Of Rats and Cats

By Addison Albright

Published by JMS Books LLC

Visit jms-books.com for more information.

Copyright 2018 Addison Albright

ISBN 9781634867726

Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

All rights reserved.

WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

* * * *

Thank you to all my wonderful beta readers for your fantastic input: Jena, Julia, Leslie, Niki, Nell, and W.S.

* * * *

Of Rats and Cats

By Addison Albright

“Okay, already.” Raymond Gardner yawned, opened his eyes, and gave the short-haired tortoiseshell cat a scratch behind her ears to take the edge off the grumble in the tone he’d directed at her. Clearly, he wasn’t going to be able to ignore the wet nose determinedly nudging him, let alone the piteous caterwauling. He rubbed his neck where she’d been kneading and gave himself a mental kick in the ass for not trimming her claws when he’d thought of it yesterday.

He rolled to check the time on his phone, then flopped onto his pillow with a groan and what his ex-boyfriend, Leon, would have called a drama-queen maneuver—although frankly, Raymond didn’t consider throwing a forearm across his eyes to be all that theatrical.

“Daylight Savings Time has been over for a month, Pandy. Get with the program.”

But Raymond sat up and stuffed his feet into his slippers anyway, because once Pandemonium decided it was feeding time, she wasn’t going to let up until the deed was done.

She could wait until he’d shuffled into the bathroom to take care of business first, though. That was part of their routine, and Pandy apparently knew she’d already won, so she quit yowling and didn’t try to trip him while he peed and brushed his teeth.

After washing his hands, he filled the tea kettle and placed it on the stove to heat before putting a fresh scoop of cat food into Pandy’s bowl and replacing the water in the other. That was also customary procedure, so the cat tolerated the delay, although she seemed to glare from where she sat impatiently waiting. It was hard to tell if it was truly a glower, since it was the same expression she wore while purring whenever he scratched behind her ears.

Raymond dropped a couple biscuit slabs of Shredded Wheat into a bowl and scattered a handful of blueberries atop them. He’d wait until his green tea was ready before he poured the milk.

Even this early, his copy of the Sunday edition of the Kansas City Star should be waiting in the hallway, so he opened his studio apartment door. Another door down the hall, the same from which movers had shuffled in and out the previous day, creaked open.

As he lifted the newspaper, a white blur ran across—across!—his slippers. Before he could stop himself, Raymond produced a high-pitched yelp that would have sent Leon’s eyes rolling all the way back in his head.

He hopped from foot to foot and shrieked, “Rat!” as the pale streak detoured into his apartment.

The new neighbor down the hall muttered, “Shit,” no doubt regretting his choice of apartment building since it was apparently infested with “rodents of unusual size” as if escaped from The Princess Bride’s fire swamp.

Raymond’s one sentient thought was to get to higher ground, so he ran into his apartment despite the imminent threat of rabies, or plague, or whatever the hell rats carried, because…furniture. He left his door open because he wasn’t about to be trapped inside the apartment with the gruesome creature.

“Get it, Pandy!” he shrieked. “Get it!”

The instruction proved superfluous since the cat hadn’t missed the flash of premium breakfast streaking by. Pandemonium was on it like stink on poo. Particularly her own nasty poo, which eating a sewer rat wasn’t likely to improve.

His new neighbor shouted, “No!” and rushed into Raymond’s apartment. The man put up a hand and said, “Sorry, sorry. I’ll take care of it,” while Raymond channeled Jennifer Beals frenetically dancing to “She’s a Maniac” in Flashdance on his loveseat.

Pandemonium lived up to her name as she squalled and dove under Raymond’s bed, where the unfortunately-not-drowned-rat had dashed. It had better not be burrowing into his box springs. So help him, if that rodent ravaged his bed, the landlord would be paying for the damages.

Despite the horror of the rat invasion, Raymond couldn’t help but appreciate the vignette unfolding before him. His new neighbor, wearing only a ratty (no pun intended) pair of blue jeans and an unbuttoned shirt, lunged after the animals, coming to the rescue like a knight in shining flannel, far sexier than armor from Raymond’s perspective.

The sheer bravery of the man feeling around under the bed with his bare hands with a river rat on the loose was swoon-worthy, until a shoebox Raymond had under there came tumbling out, and his dildo collection and vintage gay porn DVDs—Teamplay, How the West Was Hung, and Kansas City Trucking Company—skittered across the concrete floor. He was still likely to faint, but now it would be from mortification rather than manly-man overload.

Did he dare to make a mad dash to scoop up the incriminating evidence before his likely-to-be-a-straight-guy-but-hopefully-not-a-homophobe hero pulled his head out from under the bed?

Raymond shuddered and shook his head. He couldn’t even think straight with the tea kettle’s piercing whistle reverberating through his skull.

It was too late, anyway. Raymond gasped as a blur of rodent tore across the floor and leapt over his “Thrusting Fucking Stick”—Raymond’s personal favorite from among his dildo collection—which had activated during its cartwheel across the floor, and was preposterously, and raucously, prancing along the concrete, advertising its gyrating artistry to all lookers.

Pandy tore out from under the bed, but the no-longer-helpful neighbor grabbed the cat mid-pounce, allowing the rat to escape into Raymond’s closet. The guy closed the door and collapsed against it. Even that heaving torso with just the perfect array of chest hair on display between the unbuttoned panels of the worn flannel shirt couldn’t appease Raymond.

“She almost had it!” Raymond wailed. “Now that rat’s infecting my…” He flinched as visions of the rat burrowing into the pile of dirty socks and underwear littering the closet floor ran through his mind. He finished the sentence with a warbled, “Stuff.”

The guy sighed and petted Pandy. “She’s not a rat.”

Raymond opened his mouth to argue, but considering the man had had his head under the bed in close enough proximity to apparently identify the rodent’s sex, maybe he was right. Whatever it was, Raymond still didn’t want it gnawing his lacy pink briefs.

The guy’s eyes widened when he finally took a moment to check out the stuff he’d scattered across the floor, then made a false start reaching for the wayward dildo, but stilled as if unsure of the proper etiquette in such a situation. Turn it off? Pretend it wasn’t there rattling loudly enough that the downstairs neighbor was likely to bang on his ceiling at any moment? Eventually the guy blinked a few times as the latter option evidently won out. He grimaced and nodded toward the shrieking tea kettle, instead. “Would you mind?”

Could rats—or whatever it was—squeeze under closed doors? Raymond bit his lip at the thought, but the screeching kettle was getting on his last nerve, so he gingerly stepped down from his loveseat garrison. If the creature had any self-preservation instincts at all, it wouldn’t try to escape, knowing Pandy, its would-be-assassin, was at the ready. Still, Raymond kept his eyes trained on the gap at the bottom of his closet door just in case.

He turned off the burner, flipped open the spout cover to stop the infernal noise, and moved the kettle to a hot pad. Then he set his jaw, and with all the dignity he could muster, marched into the bedroom area, and unceremoniously scooped his porn and toy stash into the shoebox, turning off the offending dildo in the process.

He skated the box across the floor and under the bed. Out of sight, but probably not out of mind. More likely something to be remembered and the story retold to gales of laughter every time the guy went out drinking with his equally macho buddies. Where did guys like that gather? Would Raymond ever be able to show his face in Harry’s Country Club or Caddy Shack again?

Raymond squared his shoulders and turned to face the man he would likely spend the rest of his residency at the Old Town Lofts carefully avoiding. Much as he appreciated the guy dashing to his rescue, asking him to rifle through his soiled, and rather femininely styled unmentionables to root out the rodent was out of the question. No doubt he’d have to toss poor Pandy in there after getting rid of the guy and hope for the best.

He reached for his cat. “Thank you for your help, but I can sort it out from here.” Probably…maybe…with a bit of luck.

The man’s brow wrinkled as he handed over the traitorous cat, now purring and rubbing her cheeks on the man’s arm, scenting him. “Um, I need to get my mouse, first. Sorry.”

“Your…you mean that’s a pet?

“Right. Corky’s a domestic white mouse. They’re very tame.”

“Sure.” Tamely leaving mouse “droppings” in his briefs. A shiver ran up Raymond’s spine at the thought. Speaking of which, was there now any way to avoid having this still-nameless guy rummage through his dirty laundry? Raymond’s stomach flip-flopped, and he gazed longingly at his waiting breakfast.

“You’ll hold onto your cat—Pandy, is it?—while I rescue Corky?”

“Yeah, okay.” Because what else was he going to say? The man had already seen Raymond’s sex toys and his idea of personal video entertainment. Letting him get a good eye-and-handful of his lacy man-briefs would be icing on the rainbow cake, but he could hardly deny the man an opportunity to save his pet, even if it was a—Raymond quaked—rodent. He clutched Pandemonium to his chest and took a step back.

Raymond had to give the guy kudos for keeping his composure so far. Even so, he flinched as his sexy neighbor opened the closet and briefly froze before delicately lifting a pair of lavender filigree undies, clearly designed to accommodate a man’s package, and depositing them on the floor.

He similarly removed a couple more pairs before gasping, “No!” followed by a short scuffle that culminated with the door being reclosed, and flannel-man staring at Raymond with wide, apologetic eyes. “So…um…Corky’s a bit agitated at the mo’. Liable to make another dash for it if I keep trying to get her right away.”

A clamor that sounded like an antique alarm bell came from sexy guy’s pants, giving Raymond a legit excuse to sneak a quick ogle at the bulge next to the offending pocket. When he lifted his gaze, he busted sexy guy returning the inappropriate gawking, although the man’s gaze seemed to be locked slightly higher than where Raymond had been looking. Raymond couldn’t see around Pandy without obvious contortions, but the unsettled air in the room drifting across his skin told the tale of his hiked-up T-shirt, and he already knew these particular pajama pants had a tendency to drift provocatively—if not quite obscenely—low.

Raymond cocked an eyebrow as he jostled the cat into a more comfortable position. Sexy guy’s slack jaw was a good sign. As were the rapid blinks and slight shake to his head before lifting his gaze to meet Raymond’s.

“Um…” He lifted the now silent smartphone. “That alarm was for my breakfast casserole. It’s in my oven.” He inclined his head in the direction of his apartment.

“I can make no guarantees as to the ra…mouse’s safety if you abandon it here.” Although he supposed he could lock poor Pandy into the bathroom for the duration, just in case the thing snuck out from under the closet door.

The guy’s eyes widened in apparent alarm. He put up a hand. “No, no…I don’t want to abandon her. I just need to get that out of the oven, so it doesn’t burn.” He looked at the open Shredded Wheat box on Raymond’s kitchen counter and winced. “I could bring it over and share if you’d like. I mean…I don’t want to intrude and I feel really bad about inviting myself over, but…you know.” He gestured toward the closet.

Raymond’s shoulders slumped. If they shared breakfast, he wasn’t going to be able to avoid giving flannel-man a name to go with the story the guy would soon be spreading all over the Riverfront neighborhood. It was possible the guy would take the high road, particularly considering his suggestively lingering glance at Raymond’s bared abs. Either way it was just as well. As such close neighbors, he’d figure it out soon enough.

“Okay, sure.” He rearranged the cat, draping her over his shoulder, and extended a hand. “I’m Raymond Gardner, by the way.”

He clasped Raymond’s hand and paused for a moment before replying. “Kevin.” Then he backed away. “I’ll be right back.”

After Kevin exited the apartment, Raymond held Pandy up to his face. “Did you notice how he pointedly avoided telling me his last name?”

The cat gave her patented blank stare that meant everything from “You’re an idiot” to “I want a treat.”

Raymond sighed and hoisted her over his shoulder. “Yeah, me, too.”

He grabbed the towel he had hanging in the bathroom and flopped it across the bottom of the closet door, then nudged it with his foot to semi-secure the mouse inside before placing the cat beside her forgotten food bowl.

In the kitchen, he returned the tea kettle to the stove to reheat, then picked the blueberries out of his bowl and popped them into his mouth. He stuffed the hunks of Shredded Wheat back into their package and set out two mugs, placing a green tea bag in one and leaving the other empty for now. Maybe he was stereotyping, but he doubted Kevin would choose the same.

A light knock on the door announced Kevin’s return. Raymond opened it, seeing a pained look on Kevin’s face as the man read a piece of paper that had been taped to the door.

“Let me guess.” Raymond removed the note. “Love letter from Bruce?” His downstairs neighbor, who seemed to think apartment dwellers should tiptoe around in their bare feet at all times. When Bruce wasn’t banging on the ceiling, he was leaving passive-aggressive notes on Raymond’s door. “Seriously, he bitches if I even flush my toilet after ten at night.”

“It’s my fault.” Kevin shook his head, and his face still looked like he was sucking on a “Toxic Waste” candy drop. “I made a commotion in here pretty early on a Sunday morning. I’ll talk to him and apologize.”

True enough about the noise. Kevin had been quite…zealous in his heroics. Raymond drew in a deep breath of the savory goodness wafting from the square baking dish in Kevin’s hands and felt a pang of forgiveness, even though said “rowdy heroics” had turned out to be for the sake of the rodent rather than himself.

“Don’t worry about it.” Raymond waved an arm, conducting Kevin into the apartment. “Bruce is all bark and no bite.”

“If you’re sure?”

“Absolutely.” Raymond tossed a hot pad onto the table so Kevin could put down his dish.

“Thanks.” Kevin’s face smoothed out…until he caught sight of the green tea bag in Raymond’s mug. Then a whole different look of distress came over his face. A tight mask that appeared as if he was politely trying not to convey his concern. His obviously deep concern.

Coffee people. Raymond didn’t even try to hide his eye roll. Hell, he exaggerated it for good measure. “I hope you don’t play poker.” He pulled both a variety package of tea bags and a box of Folger’s single cup coffee bags out of the cabinet and put them on the table. “Take your pick.”

Kevin snorted. “Thanks,” he said again. Points for politeness, even if the man did own a rat-wannabe. He selected a coffee bag—what a shock.

The tea kettle’s shrill screech sounded again while Raymond exchanged his bowl and spoon for two plates and forks, and Kevin made himself useful pouring.

“Cream or sugar?” Raymond asked.

“No, thanks.”

Of course not. That wouldn’t be macho enough for someone who ran toward rats—or mice. Whatever. It was just a question of size, wasn’t it?—while people like Raymond did a rain dance on the loveseat.

Raymond passed on the sugar, too, but did add a smidgen of honey to his mug. Kevin served a healthy spoonful of his casserole onto each of their plates. A generous top layer of melted cheese partly veiled the dish’s other ingredients: eggs, sausage, hash browns, and a sprinkling of chives.

“Looks good.” Raymond lifted a forkful in salute. “Thanks for bringing it over.”

He took a dainty bite, and a moan escaped him as he scooped up another, heartier one. Not like there was any appropriate way to provocatively eat a country breakfast casserole even if he’d thought it would do any good. He’d have to hit the gym later to offset the unplanned calories, but it would be so worth it.

“You’re welcome.” Kevin shoveled a hefty forkful into his mouth. After a few bites and a couple sips of coffee, he sighed, relaxed in his chair, and smiled.

Raymond liked to think of himself as a reasonable judge of character—at least when he wasn’t worried about being on the receiving end of a ferocious rat’s bite—and he got the distinct impression that Kevin’s contented expression was sincere. His countenance was truly unaffected with a dash of sheepishness thrown in.

Like maybe he wasn’t actually the kind of guy who would boost his story-telling cred with his buddies by throwing Raymond under the bus, or the KC streetcar as it darted around the city market loop before making its journey to Union Station, as it were. Heck, Kevin had just moved into the building, so maybe he was new to Kansas City and didn’t even have any local friends.

“So.” Raymond hiked an eyebrow. “You relocating to KC or just moving within the city?”

“Well…” Kevin paused to chew. He wobbled a hand and scrunched his face in a way that seemed to imply, “Kinda-sorta.” He clarified by saying, “Got a job here after graduating from Mo-Wo last spring. Been commuting from St. Joe, but figured it was time to cut the old apron strings.” He smirked. “Way past time.”

“Yeah?” They were pretty much the same age, then. Raymond had been on his own a little longer since he hadn’t gotten a bachelor’s degree first. “That’s where your family lives? What do you do?”

He nodded, apparently in answer to the family question. “I’m an accountant.” His shrug and the not-quite-a-wince on his nowhere-close-to-a-poker-face supplemented his words to convey, “Meh, it’s a job.” He was too busy shoveling in more of that casserole to elaborate.

And Raymond was too occupied by a sudden fascination with Kevin’s hands to think up another question. They were large hands—not abnormally big, but proportional to his body, which was a good six inches taller and a bit broader and more muscular than Raymond’s. They didn’t appear to be overly rough, yet not totally office-drone soft. Maybe he’d done something blue collar for summer jobs during school. Or maybe he was used to mowing his parents’ yard and changing his own oil or whatever. Typical Midwestern boy stuff.

Raymond’s fork halted mid-scoop as he imagined how those deliciously strong hands might gently pick up a…

Okay, fine, so it was a little mouse. Maybe Corky wasn’t quite big enough to justify Raymond’s original freaked-out notion that she was a wild, disease-ridden rat, but he couldn’t help that his subconscious tended to jump to hyperbolic conclusions.

Leon would have had a field day picking apart his reflexive reaction to the critter. Well, fuck his ex. The virtual stranger sitting across from him didn’t seem the least bit fazed by it. Sure, he’d seemed a bit flustered earlier, but more of concern rather than irritation, and Kevin’s only discomforted reaction had been tied to the awkwardness of the unexpected upturned box of X-rated materials, not Raymond’s behavior.

Anyway, Raymond’s blood heated as he visualized those masculine hands cradling a fragile little pet—that Kevin clearly cared for—and morphed into picturing the rough edges of those light calluses roaming teasingly up and down Raymond’s torso.

Raymond snapped his jaw shut when Kevin said, “Raymond?” in a tone that implied he’d spaced out a question he’d been asked.

“Sorry. What?”

“I asked about your job.” One corner of Kevin’s mouth quirked up. Had he noticed Raymond practically drooling while studying his hands? At least he was amused and not rearing back a fist while queueing up a gay panic defense. “What do you do?”

“Oh. Uh, I’m a detox tech.” The verdict was still out on the gay/straight question, although the way Kevin had reacted to Raymond’s hand-ogle on top of that earlier belly-stare were definitely pinging his gaydar. Optimistically so.

Kevin blinked a few times, then snickered. “So, you get puked on for a living but are unnerved at the thought of a little mouse touching you?”

Raymond sat a little straighter. “I don’t just get puked on for a living. I help people who are struggling. It’s…rewarding.”

Kevin’s eyes softened, although a mild shudder ran through his shoulders—likely he’d picked up on the implications of the word just. “Sorry, I hope you don’t think I was putting you down. It’s a noble job, and you should be very proud of yourself.”

“Okay.” Raymond glanced at the closet door and gave a little shiver of his own. “Anyway, at least I know to expect the occasional…uh…burst of vomit. Corky took me by surprise.”

Kevin winced. “Corky’s really sweet. You’ll see once she’s calmed down, and I can pick her up.”

“Yeah, probably.” And truthfully, Raymond could imagine a tame mouse being kind of cute and sweet. “What steered you toward mice as a pet in the first place? I’d have pegged you for a dog person.” Knights in shining flannel, in Raymond’s admittedly limited experience, usually went for dogs. Bigger ones. He had run across the odd macho man with a cat or two, but he’d never personally known one with a mouse, or hamster, or even a pet rat. Not as an adult, anyway.

“Maybe someday when I have a place with my own yard.” Kevin shrugged. “Growing up, my mom was—is—allergic to dander, so cats and dogs were out. And yes, these’ll have dander, too, but not on the same scale, plus they stayed in my room, so it never bothered her.”

“I guess Corky’s more pet-like than a fish or something.”

“Exactly. My little brother has an aquarium, but I never saw the appeal.” Kevin sighed and glanced in the general direction of his apartment. “Isabelle’s probably worried about her.”

Isabelle. Raymond slumped, but hopefully managed to keep his face from registering his disappointment. Of course. It figured his gaydar would be derailed by someone who was simply an ally. Or at least not homophobic. Maybe bisexual? Although that was a moot point if the guy had a girlfriend.

“And wanting her breakfast, too.” Raymond waved a hand at the remaining casserole sitting in the center of the table.

Kevin’s eyes momentarily widened, seemingly aghast at the mere suggestion. “Oh, no. This would be bad for the mice. A little bit of carrot or apple to mix things up, but mostly I give them hamster food.”

Them? Raymond unbent from his slump. “So, Isabelle is another mouse?”

Kevin stared with a “What the fuck did you think I was talking about?” look on his face for a moment before a laugh tittered—yes, tittered—out of his slack mouth. He shook his head. “Yeah, they’re social animals. Best to have at least two, maybe three—at least if they’re females.”

“Oh. Cool.” Because what else was Raymond going to say. From Kevin’s laughter it was clear he’s surmised that Raymond had mistaken Isabelle for his girlfriend. Worse still, Keven recognized Raymond’s displeasure at that thought. The question was…why had that realization tickled Kevin? Because the man was gay and the idea of him having a girlfriend was hilarious? Or because having Raymond mooning over him was just that entertaining?

Raymond took his last bite of casserole and collected the plates. Kevin stood and tapped his palms against his thighs like he wasn’t sure what he should do, so Raymond put the plates in the sink and handed the man a roll of foil to cover his dish. Kevin actually blushed when their fingers brushed during the pass-off.

So maybe there was an option number three—Kevin had giggled because he was gay, interested, and was chuffed to see evidence that Raymond was, too?

After Raymond’s disastrous relationship with Leon, his best friend, Danny, had given him some sage, if not entirely practical advice: “For fuck’s sake, quit trying to be someone else in the early dates. There’s nothing wrong with you. Find someone who wants the real you. In fact, take him to The Blue Line, and if he asks for a second date after watching you try to eat an order of ‘Tripping Teriyaki’ chicken wings with a damned fork and knife, you’ll know you’ve got a keeper.”

This morning might not have been Danny’s dubious wings test, but Raymond had certainly had his guard down, and Kevin had seen some of the more idiosyncratic aspects of Raymond’s personality, not to mention his kinks.

“Um.” Raymond picked up Pandemonium. Not that he wanted to get rid of Kevin, but he was getting a little concerned on behalf of his lacy briefs. “I don’t know anything about mice. Do you think Corky’s calmed down yet?”

“Yeah.” Kevin gnawed at his lip and sighed. Could he also be reluctant for this encounter to end? Or was that wishful thinking? Despite various non-verbal clues, Raymond hadn’t forgotten that Kevin had pointedly not shared his last name. Was he reading too much into that? “I bet she’s thirsty by now, too.”

“Okay, Pandy.” Raymond hefted the cat over his shoulder and strode to the bathroom. “This’ll be only for a few minutes.” He snagged a catnip-filled felt mouse on his way and tossed it into the room before sending Pandemonium in after it. With the door safely closed behind him, Raymond resisted the urge to pull down his body-hugging T-shirt and turned expectantly toward Kevin.

Kevin executed a rapid blink, then snapped his gaze away from Raymond’s exposed belly to stare at the floor instead. Which might not have been the best move since he was now gaping at the discarded underwear he’d previously removed from the closet. The noise Kevin made sounded a bit like a moan being ruthlessly cut off. Or possibly a cat hair caught in his throat. Raymond’s money was on the former.

“Um.” Kevin cleared his throat and handed Raymond the towel that had been blocking the gap at the bottom of the door. “Could you put this along the bathroom door instead? In case Corky escapes and thinks that would be a good place to hide?”

“Oh, sure. Good idea.”

Kevin knelt and softly opened the closet door. It was probably a good sign that Corky didn’t immediately make a dash for it.

Once again, Kevin gently jiggled more of Raymond’s frilly briefs and basic ankle socks—apparently to make sure the mouse wasn’t hidden within—then cast them out. Raymond bit his lip to keep from moaning at the sight of the muscles across Kevin’s wide shoulders flexing with each careful movement. Soothing shushing and soft clucking noises preceded Kevin’s reemergence with Corky tenderly cupped in his hands.

“Aww.” Raymond approached for a peek. Corky had a triangular head with pink eyes that coordinated beautifully with her large delicate ears, her dainty little feet, and the sweet nose at that tip of her narrow muzzle. She had gorgeous white fur that appeared soft and cuddly, and long, adorable twitching whiskers. “I’m so sorry I tried to sic Pandy on you, sweetie.” He turned his face to Kevin. “Is it okay if I pet her?”

“Maybe not yet. I mean, she’s kind of used to your scent now…” He inclined his head toward the closet. “But she just had a fright, so it might be better not to introduce her to a new person right now.”

“Of course.” While Raymond certainly hoped his hands didn’t smell like his used underwear or socks, Kevin’s thoughtful concern for the tiny creature’s emotional wellbeing was heartwarming. And so was that word “yet.” “Well, at least everything turned out okay.”

“Yeah.” Kevin grinned widely. “An unexpected morning, but…interesting…fun.”

Raymond snorted. That was one way to put it, and it was nice to be with someone who looked at the bright side. “But we got the whole ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ thing backward. I’m pretty sure the newcomer is supposed to be on the receiving end of casseroles…or fruit baskets.”

Kevin laughed. “No worries.”

Speaking of casseroles, Kevin had only two hands. Raymond cocked his head toward the foil-covered dish on the table. “I can carry that if you want.”

“Would you?”

They walked down the corridor to Kevin’s apartment, apparently neither able to come up with small talk that wouldn’t feel awkward after their weird start to the morning. Kevin ushered him inside rather than cutting him off at the door, so that was a positive sign. Of what, Raymond wasn’t entirely sure, but he had his hopes.

An elaborate structure that had once been a bookcase but now acted as a multi-tiered mouse habitat dominated one wall. It looked sturdy with a wooden body and thick Plexiglas along the lower front face of each shelf, and appeared well ventilated with a tilt-out frame of wire mesh across the top front face of each shelf.

As one who had been green-eyed with envy of his sisters’ Barbie house while growing up, Raymond was instantly drawn to the piece of furniture that put that old toy to shame. Not only was this building used by living rather than plastic beings, but it was full of a wide variety of nifty nooks and hidey-holes for the mice, exercise wheels, climbing forms, chutes, and ladders. A rodent’s paradise.

“This is amazing. How did Corky escape?” And more to the point, why would she want to?

“Thanks. I just finished setting it back up this morning. They were still in the traveling cages. I see now that she’d jiggled that door open, but I didn’t know that when I opened the apartment door.” Kevin tilted out the wire mesh frame of the top shelf and put Corky into her home. Familiar territory, and apparently calming, judging by how she frolicked her way to a chute that brought her down to a level with food and water.

“Home sweet home.” Raymond took a step back. He could see the appeal of pet mice, now.

“Yeah.” Kevin sighed and gazed at the array of boxes and an old-style couch and end table that looked like they might have been stored for him after his parents upgraded their living room. “Got the mouse house set up first. It’s starting to feel that way, though.”

Although Kevin’s mild hangdog expression added a homesick inflection to his words, it failed to diminish the determination conveyed in the jut of his chin.

“Well…” Raymond took a step toward the door. “It was nice to meet you, Kevin, and thanks for breakfast. It was a delicious change from my usual. I guess I should leave you to your unpacking, then.”

“You’re welcome. Uh…” That blush he was prone to crept up his cheeks, and he supplemented it with a slight foot shuffle. “Do you…uh…I was wondering if maybe you’d…uh…”

“How about dinner at Tribe Street Kitchen?” Raymond asked. He wouldn’t be able to try out Danny’s chicken wing test, but, their “Harissa Half Chicken” was to die for. “You’ll be ready to get out of the apartment by then, right?”

“Yeah.” Kevin’s broad grin returned. “That would be great.”

“One thing, though.” Raymond held up a finger to emphasize his point. “It’s a personal rule that I don’t go out on a date with anyone if they haven’t told me their last name.”

Kevin grimaced and heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Sorry about that. I just hate the reaction I usually get when I give the full name.”

“It’s that bad?”

“Tell you what, promise you’ll wear a pair of those lacy things to dinner tonight and I’ll tell you.”

Raymond laughed. “Deal!” He’d planned to anyway.

“McCallister.”

“What’s wrong with that? It’s a perfectly—” Raymond stopped short as visions of a young Macaulay Culkin slapping his cheeks à la Edvard Munch’s The Scream in that iconic scene from Home Alone ran through his head. Nothing wrong with the name Kevin. Nothing wrong with the name McCallister. But put them together, and that’s what people would picture. Every new person Kevin met acting out that scene would get old fast. “Oh. Geez. I think I’d use my middle name. What were your parents thinking?”

“Apparently they were living under a rock and had never seen the movie. And they saddled me with a great grandfather’s name for my middle name. You don’t want to know.”

“Sure I do. Can’t you even pull a nickname out of it?”

“Gaylord.”

Raymond affected an exaggerated shiver. “Sweet mother of onion jalapeno marmalade.”

“Right?”

“Well…” Raymond winked and put a hand on his hip. “You make a mean breakfast casserole, and most generously made no comment about my dancing dildo, so I’m inclined to let the unfortunate names slide.”

Kevin laughed. “I might even have a few more talents to tempt you with.”

“Sounds promising.” Raymond closed the gap between them and planted a quick kiss on Kevin’s mouth before heading for the door. “Come by at six?”

“Perfect.” Kevin’s ear-to-ear smile matched his single word.

Raymond let himself out and skipped back to his apartment. Indeed, this evening did sound promising. He let poor Pandemonium out of the bathroom and picked her up. This would be far from his first date ever, but it was the first one with someone who’d already experienced a full dose of Raymond with all his shields down and liked what he’d seen.

“He likes the real me,” Raymond singsonged to the cat.

Pandy meowed. It might have meant, “Of course, dumbass, he’s not an idiot,” or more likely, “Give me tuna, human.”

Either way, those defenses were going to stay down.

THE END

ABOUT ADDISON ALBRIGHT

Addison Albright is a writer living in the middle of the USA. Her stories are gay (sometimes erotic) romance in contemporary settings. Her education includes a BS in Education with a major in mathematics and a minor in chemistry. Addison loves spending time with her family, reading, popcorn, boating, french fries, “open window weather,” cats, math, and anything chocolate. She loves to read pretty much anything and everything, anytime and anywhere.

For more information, visit authoraddisonalbright.com.

ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC

JMS Books LLC is a small queer press with competitive royalty rates publishing LGBT romance, erotic romance, and young adult fiction. Visit jms-books.com for our latest releases and submission guidelines!