Page 54 of Enemies to Lovers

No, the only way for us to work is to…

“We have to wait.” I loosen my hold on his hands, only for him to grip harder.

“Wait for what?”

Brewster and Hershey meet up with us, their tails beating our legs before they run off again. Miles prods my chin, asking the question again with his hazel eyes.

“After the internship selection,” I answer. “We can reevaluate how we feel then.”

He drops my hands, and after a beat, he nods. “That’s… reasonable.”

I smile, patting his chest. “Good. Professionals until then.” I point a stern finger at him. “And you give it your all, understand?”

He blows out a sigh, and then we start to walk again. “I always do.”

“There you go, big guy,” I say to Mr. Chonk, carrying him into his new setup at the Humane Society. He goes straight for the food, making ungodly noises as he munches away.

“Clean bill of health, and you still can’t help yourself.” I run a hand down his back, and his butt lifts, his fluffy tail smacking my nose. I chuckle and leave him to it. It’s been a little over a week since his scare. It was poisoning—Val hit the nail on the head. Chocolate frappe was the culprit.

Madison, the girl who brought him in, did visit, but her parents put a firm foot down when it came to adopting. So as soon as Val and I gave him the all-clear—with Dr. Goff’s approval—he took up one of the spots here.

I really hope someone falls for the guy. He’s older; we estimated his age around ten. And with all the surrounding kittens, he’s probably not the first choice. Unfortunately.

I make my way up front. Kitty City wasn't in my rounds today, but I swapped with Kelsey. She’s more of a dog person, anyway, and she was more than happy to trade.

I slump into my chair, swiveling to face the computer. Need to get started on the form for Mr. Chonk. I fill out what we know, giving the bio some flavor text to make him more appealing. When I get to the name portion, I hover over it.

We can name him whatever, since he’s a stray. And Mr. Chonk might not fit anymore since he’s lost some weight, and we’re hoping to get him into shape. But I can’t make myself come up with anything but the name Val gave him.

The bell on the desk bings, and I jerk upright. A “How can I help you” is halfway out of my mouth before my brain comprehends it’s my sister standing there.

“Someone’s working hard,” Sammie jokes, sliding the bell to the side and leaning on the desk. Her short blonde hair is pushed back with a thick headband, and her face is red and glistening. Must’ve dropped by after a gym run to scare the shit out of me.

“Only getting this printed out,” I say, hitting the print button on Mr. Chonk’s info. The picture I grabbed was one Val sent. She took a picture of him on discharge, then requested one of the two of them, and then of the three of us. I’ve looked at that picture more than I care to admit.

Sammie taps the desk, playing with the bottle of hand sanitizer. “You off soon? Thought we could catch dinner.”

I check the clock. “We close in ten. You can hang out till then.”

“Sweet.” A grin spreads across her face. Sammie is a sucker for cats. I think the only reason she hasn’t adopted one is because she feels like the house we share isn’t really hers. It’s ridiculous; I know my name is on the mortgage, but we definitely share it. I couldn’t afford it without my sisters.

She follows me to Mr. Chonk’s room, and I slip the info sheet into the space just outside the door.

“Oh, is he new?”

“He’s the cat Val and I treated.”

A knowing spark hits her eyes, and I cringe. Not one of my siblings has talked about Val spending the night, but I’m not naïve enough to believe they haven’t figured it out.

“You can say hi,” I say. Distracting her with a cat seems like the smartest play. I open the door to Mr. Chonk’s room, and she steps inside with a small bounce.

“Do I need to be careful? Let him come to me and all that?”

She’s definitely been here a time or a million. I shake my head and step inside with her, letting the door close behind us. Most of our older cat residents have rules in dry-erase on the glass doors. My handwriting is shit, so Kelsey takes care of that. Ozzy, Mr. Chonk’s neighbor, has a full list on his door.Let me come to you, I’m shy. Please don’t pick me up. I don’t like my belly touched.So on and so forth.

Mr. Chonk, however, licks his chops and slides right up against Sammie’s legs. She’s smitten immediately, cooing and scratching his long fur.

“You feeling better, huh big guy?” she asks, and his purring becomes so loud I’m surprised it doesn’t rattle the door.

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