Smitten Kitten

chapter twenty one

     "I CAN'T TELL if moving in with three guys is gonna be more like a fun sitcom situation, or if I'm actually going to get murdered," I say into the phone pressed against my ear, using the other hand with my half-full coffee cup to push open the front doors of Mark's complex. "The rent isn't half bad though, for the city at least."

There's a dull ache in my legs from bouncing around town all day, various addresses still jumbled up in my mind, but it's mediated by a kindling sense of accomplishment. It's more than just overpriced caffeine that brings a little more spirit in my step, and I even flash Mark's pretentious in-finance neighbour a brief smile when I pass him to the elevator. Which he doesn't return, but whatever.

I'm going to be not homeless. He can suck my semi-financially stable dick.

"Did they seem nice?" Nat asks on the other end of the line.

Stepping through the elevator doors, I hum. "Well, yeah, but so did Ted Bundy, and he murdered over 30 women."

"I don't think you have to worry about being serial murdered, Vika. I would worry about more how often they clean their bathrooms."

I roll my eyes and press Mark's floor number, 32, reminded that it might be one of the last times. "Listen, college girls are one of prime target groups for serial murder, so maybe we should be talking about what's actually important here. Like my life."

Nat snorts. "You're 24 and you dropped out."

I sniff, offended. "First of all, rude. Second of all, I get carded all the time. The Chinese side is gonna keep this face smooth until I hit 70, and then I will go full walnut. Until then, fuck you." As I'm stepping out into the hallway, my fingertips instinctively reach to the corner of my eye where I'm sure my lack of a healthy sleep schedule is doing no favours, but I pray genetics will pull me through.

I'm not sure if rooming with three men would help or hurt my potential crow's feet situation, but I figure my beer pong game will be upped at least three levels, and that's always a handy skill to keep tucked away. If I'm not brutally maimed and shoved in a trunk, that is.

Nat laughs as I pat my pockets down in search of keys. "If they call you back, you should probably go for it. Better them than the girl who has five cats."

"I don't know what you mean, I'm pretty sure Cleo is actually starting to lik- holy shit."

I pause mid-swing of the door, still clutching the handle as Noel and I lock eyes. He's wearing a look that's bushy-tailed and staring down a speeding car, cat bundled up in his arms. I'm frozen and a strange noise I can't remember ever making sounds in the back of my throat.

"Oh my god, did the cat attack you? Vika, I told you not to antagonise it! Are you okay?" Nat's panicky and concerned voice is sharp in the receiver, but it's easily drowned out by my heart beating a tattoo in my chest.

"It's not the cat," I reassure her, watching as Noel drops Cleo to the floor, feet still planted where I'd found him. "Physically, I am fine. I'll give you a mental update later, but I would prepare with at least two bottles of pinot. Talk to you later."

When I click the phone off, cutting Nat mid-threat to tell her what's going on, Noel's carding a hand through his hair.

"I-"

"I-"

We both start at once and then stop together the same. There's a moment of hesitation where we're waiting for the other to continue, and I nod for him to go on first.

Noel clears his throat, and I ignore the way his Adam's apple dips in his throat. Judging by the way he stuffs his hands in his pockets, I doubt he knows what to do with them. I'm still gripping a little too hard to my coffee too, spurred by the weird intensity burning behind his thick frames, and I swallow.