There’s no room down here unless I squish myself, and even then, I can barely reach her.
“Here, I’ll get her.” Brody moves forward, but as I try to get myself out of the small space, I bump into his leg.
He reaches for the vanity to steady himself, and then the hand soap from the sink lands on my head.
“Shit, sorry.” Brody reaches for me to see if I’m okay but then trips on my fucking leg or something, because next thing I know, a ninety-kilogram lawyer has a knee in my back and I’m straining to not let my face hit the tiled floor or the vanity.
“Fuck!” I hiss.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” Brody chants.
He’s fast to get off me, but I’m done. I’m so fucking done.
When I finally manage to move, I land my ass next to the bath and rub the top of my head. “We’re a disaster pair, I swear to God.”
Brody laughs. “At least we’re disasters together.”
“Because that’s so much better.”
“I’d rather be a disaster with someone else than be one alone.”
“Ah. See, that’s where we differ. Give me solitude with my craziness any day.”
So not true, but I’m not getting into it right now. Or ever. Yeah, let’s go with never.
“Whose idea was it to bathe the demon cat?” Brody asks.
“Yours.”
“Oh. Right. Well, I’m a dumbass.”
“No arguments here.”
Brody looks defeated. “What are we gonna do?”
I’m ready to give up too. “Leave her like that and change her name to Meatball?”
Brody laughs so hard he has to catch his breath. When he eventually calms down, he stands with determination. “Okay, I’m going in. Wish me luck.”
“This’ll be fun to watch.”
“That wasn’t really wishing me luck, but I’ll take it.” Brody’s wider than me, so that small space is even harder to get into for him, but his arms are longer.
Meows of protest fill the bathroom, but at least she isn’t screaming anymore.
Brody pulls Lucky out and holds her close to his chest. She tries to squirm out of his grasp, but he holds her stronger than I did.
He takes her over to the bath, but she stares at me with wide, begging eyes that ask me to not put her in there.
It’s like one of those moments where I meet someone and feel that tiny spark of maybe I can trust this person. Only, this time, she’s looking at me like that, and I’m about to do to her what every guy does to me eventually—give her an excuse to distrust me.
Bloody hell, when did I start caring about the fucking cat and her so-called feelings? Can cats even feel anything?
“Wait,” I blurt.
Brody pauses. “What?”
“This is mean. She was like, tortured. What if she’s having flashbacks or thinks we’re gonna do to her what those stupid boys did?”
“Can cats suffer from PTSD?” Brody asks.
“I don’t know, but what if they can?” It’d be like someone shoving me in a room with Kyle and telling me everything is okay. “Here, give her to me.”
Brody smiles but doesn’t move.
“What?”
“You do like her.”
“Oh, shut up and hand her over.”
Lucky is trembling as he gives her to me. Meatball sauce is all over the bathroom now, as well as our clothes.
“Now what?” Brody asks.
“Get a wet cloth. I’ll try to get as much off with her in my lap.”
“I’ll help.” Brody grabs one of my towels off the rack and dips it in the bathwater.
Lucky flinches and lets out a little angry growl when the towel first touches her skin, but when Brody massages all over her and I murmur calming words, she settles.
“I think it’s working,” I whisper, not wanting to scare her again.
Every time we have to stop for Brody to wet a clean part of the towel and start again, she tries to stop him with her long claws as if to say, “No, keep going.” Either that or she’s a cat and is playing. It’s most likely the latter, but I like to think Lucky is smarter than that.
Oh God, I really am beginning to like the rodent.
“I’m coming back,” Brody assures her when she swipes at the towel again. When he starts cleaning her again, I feel his stare on me, but I don’t dare lift my head. “We may be a disaster together, but we do make a great team.”
I nod, still refusing to look up. I keep my eyes on Lucky.
We get most of the gunk off her, and by the time she’s as clean as we can get her, she’s purring in my lap and enjoying all the attention.
“Turns out you’re an attention whore, huh?” I coo.
“I think she’s just smitten with you,” Brody says. “And I can’t say I blame her.”
I keep trying not to look at him, but after words like that, it’s impossible not to. His blue eyes shine bright while that intoxicating charm rolls off him.