Page 21 of Just the Tipsy
My whole body relaxes. I knew I felt comfortable with Rose for a reason. It’s been a while since people have known and treated me like a regular person.
“Wow, that’s crazy.” She shakes her head and pulls out of the parking lot. “I guess LA is really different, then. I mean, I lived in New York City for a few years and I can see that happening there too in some circles.”
“You did?” I ask. “How did you end up here?”
“I grew up here.” She pulls out onto the main road toward town. “Long story, but my shitty ex dumped me and I had to move back here. My dad works at Stryker Liquors in sales and got me a job at the Copper Moon, the bar the Strykers own. I met up with Wes again, a bunch of stuff happened, and now we’re engaged.”
She and Wes have that “meant to be” vibe that I never believed was real until I met them, so I’m not surprised at the warmth in her voice.
We arrive at the vet clinic a few minutes later — everything is pretty close together in Jepsen — and park in the back. When we head inside, one of the receptionists whisks us into the back area, which is much bigger than I thought it would be based on the size of the building. There’s a pen lined with blankets on one side, and an exam table, with counters and cabinets lining thewalls. A bunch of wiggly little kittens are in the pen, along with their mother.
Waylon is at the exam table with a vet tech, his back to us. The way his body looks in scrubs should be a crime — all shoulders and strong back and nice butt. Aren’t scrubs supposed to be unflattering?
“Rose and Bianca are here for social media stuff,” the receptionist says.
Waylon glances over his shoulder with a smile. “Okay, great. Just give us a second.”
He finishes up and turns around, a black and white kitten tucked against him, so tiny in his huge hands. He smiles when he sees us, placing the kitten back in the pen with his mother.
“Hey,” he says, leaning in and gently kissing me on the cheek. He smells clean, like shampoo. “Where do you guys want to start?”
Rose glances to me and I swallow the lump in my throat. I know how to do this, so I just need to do it. I’ve done things that are a thousand times scarier. I just want to do a good job.
“Let’s just start with some photos of the staff and the kittens,” I say. “Then we can maybe do an interview about the fundraising for the new shelter once your mom arrives.”
“Works for me.” Waylon nods his head toward the kitten pen. “These kittens have a lot of personality.”
We follow him and he sits down next to the kitten pen, so we do the same.
“You want to come say hi?” Waylon says in a soft voice to some of the kittens who are waddling around. I snap a few photos of them, right as they meow. “Hi, little buddy.”
He scoops up one of the tabby kittens that’s come within arm’s reach and cradles him to his chest. I snap a few photos of them. Waylon is ridiculously photogenic — which isn’t always the case with guys who are hot in person. Him, plus the kittens?
I’m glad Rose made my first assignment easy. Anyone with a pulse will stop and look at these pictures.
“His name is Snickers,” Waylon says, letting the kitten climb up his shirt. “And he’s going to be up for adoption in the next few weeks. Right now he’s living with a foster family along with his siblings.”
I make a few notes for captions, then take a few more photos. He introduces a few more kittens — all with candy names — letting them use him as a jungle gym. They’re all over him, climbing up his shoulders and sniffing his shoes. His smile is warm and relaxed, even though I’m sure the kittens’ little needle claws are digging into his skin.
One of the kittens breaks away from him and starts wobbling over to me. She’s brown with little white paws, chunky and adorable.
“That’s Reese,” he says. “My favorite, but don’t tell the others. I usually name my favorites of litters after my favorite things — TV show characters, snacks, candy in this case.”
I smile. “Why is she your favorite?”
“She’s just ridiculous,” he says, right as Reese stumbles and continues on as she was. “And very sweet.”
I reach over to pet her tiny head. She squeaks a meow and purrs, butting her head against my fingers so hard that she nearly face-plants.
“She’s super cute,” I say. “If she’s your favorite, why don’t you adopt her?”
“Because if I adopted every cat or dog I liked, I’d have ten thousand pets, give or take. And most of the time there’s a perfect home for them somewhere.” He scoops up Reese. “Someday I’ll have a huge house with a big yard for a bunch of dogs and a cat patio for the cats, though.”
I can easily imagine that for him, with the perfect wife and perfect house. It bothers me way more than it should.
“You don’t want to adopt a cat now? Or you can’t?” I ask. “Even if it’s not Reese?”
“Nah, Duke and cats don’t mix well. If it’s small and furry, he’ll want to chase it,” he says, sliding Reese into the pocket of his scrubs. She curls up and closes her eyes. “Wes’s cat Dennis is my cat nephew and I get my cat fix that way. He chose Wes, though. We don’t know where he came from or how he got to the house, but he stood outside his back door and meowed his ass off until Wes let him in. Then he didn’t leave.”
