Page 48

WHISKERS AND KISSES

Tyler

Show me a hockey player who doesn’t know his rating, and I’ll show you a liar. We know that shit cold.

I know this season is much better than my last one. Two months in, my ice time is higher, my shot blocks have improved, and my penalty minutes have gone down.

This is what I wanted. To have a great season in my eleventh year in the pros. To line up a solid final contract. To be able to provide for my kids for the rest of their lives, no matter what hockey throws my way.

And I’m managing it. While also managing a—how shall we say— unconventional relationship with a woman who lives with me.

A woman who, somehow, has got me hooked on a tiny little two-pound creature a little more than a week into fostering.

Before I left the house for an afternoon game, I said goodbye to Drama, like I do every time I leave these days. But now, as I hop off the exercise bike at the arena and make my way to the locker room, I fire off a text to Sabrina to check in on the kitten.

Tyler: How is the cutie?

Sabrina: Well, I’m at the rink so I wouldn’t know.

Tyler: Should I have the neighbor check on her? My mom? Harvey?

Sabrina: She’s a cat. She’s fine.

Tyler: She’s a kitten.

Sabrina: Tyler, she’s fine. I promise. She’s probably sleeping on the couch in my apartment.

I round the corner toward the locker room, tapping out a reply.

Tyler: Are you sure though? We can set up a cam. Miles has one for when he dog-sits our mom’s dogs.

Sabrina: That’s where she was when I left for my lessons.

Tyler: But you’re going to be there for a while. You have so many lessons—which is awesome—but the kids are with Elle tonight, so they won’t be able to check on her either. Maybe I shouldn’t go to Cozy Valley after the game.

Sabrina: I’ll be home around eight. She’ll be fine.

Tyler: But I’ll be done by seven. I should just swing by and check on things. And get a camera.

Sabrina: Cat Daddy, stop. Go see your friends tonight. Friendship time is important.

Tyler: So is pussy…cat time. :)

Sabrina: You’re so thoughtful.

Tyler: But seriously, you think she’s fine?

Sabrina: Seriously—she’s fine. Go! Socialization is key to happiness. Studies prove it.

I scoff and type out a reply.

Tyler: I bet orgasms are on that list.

Sabrina: Fine. Orgasms and friendship.

Tyler: Like I said, I’m always thinking of …cats.

Sabrina: That’s clear.

Tyler: And I might still get a cat-cam.

I step into the locker room, the clang of gear and the chatter of teammates thick in the air. But I’m still weighing whether we need a cat-cam or not. Rowan tugs on his uniform shorts in his stall, then tips his chin toward me .

“You good, man?” he asks, then smirks. “Or are you just stressing because you know I’m gonna destroy you in cornhole tonight?”

I snort. “You figured me out. But it’s lucky I’ve got my cheat codes for cornhole, buddy.”

He nods toward me, a serious look in his eyes. “Actually, you really are wound up. What’s going on? I don’t need you getting on the ice all stressed.”

Despite our penchant for trash talk, I appreciate that Rowan’s reading me right. I drag a hand through my hair, sighing heavily. “It’s okay if the kitten is in the house alone for six hours, right? She’s three months old.”

Across the room, Max is strapping on his goalie leg pads, his chest protector already in place. He glances up, eyes narrowing. “You got a kitten? Is she getting enough stimulation? Does she have enough toys? Did you make her little tinfoil balls? Cats love those more than anything in the world.”

I tense. I haven’t done any of that. “I think we have tinfoil at home. But I can check,” I mumble.

Max nods like this is life-or-death. “Yeah, you’d better.

Kittens need all sorts of things. Ball up some tinfoil and she’ll go wild for it.

Also, you know what their favorite toy in the world is?

The little cardboard roll inside the toilet paper.

Oh, and boxes of tissues. That shit is so fun for kittens.

But you also need a ground scratching post. Do you have one? ”

“What is that? We have a regular scratching post.”

“Oh, you have to get a ground scratching post. And some of those toys with a ball inside it that they bat around. They go nuts for that stuff.”

I blink, overwhelmed by all this feline information. I had no idea there were so many toys for cats.

“The OG cat daddy has spoken,” Asher chimes in from his locker, pointing to Max .

Max plunks down on the bench and tugs on his skates. “Dude, the cat economy is crazy. There’s so much stuff for them. They need laser pointers, toys, feathers, little plastic balls…”

My brother strides across the room to my locker and grabs my phone from my stall. “Better get all this down. OG Cat Daddy doesn’t dole out advice very often.”

I open the Notes app. I’m going to need all of these things. “What else, guys?”

Wesley chimes in from his locker. “What about a cat tower?”

Rowan points at him approvingly, then back at me. “Dude, Bryant’s right. You definitely need a cat tower.”

I scrub a hand over my tight jaw. “Shit. We don’t have one.”

Rowan claps me on the shoulder. “There’s a cute pet store in Cozy Valley—Whiskers and Kisses.”

“Whiskers and Kisses?” Ford chimes in with a chuckle as he tosses his tie into his stall. “That’s fucking cute.”

“No kidding,” Rowan says, turning his focus back to me. “We’re going there tonight and stocking up on all the cat things you need. I got your back, Falcon.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thanks, man. We’re going to have to do that for sure.”

Max tugs on his jersey, adding, “I’ll send you a list. Better yet, I’m going to write it on the DickNose board.

” With full gear on, he heads over to the board, where my brother has already started writing Cat Shit.

Max joins in, jotting down the list of all the things I need.

I snap a photo, then get ready for the game.

And I try not to worry about the two-pound tuxie while battling for the puck in the corners during the second period.

I put her out of my mind as I shove an opponent out of the way, snagging the puck and whipping it across the neutral zone to Bryant, who takes it right into the net.

Yes!

He sends it screaming past the goalie’s leg pads. A goal for him, an assist for me. And my stats keep getting better.

We smack gloves, and when I hop over the boards for the line change, I feel like I can balance it all—the game, the kids, the woman, even all this cat shopping. And a night out in Cozy Valley with the guys. Well, Sabrina said it’s a good idea for my happiness.

When the game ends, I hustle the hell out of the arena with Rowan. We hop into his car, then head out of the city to the small town not too far from here. Along the way, I toss my suit jacket and tug on a hoodie instead.

Before we head to the bar to meet up with Holden and Corbin, we swing past Whiskers and Kisses off Main Street—a shop that has literally everything.

I don’t know why I didn’t do this sooner. But a short while later, I’m loading up Rowan’s car with a cat tower, all sorts of scratching posts, a red laser pointer, and even a rotating toy with feathers—like a baby mobile but for cats.

As I survey the gear, I breathe out a sigh of relief. “This is good. This is exactly what a foster kitten needs.”

Rowan smirks. “And exactly what a man who’s completely smitten with his foster kitten needs.”

I don’t argue. Because he’s right. He shuts the door to the trunk, then we walk down Main Street, which is decked out for Christmas already with garlands strung around the lampposts. Rowan side-eyes them, grumbling about too many decorations.

“Do you hate Christmas?” I ask.

“And Christmas hates me,” he says as we pass a bookstore where a big, orange cat sleeps soundly on top of a stack of Christmas books in the window display .

“Then I won’t invite you over when we decorate our tree,” I say.

“Oh, you can invite Mia. She’s great with decorations since she’s got a good eye. I’ll keep myself busy walking the dog.”

“That’s the spirit,” I say as we turn the corner to The Gameyard to meet our friends.

Holiday music plays overhead and Rowan grouses about that too for a bit.

After we order some beer—with a club soda for the Grinch—and start a round of cornhole, my mind swings back to San Francisco. Not just to the cat.

I’m picturing Sabrina.

Is she home now? Coming in from her lessons? Unlocking the door to her apartment? Saying hello to a cute little critter who stretches up from the couch and greets her? Is she picking up Drama and holding her? Giving her a kiss? A pang of missing lodges in my heart.

“Earth to Falcon.”

I spin around. Holden is staring at me as I toss a beanbag absently in my free hand.

“We’ll have to kick you out of the club if you keep drifting off like that,” the football star says, admonishing me.

Corbin grins as he lifts his beer glass. “Maybe it’s time for another bet. When you finally break, since you’re still clearly all tangled up in wanting the nanny.”

“She has a name,” I say sharply. “It’s Sabrina.”

Corbin holds up a hand in surrender, even though he didn’t really say anything wrong. “You’re into Sabrina. Really into her.”

Shit. I did overreact. “Sorry. My bad,” I say, not answering him. Instead, I toss the beanbag toward the top of the board, but I miss the hole.

“What are you going to do about it?” Holden asks, and the fact that he’s not harassing me about missing speaks volumes .

Plus, it’s a reasonable question. “Honestly? I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

There’s quiet for several seconds, just the chorus of a rock song coming from inside the bar. A heaviness descends on me—the weight of decisions, of conflict.

“What do you want to do about it?” Corbin asks thoughtfully. It’s a rare moment when these guys are serious, which means it’s all the more important to pay attention.

I exhale, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “I mean, the whole situation is complicated. It’s early days, and I really shouldn’t be thinking about this. I’ve got the season to focus on. The kids. Everything.”

Rowan nods thoughtfully. “Yeah. Stuff can get complicated real fast.”

Holden shakes his head. “Relationships are nothing but a hot mess.”

“That can bite you in the ass,” Corbin adds.

We all lift our glasses and drink.

I put relationship thoughts out of my head and focus on beating my friends in lawn games. Since that equals happiness.

And, evidently, so do a few more beers.

When the night is over and we’re driving back home with Rowan at the wheel, I’m honestly, maybe a little buzzed. A little eager too.

To see Sabrina.

And Drama, of course. But mostly, I want to see her. “I wonder if I should text her and tell her what I picked up at the store or just surprise her,” I muse as we cross the Golden Gate Bridge, my foot tapping on the floor of his car .

Rowan cracks up laughing. “Dude. You’re a little obsessed.”

No point denying it. “I’ll surprise her,” I say, nodding to myself as the city lights grow brighter, beckoning me home. “She’ll like that.”

Rowan smirks as he slows at a light. “Do you need help carrying it all in? Or are you afraid that when she sees I’m stronger than you, she’ll think she picked the wrong guy?”

I flip him off. “I’ll carry everything.”

I’m already thinking about walking through that door, about the way Sabrina’s face will light up when she sees what I brought home for Drama.

And maybe—just maybe—about the fact that no one else is in the house tonight.