Page 28 of Second Quarter Comeback
There’s a pause, then a faint chuckle. “Camille Ashby? You need her to tighten something down there? You watched her videos and want some action?”
“Don’t fucking start with me,” I snap. “She has a cat.”
“A cat?” His amusement is palpable. “Why the fuck do you care about her cat?”
“Because it’s currently sitting in my kitchen,” I grind out. “Some hipster dropped it off and bolted. Something about a flight and a transfer. Now I’m stuck babysitting this thing.”
Jacob laughs, loud and long. “You? With a kitten? This I have to see.”
“Laugh it up, Jacob,” I snap, rubbing the back of my neck. “I can’t leave him here alone, and I sure as hell can’t bring it to the doorman. Does Camille even have permission for pets in this building? What if the owner finds out?”
“Killion,” he says, his tone turning patronizing. “It’s a kitten, not a ticking time bomb. Calm down.”
“It might as well be,” I mutter, glancing at the carrier. The kitten tilts its head, its green eyes gleaming like it’s enjoying my suffering. “I have practice, Jacob. I can’t just leave it in my house. I don’t have the supplies and I don’t know when she’s coming back.”
“Then take it with you,” he says simply, the grin evident in his voice.
“Oh, sure,” I say, pacing again. “I’ll just waltz into the training facility with a kitten and act like it’s normal.”
“Honestly? Do it. You’re just watching tape today. No one’s going to care.”
I stop mid-step, staring at the tiny fluff ball that’s now yawning like it owns the damn place. “This is insane.”
“It’s temporary,” Jacob says, clearly trying not to laugh again. “Keep it in the carrier, and I’ll work on getting Camille to call you back.”
I let out a heavy sigh, glaring at the kitten as if it’sto blame for this entire fiasco. “Fine. But you owe me for this.”
“I owe you nothing. You pay me to deal with your shit,” Jacob fires back.
I hang up, muttering curses under my breath as I grab the carrier and my gym bag. The kitten meows softly, like it’s saying,Good luck, sucker.
By the time I walk into the training facility, the kitten is meowing again, louder this time, like it’s trying to make a scene. Great. Just great.
The receptionist gives me a long, raised-eyebrow look as I stride past her desk, a carrier in one hand and my gym bag in the other. “Don’t ask,” I mutter, not breaking stride.
Inside the film room, the guys are already gathered, their conversations dying the second I step in. A few heads swivel toward the carrier, and then the comments start.
“Uh, Killion?” one of them asks, barely stifling a laugh. “You realize that’s not a football, right?”
“Congratulations,” I reply dryly. “Your observational skills are unmatched.”
A ripple of laughter spreads through the room, and I ignore them, setting the carrier down in the corner and pulling out a chair. The kitten meows again, its tiny voice cutting through the chatter like a knife.
“Is that . . . alive?” another guy asks, half curious, half horrified.
“No,” I deadpan. “It’s animatronic.”
The coach walks in a moment later, pausing just long enough to glance at the carrier. His expression is unreadable, but he shakes his head like this is just another day dealing with my bullshit and starts the tape without a word.
I sink back in my seat, grateful for the distraction. The kitten quiets down, curling into a little orange ball in the corner of the carrier, blissfully unaware of the chaos it’s caused.
“Camille,” I mutter under my breath, barely loud enough for myself to hear. “You fucking owe me for this.”
But deep down, I know it’s not just about the kitten. It’s about her. I have something that belongs to her and maybe she’ll have to talk more than leave me the fuck alone if she wants the kitty back.
Chapter Sixteen
Unknown number: Where are you, Camille?
