!”

“My books?”

“I ju—I jus—I can’t believe you read all those books without me! Don’t look at me. I’m hideous.” I wipe my face with both hands.

When my vision returns, I see that Brad is laughing. At me. For real.

I slap his arm. “Asshole.”

“I mean. I haven’t read all of them yet.”

“Shut up. It makes me sad. But I’m over it.”

“Clearly. There’s Kleenex in the guest bathroom if you need it.”

“Don’t let her out of the kennel yet. We’ll put some food in the kennel and then get her set up in her own room, okay?

Probably the guest bathroom.” I check out the guest bathroom down the hall, and it is indeed the perfect size for a tiny kitten to live in while she adjusts to being in a home.

And I also burst into tears again because it’s so clean and the soap and hand towels are neatly laid out and there’s a framed black-and-white photo of the dock by his family’s old house when they lived down the street from us on Mercer Island.

As teenagers, we spent so many hours sailing and sometimes just reading on the deck of their boat while it was docked.

For someone who doesn’t seem to want to remember that time of his life, I’m surprised to see this displayed in his home.

After pulling myself together and setting up the litter box, litter-disposal set, and a bowl of water in the bathroom, I join Brad in his kitchen.

I manage to refrain from crying at the sight of the clean counters and the rows of labeled storage bins with various powders and smoothie ingredients.

It looks a lot like Jeremy’s old kitchen in Seattle, aside from all of the journals and paperbacks lying around.

He’s adding filtered water to a small bowl of wet kitten food. “Does that look okay?” he asks without looking at me.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to put it in the kennel for her?”

“Oh, no. I think you should do it.”

He frowns at me, picks up the bowl, and I follow him back into the living room. “Should we put the kennel in the bathroom first?”

“Yeah, let’s do that.” I pick up the kennel and take it to the guest bathroom, placing it on the floor, against the wall opposite the door. The kitten makes loud little mewing sounds. A little anxious, but not distressed.

I get down on my knees to talk to her. “Hey, girl. You’re going to be living in this little room for a while, okay?

You’re very safe here. You can stay in this kennel as much as you want, but we’re going to leave this cage door open and you can just roam around and get to know the place.

That big, nice man, Brad, is going to take care of you, but he’s going to stay on the other side of that door most of the time. Okay?”

I get up, and when I turn around, Brad has that look on his face, like he was staring at my butt.

I hold his gaze for as long as he’ll let me, and then he shifts his body sideways in the doorway, allowing me to pass by him.

“I’ll close the door behind you, and you can open the kennel and put the food in there. ”

“You want me to stay in there with her?”

“I mean, you can come out once you’ve put the food in the kennel. Just don’t let her out.”

“Roger that.”

I close the door behind him and press my ear up to the door. I hear him clearing his throat. I hear her little mews. And then I hear the latch to the cage door open and he says, “Hey, girl,” and then there’s so much hissing.

I jump back from the door when it opens, and he exits the bathroom, closing the door behind himself so fast.

“Sounds like that went well.”

“Yup.” He catches his breath. “Now what?”

“Do you want me to go?” I ask.

“No.”

“Okay. Well, she needs to get used to the sound of your voice. So why don’t we just hang out by the door and talk?”

He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “About what?”

“Well… Any ideas for a name?”

“For whom?”

“The kitten.”

“Oh. No.” He frowns again. “I don’t know if it’s my place to name her. Why did you name your cat Hairy Styles again?”

“Because he’s skinny and he’s got swagger.” I step over to the bathroom door and press my ear against it. I gasp. “I can hear her eating,” I whisper.

“Really?” He presses his ear up against the door, next to me, facing me. He smiles. “Wow, she’s so hungry,” he says softly.

“Yeah.” I touch his arm. “It’s a nice thing you’ve done.”

He shrugs. “Thanks for helping me.”

“Welcome.” We keep leaning against the door, facing each other.

I stare into his intense, green eyes. “For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a great cat daddy.

I mean, who better to transform a feral feline than a personal trainer?

You have all the skills necessary to motivate her to want to live with you and give her clear guidelines for how to be a good, healthy indoor kitty cat. ”

He sighs and touches the door with one hand. “I don’t know. I’m not home very often. It wouldn’t be fair to her.”

“Well. Let her decide. Once she’s ready to come out and explore your place—after you’ve cat-proofed it. See if she likes it. I mean, it seems like she chose you. It would be rude to just let someone else take her when she just showed up for you like that.”

He frowns again.

I change the subject. “So, how were you able to afford your own gym at such a young age anyway?”

He shifts around, leaning his back against the door, so we aren’t facing each other, but he’s still so close I can smell his fabric softener. He still uses the same kind his mom used to use. “My grandmother passed away when I was twenty and left me quite a bit of money.”

“Oh no. Grandma Mitchell?”

“No, my mom’s mom. You never met her.”

“Right. The wealthy one. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, I had only met her a couple of times when I was a kid, but she was my pen pal for a while, and I guess I made a good impression on her. Anyway, I invested it. I made some really good investments, lived below my means for a few years while I saved more. I used some of the money for a down payment on this place, put some of the money into the gym, and the rest was funded by a small-business loan from a banker who was one of my first clients when I was working as a trainer at another gym. He liked my business plan, and he knew I had a high client- retention rate, knew I was disciplined.” He shrugs. “It all worked out.”

“I’m glad for you.”

“Thanks.”

“Be right back.” I go to the front door, where I left my bag, and pull out the copy of The Anthropocene Reviewed that I got for him. Handing it to him, I say, “You left this on the shelf when you bolted. Believe it or not, I went to Powell’s to get this for you.”

He lowers his head, covers his face with the book. “I’m an asshole.”

“Yeah. You are.”

“I’m sorry. I actually did see you there.”

“What?!”

“I just…it’s not a good idea for us to hang out, Sparks.”

“Sparky.”

Brad stares down at the book. “Sparky… Believe it or not, I went there to get this for your birthday.”

“What? Say that again.”

He smiles, shaking his head. “I went there to get this for your birthday. As a client gift. I was going to order it online.”

I give his bicep a playful shove. And then I place my hand on his arm. Playfully. Feeling his muscles. “Well,” I say, trying to circle both hands around his bicep as he flexes, “I got a copy for myself too. I was thinking we could start up ABC again. As friends.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Okay. We’ll start it up as enemies, then. I get first pick, and this is it.” I tap the hardcover book in his hand. “You can read it to your kitty through the door. Then talk about it with me. At the gym.”

After an eternity, he says, “Fine.”

I keep hearing my phone buzzing in my bag and go to retrieve it.

There are a bunch of texts from an unknown number, and it turns out it’s Cindy.

Inviting me out for drinks with the gals.

“Hey, it’s Cindy,” I tell him. “She’s inviting me out with the girls.

Tonight. She says to tell you they’re going to be my wingladies.

” I look over to find his jaw clenched so tight I’m worried he might crack it.

“Yeah?”

“Unless you’d like to hang out with me tonight,” I say.

“Can’t.”

“How about tomorrow?”

“Can’t. You should definitely go out with Cindy and the girls.”

“Okay. Well. Aubrey has challenged me to find a date to take to her wedding in June, so if I don’t meet someone tonight, then the only place I’m likely to meet someone, aside from the apps, is your gym.”

His nostrils flare. “I don’t think there’s anyone there that you’d like.”

“I happen to already know there’s someone there that I like.” I pick up my bag and open the front door to leave, before I start crying again. “But he’s kind of a stubborn dick, so I guess I have to go wash my hair and get ready to go out.”

“Hey,” he says, grabbing my hand.

I spin around to look at him. “What?”

He stares down at my mouth, grunts, and says, “Don’t drink too much. Text me pictures of everything before you put it in that sassy mouth of yours.”

I cock an eyebrow. “Everything?”

His jaw tightens again. “Drink vodka if you can.”

“Maybe. Don’t forget to talk to her through the door. Read her a book. Oh, and put a rolled-up pair of dirty socks in the bathroom with the kitten.”

His brow wrinkles. “What?!”

“So she can get used to your scent.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I get onto my tiptoes and inhale near his neck. “You smell fucking amazing, Bradley,” I whisper, plant a kiss on his neck, and then run away.

Take that , Mitch!