But still.
If Esme finds out, I just hope I can think of a good way to explain everything to her so she doesn’t give me a bashing that will result in my own nuts hitting the stratosphere. Like most guys, I’m kind of partial to keeping my family jewels unharmed and attached to my body.
CHAPTER 11
Esme
After a visit with Pappy S—a very frustrating visit in which he refused to tell me if he was up to anything or not, meaning he denied he was, but he had this slightly guilty look on his face that kind of told me otherwise—I walk in the front door absolutely exhausted. It’s not even one yet, and I still have a ton of work to get to.
I expect Connie to come running and the house to be otherwise silent. All the cats are probably asleep on the things I need to sew. I tell you, I try and keep them out of the crafting rooms, so things don’t get hairy, but it always seems like things end up…inevitably hairy.
Anyway, there’s no little white bundle of excited curls yapping at me when I walk in the door. The house is totally still and quiet, which is a little bit eerie. I’m immediately worried, and I’m about to call out for Connie because it isn’t like her not to greet me at the door, even if I’ve been gone for all of four seconds to check the mailbox at the side of the house, but something stops me.
A deep voice. A deep male voice. Wilder’s voice.
For some reason, I start slightly, mostly because I didn’t think he’d be home right now. He’s often gone during the day, doing what…I can’t imagine. I hardly know anything about him, but then, that’s intentional. I haven’t reached out to ask because I really don’t want to know. It’s just easier not to. Not because people aren’t worth getting to know, but because I don’t want to get to know him. Even as a friend.
He’s very persistent, though. And, um, very attractive, which sucks because I can’t stop thinking about it. My bat cave has been very lonely this past year, even if the rest of me is on strike. Erm, maybe my nipples, too, because they seem to be protesting the celibacy as much as my lower regions. My brain, though? Not having it. The physical parts of me can see Wilder, and they want him because that’s just science, but the smarter parts of me tell me to keep my distance. I’m not even going to let him into the friend zone because the friend zone often contains grey areas like friends with benefits, and no, that’s not going to happen.
Although, Vera would love it if it did. She loves hearing all the details about my and Monique’s romantic encounters. Monique would think there’s hope for humanity if I was willing to give another guy a shot, but that’s a no-go. Vera will have to be disappointed, and Monique will have to find her hope somewhere else. If it indeed exists.
I tune out the thoughts of Wilder’s finer attributes, which are all of his attributes, dial down the buzzing in the bits, and focus on what Wilder’s saying because he’s clearly talking to someone.
“Was it you? Seriously? The box is right there, man. It’s right there. Right in front of you. And it’s huge.”
I take a step into the hallway and listen harder because this is interesting.
“Do you have to poop outside the box? It’s a big surface area. I could show you how to aim for it if you like. Or maybe it was you. Or you. Or you? No, no, you can’t let the one eye get you off the hook. I’m not accepting vision problems as an excuse. You seem to devour tuna just fine with one eye, so I’m sure you could hit the pooper. What’s that? Oh, I see. Someone’s scooping out a poo after and leaving it in front of the box like an offering? Hmm. That’s what’s going on? Would it surprise you to learn that I don’t appreciate your offerings? No. Don’t start bringing dead things to my bed instead. I’d like that even less. But geez. There are what? Four boxes here? No, wait, there’s five. Five. Boxes. And one of you still has to poop outside them. Too fussy? Don’t like the litter? Don’t even give me anything about it not being clean enough. I know for a fact that Esme scoops it twice a day.”
I worry my bottom lip with my teeth just to keep my laughter in. This is actually quite entertaining. I lean up against the hallway wall, so Wilder doesn’t know I’m there, and then I keep listening.
“You know what you guys remind me of? A choir—a cat choir all waiting for their turn to sing. Except you’re all waiting for your turn to use a clean litter. I never knew that was a thing. You think one less pee clump or poo wouldn’t make such a drastic difference when there are so many boxes. You guys know how good you have it? I don’t even have a choice of five toilets. I just have one, usually. And you never have to use a public one. I’m pretty jealous.”