Page 43 of Never Pucking Ending

I close out of the picture. “It doesn’t have one. And no, we don’t have a new pet. Belle found it in an alley and brought it home.”

Bodhi and Moskins share a look, both looking amused. Because they know the same thing I do. That I have a damn cat now.

My coach chuckles when my shoulders drop, and he smacks my back. “It’s kind of cute.”

“Yeah, if you squint,” Moskins muses with a snort.

I glare at him. “Be nice.”

He deadpans. “It’s a fucking cat, dude.”

Doesn’t he have one? “What would you say if someone told you Oreo—” His cat “—was ugly?”

He shrugs. “She’s not. And she has both of her ears.”

Clearly this conversation is going nowhere, so I slide my phone into my pocket. “Whatever. I don’t know what Belle plans to do with it. She doesn’t even have a name picked out.”

Both the men say, “Yet” simultaneously.

I shoot them both a glare.

Bodhi laughs.

Moskins grins.

And I flip them off and tell them I have to go.

Home.

To my stepsister and our new cat.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Belle

Mom stares between me and the cat for a little while longer, her eyes inquisitive. “You named him…”

“Dobby,” I confirm proudly, smiling at the new addition to our family. He’s already gained a pound since we’ve had him. Now that he doesn’t have to hunt for food, he eats whenever he can and begs for treats.

Mom continues watching him, and I can see the question form on her face before she voices it. Why? I pick Dobby up, waving the paw that’s just a little bit darker than the others. It makes him look like he’s wearing a sock. And he kind of looks like Dobby from Harry Potter. I can’t explain why, he just…does.

“Can’t you see the resemblance?” I ask, holding him out in front of her face so she can get a better look. We’ve watched the Harry Potter movies a million times. I made her take the test to see which Hogwarts house she was in and made her do the sorting hat when we went to the first ever store in New York City. We got Hufflepuff and bought matching sweatshirts and keychains to commemorate the occasion.

The woman I look so much like (and could be twins with if I were about twenty pounds lighter) makes a thoughtful noise. “I can see it. Dobby. I like it.”

I beam, even though I’m pretty sure she doesn’t see it at all. “Here. Hold your grandchild. I have to finish these sketches.”

She takes Dobby and holds him like a baby while I go back to the sketches I’ve been working on for the past week. Before I know it, I’ll need to present these to the planning board and want to make sure everything is perfect.

Mom sits down on the armchair in the corner of my home office. “You haven’t told me how things with Dane are going.”

I stop what I’m doing. Oh. My. God. I totally forgot about Dane. Slowly, I turn to her with a bewildered look on my face. “Um…”

She frowns. “What? Why do you look constipated?”

The expression wipes off my face. “I do not look constipated!”

Mom rolls her eyes. “I’ve taken care of you since you came out of me. I know what you look like when you haven’t pooped in days. I also know what you look like when you have blowouts—”