The Story Of Us Part 22

Chicago, Illinois Ten months ago I call Maverick's cell again. After several rings, his voicemail picks up. I wait for the whole message to finish before I hang up. Thirty minutes late is fairly typical, but not two hours.

I flip through the TV channels. We don't have cable or satellite, so it doesn't take me long. I finally settle on a re-run of CSI. And even though it's on, I don't watch. Time couldn't move slower.

Forty-five more minutes pa.s.s before the front door opens, and Maverick shakes the rain off of his jacket. The irritation sizzling on my skin keeps me from getting up and greeting him. I cross my arms, staring at the television.

"I'm guessing you're upset," he says, walking over to the sofa. He doesn't sit.

"Good guess."

"I'm sorry, Jellysnack. We got a new case. A big one, and I couldn't get away sooner."

"Did you pay your cell bill?"

His brows furrow. "Yes."

"Did you lose your cell?"

"No."

"Does it work?"

Maverick sighs. "I put it on silent so I wouldn't get distracted."

"I'm distracting?"

He plops down beside me and pulls me against him. "I'm sorry. I should have called."

"Yes, you should have."

"Have you eaten?"

"No, I was waiting for you."

"Giordano's? Pepperoni, mushroom, and onion?"

I look at him. Dark, hopeful eyes meet mine, and my smile relents. "Sucking up?"

"Only if it's working."

"It's working."

He kisses me. "I'll order."

"On your non-broken phone?"

"I promise to call next time."

"Good. Otherwise we'll go bankrupt with all the orders you'll have to make for pizza."

"It's what people do after they get married," I say, rinsing off a plate and handing it to Maverick to put into the dishwasher. We've been back in Illinois for two months, and adulting sucks. But together, we decided, it sucks less.

"Is it?"

"Of course. Didn't you read the handbook?" I hand him another plate.

"I did. I must've missed the pets section."

"That's because you only read the parts about s.e.x."

Maverick tilts his head to the side. "There were other parts besides the s.e.x ones?"

"Funny. Cat or dog?" I ask.

He closes the dishwasher and hits start. "Are you sure about this? They p.o.o.p and eat ... and p.o.o.p."

"How is that different from what you do?"

He saunters toward me until my back is pressed up against the counter. "Do I need to show you how I'm different?"

"Oh, that thing that just happened on the sofa?"

Maverick slides two fingers down a lock of my hair. "Yeah, that thing."

"Hmmm. I liked that."

He squeezes my b.o.o.bs. "A pet can't do that for you."

"I'm not replacing you. You realize that, right? It's just that I'm lonely and bored. You've been late every day for the last two weeks doing lawyer stuff."

"You mean my job?"

"I need company, and Finley is two hours away." I bat my eyes. s.e.x usually works better, so if this doesn't do the trick, that will.

Maverick kisses my neck, sliding my s.h.i.+rt down my shoulder. "I think I need more convincing." He unb.u.t.tons my shorts.

"How much convincing will you need?"

Maverick inches my shorts down my waist until they fall to my ankles. "At least a year's worth. A couple times a day."

Antic.i.p.ation warms me as he crouches down and kisses my underwear. "I was uh-" I swallow "-thinking we could go to the shelter in the morning."

He slides them down my legs. I'm close to forgetting our conversation.

"That soon, huh?" he says, the tip of his tongue hitting me just right.

"Huh-huh," I breathe out, grabbing the counter behind me for support.

He licks me again. "Well, I do like p.u.s.s.y." Then he lifts me by my hips and deposits me on the counter.

"Is that a yes?" I ask, my concentration slipping fast.

He opens my thighs. "I'm still considering it."

My ability to speak is nonexistent while he builds me to o.r.g.a.s.m. I'm still panting when enters me. He finishes, and my brain is foggy when he finally agrees to whatever we were talking about before.

It's Sat.u.r.day morning, and Maverick agreed to go into the office midmorning instead of crack-of-dawn morning. Of course that means he'll have to work later, but Finley said she'd come over tonight.

The animal shelter isn't far from our apartment building. Mav doesn't care what type of cat we get, but I've always had a soft spot for black cats even if they're supposed to be bad luck. Good thing I'm not superst.i.tious.

"Are you looking for a specific personality trait?" the lady asks.

"Friendly. Likes to cuddle," I say. "Preferably not a kitten and already litter trained."

"Do you have other pets or plan on getting other pets soon?"

"No," Maverick answers quickly. "One will be plenty."

She asks us a few more questions, then leads us to a tabby named Samson. She unlocks the crate and hands him to me. He's cute, cuddly, and purrs when I scratch him behind the ears.

"What do you think, Mav?" I ask.

"He's your cat. You pick what you want."

"He'll be your cat too."

Maverick draws his hand down Samson's back. "He's okay."

We move to the next, and I know immediately that he's meant to be mine. Black with the greenest eyes I've ever seen on a cat.

"This is Night Eyes," the attendant says. "We think he's about four years old."

I stick my finger in the cage for him to sniff. His wet nose hits me, and then he starts to lick my finger. He nudges me, desperate for attention. I give in, because how could I not fall in love at first sight with this creature?

"Can I get him out?" I ask.

She opens Night Eyes' cage. "As far as we know, he was a stray. He's been here for a year." She gives him to me.

"Oh," I say, holding him against me. He's purring so loud now that even Maverick snickers. "You are the sweetest little guy, yes you are." I glance up at my husband. "People don't like adopting black cats. Bad luck, they say." I turn back to Night Eyes. "But you'd never bring bad luck, would you? No, no."

Night Eyes rubs his head under my chin. Maverick pets him, and he swings his attention to my husband, wanting Maverick now. He pushes off my arm, and I hand him over.

Maverick laughs when Night Eyes starts licking his hair. "Sure is friendly."

"Aw. He's grooming you. Must mean he likes you."

"His tongue is like sandpaper."

"This is the one, don't you think?" I say.

"He'll definitely keep you company." Maverick gives the cat back to me, and I cuddle with him for another minute.

"We'll take this one."

We fill out all of the paperwork, and the attendant makes an appointment for us to come back on Friday. "It takes about a week to process the application."

On Friday, Night Eyes seems to understand he's coming home with us, because he's purring as soon as he sees us.

We get home and let him out of the cat carrier. He sniffs around, unsure of his new surroundings. Maverick insists we show him the litter box first thing. Night Eyes sniffs it, turns in a circle, and jumps out.

"That's your bathroom, dude. I expect you to use it."

Night Eyes stares at him for a second, then moves into the kitchen.

Maverick kisses me. "I won't be home until late."

"I understand."

"I love you." He kisses me again before he leaves.

"Just me and you, Night Eyes," I say, following him into the living room. He bats at the curtain for a moment before he slips behind it.

I plop down onto the sofa and grab my biology book. It's the only Gen Ed cla.s.s I'm taking this semester. Good thing too, because it's kicking my a.s.s. Night Eyes peeks at me from around the corner of the sofa. He crouches, his head following the pattern a fly is making overhead.

I curl my legs under me, creating a table for my book, and suddenly Night Eyes jumps into my lap. He stretches up on his hind legs, his front paws pressing into my chest.

"You can't be done exploring," I say. He nudges me, and I relent to petting him. "You're already spoiled."

I s.h.i.+ft him to the side so I can study at the same time. He doesn't like it much, trying to sit on top of the book, but eventually he settles down next to me and falls asleep. His soft purrs vibrate against my leg, and already I feel less lonely.

We're in the same position when Maverick comes home. At the sound of the door opening, Night Eyes jumps off the sofa to greet him.

"The cat says h.e.l.lo before my wife. Is this going to be a pattern?" Maverick asks, chuckling at the black furball winding through his legs.

"Likely. You should also probably tell him h.e.l.lo before me. They used to wors.h.i.+p cats in Egypt, you know," I say.

"And cats haven't forgotten." Maverick bends down and strokes Night Eyes' back. Then he picks up the cat and sits down beside me on the sofa. Night Eyes walks onto my biology book and lies down.

"He's been doing this all day." I pet him anyway, reinforcing him to continue this behavior. "Isn't that right, Night Eyes? You're a silly kitty."

"Night Eyes," Maverick repeats. "That's such a dumb name for cat."

"It's a mouthful," I agree.

"How about re-naming him. Midnight?"