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It’s late by the time Sasha is sacked out on my bed, the litter box and water dish on the floor of my adjoining bathroom. I lean against the headboard, planning to read a few articles on my phone, when I remember Ensley’s email.
I can picture her, tapping her hand on a table, waiting for me to reply. I know damn well I won’t be able to simply ignore her like the random women I’ve engaged with.
I can’t get her out of my head anyway.
I pull up her email on my phone. What did she want?
Oh. Revenge on Felicia.
I’m not interested in indulging her on this. For one, if I’m getting revenge, something’s about to get set on fire.
And second, women like Felicia aren’t worth my energy.
But I’m not going to say anything like that. My thumbs hover over the letters, wondering what the hell I can type.
Finally, I snap a quick picture of the kitten and send it with only two words. And one of them is a lie, because Ensley can’t know I named the kitten after her mother.
Meet Snowball.
That’s enough.
Chapter 9
ENSLEY
When an email comes through from Drew, I’m lying on the sofa watching reruns ofThe Bachelorette.
I sit up so suddenly that my sister Tillie looks up from her laptop, a pencil holding her dark hair in a pile on her head. “Everything okay?”
“I got an email from Drew.”
Now she’s interested. “He wrote you back?”
“Yes.” I told her everything that happened. That I got kicked out of the dressing room and carried over Drew’s shoulder. Then we were stuck in a rainstorm, and I darn near banged him in a shed.
But not that I’ve been obsessing about him since.
She probably already knows that. She remembers how I used to follow him around as a kid. Even though I’m the oldest sister and tried to keep my life private from my younger sisters Lila and Tillie, my crush was too juicy not to notice.
I close my eyes. I want to hold on to this happy feeling that he’s written me back.
I half expected him not to. I picture the set ofThe Bachelorette. Me in a long, sparkly black gown. Drew in his tux, unbuttoned at the throat. I’m holding the single red rose.
Yes, reading it is going to be just like that.
But when I click on the email, there are only two words.Meet Snowball.
And a picture of a cat.
The kitten is cute and all, sure. But I don’t get it.
“What did he say?” Tillie asks.
“He sent me a picture of his cat.”
She closes her laptop. “But you said he didn’t adopt animals. His work hours are too long.”
She’s right.
