Page 71 of No Need to Run
“That’s it. Come on, pretty boy.”
Then he starts purring and takes the treat from me.
“Good boy.” I gingerly stroke his ears, and his lawnmower purring grows louder.
A smile lights up my face. Mr. Pickles has good taste.
I give him two more treats and some love before standing. “I’m heading to Drew’s room.”
He turns and heads back down the hallway, like he’s leading the way.
Wow. Easier than I thought.
Drew’s bedroom door is open, welcoming me inside. Mr. Pickles looks at me over his shoulder, then jumps on the bed and lies on the comforter.
My skin hums from being in his private space. Cedarwood and the clean scent of the body wash he uses infiltrate my senses. I close my eyes, inhaling deeply.
When I open them, Mr. Pickles looks at me as he washes his paw, completely unbothered by my presence.
Everything is neat, clean, and organized. His bed is perfectly made, a dark blue flannel comforter on top.
My fingers lightly graze over the contents on the desk near the one window.
I sit in his desk chair for a moment, imagining him there.
He rarely uses it.
Only when he needs absolute quiet.
I get up and move to his dresser.
The socks are organized by color. Naturally.
The next drawer holds his boxers.
I go through the next drawer, my eyes lighting up when I spot my personal lady porn—gray sweatpants.Yum.
A happy sigh slips out as I move to his closet. My fingers tingle as I run them over his clothing, knowing the fabric was nestled against his body.
I spot a faded blue t-shirt in his laundry hamper. Like a ghost, I drift to it, drawn by something I can’t see but feel. The material is soft and worn, with tiny holes in the fabric.
I put it to my nose and inhale deeply. It smells like him.
Sorry, Drew. This is coming home with me.
I carefully place it in my backpack, then set it on the floor.
“Mr. Pickles,” I say as I lie down on the bed beside him. “This is a comfortable bed. Smells just like him.”
The cat’s ears twitch, and he begins purring as I reach out and stroke his fur.
I close my eyes, rolling in Drew's scent.
It's the best high. One I never want to recover from.
Reality finally intrudes on my private moment when the alarm on my phone beeps.
“That’s my cue, Mr. Pickles.” I roll over and scratch his ears again. “I need to go.”
