Page 14 of Under Construction

Still, the revelation draws his eyes back to the pristine silver paint job. “Since when can you afford a Lexus?” he asks, his tone slow and dripping with skepticism. Dennis tilts his head as he turns his gaze back to Chris and fixes him with a raised eyebrow.

Chris’s expression hardens at the question. His biceps flex under his shirt in a way Dennis definitely doesn't notice. "Since none of your business," he replies, clearly irritated.

Oh? Now both Dennis’s eyebrows raise themselves. Heknewsomething was up with this Chris jerk. Maybe he’s a drug dealer in his spare time. Or has a sugar mommy. Or both.

Before he can think about finding out and exposing Chris like he deserves, Chris says, "Why are you here? The site’s been closed for hours."

"I heard—"

Another pitiful meow cuts Dennis off.

"That! I heard that!" he exclaims, pointing under the car as he glares up at Chris, vindicated and indignant.

The change in Chris's face is instant—like someone flipped a switch from asshole to actual human. "What?” he says, uncrossing his arms. He actually looks concerned now. “Where?"

"Under your fancy car that you definitely didn't buy with construction wages," Dennis points out helpfully.

"Shut up and help me look."

They both drop to their knees, twisting around to peer under the car. Gravel bites into their palms as they crane their necks, faces tilted up to scan the shadows.

A tiny black kitten stares back at them, caught in the front grille, big shiny eyes extra sad in aplease save mekind of way.

"Shit," Chris breathes. "How'd you get in there, buddy?"

"Can you reach it?"

"No." Chris stands up. "Stand back."

"What are you doing?"

"Getting better access." Chris jangles his keys, the sound sharp in the empty lot. "Need to pop the hood." He moves to unlock the car. "Unless you want to break a nail trying to get your fingers in there, princess?"

Dennis grits his teeth. Fails to stop his face from rearranging itself into an instinctive scowl. His scowls aresoperfectly scowly looking these days from all the practice he’s been getting. "Just hurry the hell up!"

Chris unlocks the car, then opens the hood with a solidthunk. Together they look down at the engine, warmth from the scorching spring afternoon still radiating from the metal.

The kitten blinks up at them.

"Poor thing's terrified," Chris says, his voice low so as not to spook it. He reaches down, movements extra slow and cautious. They both hold their breath, hoping the kitten won’t startle and try to squeeze in deeper and away from them. "Come here sweetheart,” Chris coaxes, “I've got you."

Dennis watches in disbelief as Chris makes little cooing noises. His hands—rough and calloused—move with a gentleness he didn’t think was possible on such a…brute.

"There we go," Chris murmurs, when the kitten creeps closer, whiskers twitching—to trust, or not to trust? When it decides that Chris is a friendly giant that won’t hurt it, it presses its nose to his finger and lets itself get gathered up, tiny legs splaying in every direction like a bundle of loose threads. "That's it. You're okay."

"You're good with cats," Dennis says without thinking.

"Good with all sorts of pussy."

And just like that, the moment's ruined.

"You're unbelievable," Dennis spits out in disgust. He turns to leave, boots crunching on the loose gravel. "Just make sure it gets to a shelter," he says, as un-angrily as he can. He doesn’t want to scare the baby cat just because Chris is a fucktard.

"Wait!"

Dennis doesn’t wait and keeps walking.

"I um," Chris says, louder now. He clears his throat. "I don't actually know where any shelters are," he hollers, loud enough that a questioning meowpipes up from the volume.

---