Page 32 of Pills and Potions: Kase
Captain Starstroke?? She’s gonna tell her cousin and my brother. I'm never living this down.
But then she laughed. Like, really laughed.
Truth was, I was spiralin’. Why does her lip gloss match her damn notebook? Why did she smell like brown sugar and anime knowledge? Why her laugh got me feelin’ like I need to write poetry in a spiral notebook under moonlight? Me. Kase. Mr. Club Owner. Mr. Bottle Service. Mr.‘Bring two bad bitches and a hookah.’
Yeah. I was down catastrophic.
I watched her build another word like it was nothin’.Quasar.
I didn’t even know what that was. Sounded like a type of spaceship or a cologne. Either way, she was showin’ off now.
“You cheatin’, ain’t you?” I smirked.
She gasped. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” I smirked. “Ain’t no way you know all them space words and still this fine.”
Her jaw dropped. “That’s not even an insult.”
“That’s ‘cause I’m tryna flirt.”
She rolled her eyes, but she was smilin’. Yeah, I was down bad, and she knew it. She gave me that slow, soft look, the one that made my pulse get dumb, like she was both the problem and the solution. So, I leaned in, mouth barely partin’, movin’ like the world would wait. I kissed her lips. She kissed me back. My hand slid under the table, thumb grazin’ her thigh, and her fingers curled in my hoodie. It wasn’t wild. It was real. And then we were interrupted.
"MRRRRRRREEEOOOOWWW!"
“What the?—?!”
Before I could process, a damn fur rocket launched onto the table. Scrabble pieces flew, and a milkshake hit my shoulder.
BOOM.
Sir Meowington landed dead on my chest like he had beef with my bloodstream. I began rollin’ with the damn cat.
“AYO!” I yelled, arms flailin’, tryin’ to grab this oversized Garfield-lookin’ demon.
The cat was clawin’ at my hoodie, hissin’ like I took his girl. So I did what any real one would do. I grabbed that little menace and spun his furry ass like a rotisserie chicken. He made thisWHRAAOOOsound like I triggered a dark spell. His paws went out in every direction like a villain gettin’ tossed in a Disney movie.
Blyss laughed. She slid out of the booth and hit the floor.
“I GOT IT!” I shouted, still turnin’ the cat like he was on a pizza pan. “I GOT HIM! HE AIN’T GOT ME—I GOT HIM!”
That’s when the café owner came stormin’ over. Karen with a capitalK.She had a short bob and a name tag that saidPatrice.She looked horrified.
“Sir! Sir! What are you doing?! That’s our mascot!”
“Y’all mascot got fangs!” I barked. “He jumpin’ like rent due!”
“He’s not aggressive, he’s expressive!”
“He expressin’ violence!” I said, still holdin’ the cat mid-spin. “Take him before I file a damn restrainin’ order!”
Blyss was cryin’ and curled up in the booth, damn near hyperventilatin’.
Patrice clutched her chest. “You’re traumatizing him!”
“He traumatizedme!”
Finally, she snatched him out my hands like I was mishandlin’ a baby. Sir Meowington hit the floor, hissed again, and strutted away with attitude likeIwas the problem. I stood there, hoodie stretched out, hair wild, breathin’ heavy like I just survived a street fight. Blyss looked up at me from the booth, still wheezin’.
