Page 25 of Bone Deep
Ridiculously so.
Polished stone counters. Industrial appliances. Enough cabinet space for a chef preparing a five-course meal.
Too bad I only use it for coffee and cat food.
I open the cabinet and pull down theceramic cat dish.
Open a drawer.
Retrieve a spoon.
Routine.
From the fridge, I grab a tin of the absurdly expensive gourmet cat food Jen insists is “nutritionally superior.”
I scoop a portion into the dish and set it on the floor.
“There,” I grumble.
Fucker dives into it like he hasn’t eaten in three days.
“Happy now?”
I shake my head and move toward the espresso machine.
I could kill Jen.
When this condo opened up, I moved fast on it. I outbid three other buyers without blinking. When you make it your life’s mission to be better than the rest, it pays off.
Corner unit, larger floorplan, two blocks from the firm.
Most of the additional square footage went to this absurd luxury kitchen. Like I said—never use it. But I saw the unit and immediately knew I wanted it.
Needed it.
Everything about it was clean. Ordered. Perfect.
I had barely unpacked the last box when Jen showed up that weekend. I opened the door and she shoved atiny black fur ballinto my arms and ran away laughing. That bitch avoided my calls and texts all weekend.
On Monday morning I cornered her in the office. She didn’t even apologize. She jabbed a finger into my chest and said, “You need this, Spencer. A little disruption to your sacred routine. Give it a try. Maybe someday you can move up to a human disruption.”
I press a button and the machine grinds the espresso beans while the memory grates against the back of my mind.
Knowing Jen, there was never a world where she was taking the cat back. And I refuse to step foot inside a shelter ofany kindever again.
So, now I own a cat. He’s actually not terrible, keeps to himself, fairly clean. Quiet, most of the time. I might even give him a real name one day.
It’s been a year, though, and we manage fine as is. No need to rush these things.
Captain Commitment-Phobe at your service.
The espresso machine hisses to life.
Seconds later, a shot of dark coffee fills the tiny cup. I drink it standing at the counter. Quick, efficient, done.
The cup gets rinsed and placed in the dishwasher.
Then I head to the walk-in closet. Rows of perfectly spaced garments greet me.
