Unspoken Vow (Steele Brothers 2)

Lucky stops grooming herself to look at us. Her expression is one hundred percent angelic and innocent-looking. What little fur she has is all matted and caked with marinara sauce.

“So that’s why the kitchen seemed messier than when we left it,” Brody says. “I thought I just wasn’t paying attention earlier. Too … distracted.”

I side-eye him.

“With your leg.”

“Right. My leg.”

“Not mentioning the kiss that didn’t happen.” Brody tries to hide his smile, but it’s not convincing.

“So glad we’re already joking about this.”

“I’m trying to think about how to get marinara sauce out of the carpet and your bedding. If we can’t laugh, we’re gonna cry.”

I take a deep breath and let it out with resignation. “Okay, game plan. You bathe your cat, and I’ll change my sheets.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down there. First of all, Lucky is my sister’s cat, not mine, and since you’ve moved in, I think it’s become pretty clear she loves you.” Brody gestures to my bed. “She made this for you! So, I’m thinking you bathe the cat, and I’ll swap out your sheets. Like a good roommate.”

Something else occurs to me. “Fuck, I don’t have any other sheets.”

“Hold up. How do you not have any other sheets? Eww, do you not change them … ever?” He screws up his face.

“Of course, I change my sheets. I wash them and put them in the dryer. But that’s gonna take two hours, and I’m fucking dead tired.”

“How about this,” Brody says. “Team effort. We both bathe the demon cat while your sheets are in the wash. If they’re not done by the time Lucky is clean, then you can use my sheets.”

“What about the kitchen?”

“I’ll do that later. Priorities, Anders.”

“I’ve never been good at those,” I admit.

“I’ll teach you. Now, who’s picking up the demon cat?” Brody blinks at me.

I stare at him right back.

Lucky, the traitor, jumps off the bed and starts rubbing herself against my leg.

“Looks like she’s chosen.”

I flip him the bird as I pick up the blissfully unaware cat who has no idea what’s about to happen. “Bath tub or laundry sink? How the fuck do you wash a cat?”

“I imagine it’d be much like washing a dog?”

Brody strips my bed, and I follow him into my bathroom which doubles as the laundry.

“A dog who’s afraid of water?” I ask as I close the bathroom door, shutting us in here. This is gonna go bad. I just know it.

“Who knows, maybe Lucky is one of those weird cats who likes water?”

Spoiler: she isn’t.

I put her down while we fill the bathtub, but as soon as it’s full of water and we corner her, she becomes Houdini, the wonder cat. Escape artist extraordinaire.

Every time I go to pick her up, she bolts as if she knows what I’m doing. Someone’s a perceptive little kitty.

Brody finds our game hilarious.

“A little help, maybe?” I ask.

“Fine. You need to approach more casually. You’re trying to catch her which lets her know there’s a reason you need to hold her.” Brody steps closer to Lucky with soft feet. He says to be casual, but he looks like a caricature of an evil villain in movies where he tiptoes his way across the room to make himself less obvious.

All it does is cause Lucky to freak out more. Only, this time when she runs away, she runs right to me as if I can save her.

And instead of saving her, I’m gonna put her in the tub of death. I mean, I’m not gonna drown her, but I assume that’s what cats think when they come into contact with water.

I pull her close to my chest and hug her tight—like a silent apology. When I move her towards the water, she claws at my arms and lets out a heartbreaking meow.

We get nowhere close to getting her in the tub. Her tail touches the warm water, and the wail she cries makes it sound like I’m trying to kill a flock of galahs.

“Come on, baby.” I hush her with soothing tones.

It doesn’t work.

Next thing I know, she leaps out of my arms and makes a break for the door, which is thankfully still closed, but I guess she thinks she can make a Lucky-shaped hole in it and escape.

The loud thunk as she hits it makes me wince.

Brody dives for her, but she shakes off her possible concussion … wait, can cats get concussions? Either way, she slips from his grasp and runs behind the toilet.

And now she’s stuck and wailing for a different reason.

“Fucking stupid cat.” I’m exhausted, I want to go to bed even if I know I won’t actually sleep, and I’m at that point of tiredness where I don’t know what’s gonna fly from my mouth. I just want to get this over with.

I get on my knees and try to get her free from between the back of the toilet and the wall where’s she’s lodged herself.