Page 64 of Hold the Pickle
“If we have to do it like this, it’s fine by me,” she says.
So she does.
Our gazes clash again. Something’s happening here. The air is charged. I’m too far away to lean in, trapped by the sheet and besides, there’s a whole litter between us.
But she watches me, and it happens again, her gaze dropping to my lips.
This is going to happen.
I’m going to make it happen.
She breaks the spell by pushing the sheet away. “I’m going to take off today since we’ll both be gone. Mondays are slow anyway. Is this a twelve or twenty-hour shift for you?”
It’s like the moment never happened.
“Twelve,” I say.
“So we’ll both be back here tonight.”
“Sounds like it.” What is she suggesting?
“I guess we’ll all sleep together again.”
My throat tightens. Nadia and me. In the bed. On purpose.
“I don’t think it will be too long that we have to fight this,” she says. “The kittens will get strong enough to climb down without getting hurt.”
“They will.”
She slides backward off the bed. “I’ll get started feeding them.”
I watch her walk through the semi-dark to the kitchen to warm the formula. She moves with grace, even at this early hour, her legs pale beneath pajama shorts. The top hugs her chest, and my body starts reacting.
Down, boy.
Good thing we have a whole bevy of felines in between us. Because in this cozy half-dark room after sleeping in the same bed, she is too temptingly close to resist.
Fitz and Harrington wait for me when I arrive in the locker room. Fitz wears a surgery cap over her springy curls, and I’m immediately jealous. She got a plum job to start off, clearly.
Harrington tugs off his Mr. Rogers-styled cardigan and holds it in front of his chest.
“What?” I ask as I open my locker.
“We need an update about the roommate,” Fitz says. “Now that you’re co-parenting.”
“How’s all the pussy action?” Harrington asks, but with no swagger, and a giggle at the end that makes him seem like a teen boy.
I drag my lanyard with my ID over my head. “Kittens are healthy. Mama cat is stable.”
Fitz leans against my locker. “You know what we mean. Is it getting cozy now that you have a whole family?” Her grin is so wide that dimples are revealed. She reminds me of Geena Davis inThelma and Louise, my mom’s favorite movie.
“It’s different,” I say, slamming my locker and heading for coffee before I have to check in.
Fitz follows me and Harrington hurriedly shoves his cardigan in his locker so he can catch up.
“What do you mean, different?” Fitz asks as we dodge a rolling gurney pushed by two orderlies.
“She slept on the bed last night,” I say.
