Page 16 of Hate You Later
It takes a moment to locate him. He’s asleep on an oversize, leather ottoman in the living room. From the entryway, I see the tip of his tail flicking as he dreams. It’s stirring up the dust particles, making them sparkle in the sliver of afternoon sun.
“Look what I got for us, buddy!” I make my way through the living room toward the kitchen, pausing to hold out the bag for Oliver to sniff. “It’s fresh salmon.” I shake the bag. I’d stopped at the fish market on the way home.
Oliver arches his back and stretches, unimpressed. If anything, he looks annoyed that I’ve disturbed his nap. He rolls onto his back and plays dead.
“Seriously, dude? That’s all you have to say about this?” I give the bag another shake. Oliver opens one eye and stares at me with an icy look of disdain. The effect is only mitigated by the fact that his tongue is sticking out. Classic Oliver. I snap a pic.
I’m still chuckling as I put the fish away. Oliver rouses himself, jumps up onto the counter, and paws at me to pet him.
“Oh, now you want my attention?” I ask.
He looks expectantly at his silver-plated, engraved food bowl, a parting gift from Ashley, along with promises to come back for him as soon as she can.
It’s been a while since she’s checked in on her cat. I consider sending her the hilarious photo I just took but change my mind at the last minute. She doesn’t deserve this photo. Instead, I compose a caption and send the photo off to my Petfluencer Challenge buddy, a punk rock Boxer named Cookie. The caption reads: “You can rest when you’re dead.”
Cookie responds almost immediately with a picture of her laying splayed, belly up, luxuriating in a pool of sunshine. The light throws rainbow prisms from her bejeweled collar. The caption says:
“I wasn’t really naked. I simply didn’t have any clothes on.”
I laugh out loud. At first, I thought it was weird being paired up like this, but now I’m enjoying the daily exchanges. And I am beginning to see the point. Building an online persona is easier when you have someone to bounce your ideas off. Cookie is the perfect foil for Oliver.
How would I describe her, exactly?
Cookie is a sort of female rebel without a cause. Rock and roll. Rage against the machine. She likes clothing with holes and bright colors. Leather and lace. She eats whatever trash she craves and always says whatever is on her mind. She doesn’t take shit from anyone. She isn’t afraid of anything.
Oliver Abercrombie Westerhaven Von Dutch Kitty, however, is the absolute polar opposite of Cookie. Maybe that’s why the moderator paired us up?
Oliver is exactly as snooty, judgmental, and upper crusty as his purebred Persian pedigree suggests. He eats his food from a custom-engraved, silver-plated, paw-shaped bowl. No dramatic license needed here. Of course, he prefers caviar to kibble, if he’s the one choosing. His hair is always perfectly brushed and tangle free. His claws are trimmed regularly, and he would never resort to clawing the furniture.
That part is a flat-out lie, actually. Bryce won’t be so thrilled with me when he sees the state of his favorite leather club chair. Oliver has decided to use it as a scratching post, and I can’t bring myself to stop him.
Oliver, we’ve discovered during our daily exchanges, has a very judgy personality. He doesn’t approve of torn jeans, foul language, loud music, bright colors, or slobbery dogs. All the things that Cookie loves best.
At the moment, what I love best, apparently, is using my Oliver voice to wind Cookie up.
For some reason, every time I chat with Cookie, I feel seventeen again. She brings out the smart-ass, contrarian me. She says up, I say down. It’s a little absurd, but I enjoy jousting with her so much that I find myself checking the portal several times a day. I get a thrill every time my phone pings with an incoming message.
It’s possible that it’s time for me to seek out other extra-curricular activities. Ephron is a smaller town, but that doesn’t mean I have to live like a monk. Surely, there’s got to be some women around who aren’t looking for anything too serious. Just some fun for a month or two?
I wonder if I might run into the woman from The Onion again if I head back there, say, tonight?
My mind, and then certain other parts, flash back to the visceral reaction I had when she slammed into me. I can still conjure the way she smelled—lemon and white flowers. A hint of something cool, like mint. Mmm. Head back, eyes closed, I take a deep breath and let the image float there a second before wafting away.
Something tells me that she isn’t the type to seek out a one-night stand. She’d be all or nothing. Women with that much confidence and fire usually are.
This, of course, only makes me lust after her more. But women like her are dangerous for guys like me. I’m not about to repeat my dad’s mistakes.
Typically, when women hear I’m a Holm, they see dollar signs and power. Favors granted. Gifts given. Doors magically flying open for them with VIP valet parking and room service on the other side of the velvet ropes.
This is not what I see. I see freeloaders. More people who expect me to oil the machine and keep everything running perfectly in their lives so that they can keep playing while I pay the bill. What’s really in it for me? Besides the sex? Not a heck of a lot.
Fortunately, getting sex without messy commitments has never been that much of a problem for me.
I push the thought of the woman from The Onion out of my mind. Best not to get in over my head. Better to stay focused on the business.
But no harm in chatting anonymously online with a dog, though, right? I pull out my phone.
I hope you’re behaving yourself, Cookie.Doing anything special tonight?
