TweetyGram

1 - #HelloTweetyGram

Bree chuckled. "Be nice, Linds. He's probably just going to stay here for an hour or so."

As she stepped toward the balcony, I jumped off my seat and blocked her path. "It's already the third time this week, Bree. And this is only Wednesday. And may I remind you that not only that he's here to hide from his grandmother—which is absurd considering he's turning twenty-four in a few months—but he's also here to steal our food?"

"Stealing is too strong of a word, don't you think?" A soft yet reprimanding smile curled the edge of Bree's mouth.

"Okay, fine. Politely tricking you into giving him free food, whatever. But you're missing the point here. We've worked hard to buy that food. Why are we giving it to someone who's a million times richer than us?"

"Quid pro quo, Linds," Bree argued. "Remember when he fixed our pipe for free last week?"

"I'm pretty sure he just did that to get us to join TweetyGram and follow his influencer cat."

"No, I'm pretty sure he did that because he tried to impress—"

The frantic knocking from outside the apartment drowned Bree's voice. The evil side of me took satisfaction in seeing the fear contorting Jake's face as he switched his gaze between us and his apartment next door.

I was about to open my camera app when Bree said, "Besides, he saved your life once."

"Oh, don't be dramatic, sis." I brushed Bree's comment with a wave of my hand. "I wasn't gonna die because I choked on a shrimp."

For the next five seconds, Bree remained silent. "Alright." She stepped back and resumed cooking. "We'll just let him and Princess Tortie stand out there all night long then."

My gaze darted to the short-haired, tortoiseshell cat standing next to Jake outside my apartment. How did I not see her before?

The balcony railing cast streaks of shadows over the orange spots on Princess Tortie's black fur, making her almost invisible in the dark. She tipped her head to the side and blinked at me, her round yellow eyes pleading for me to open the door and let her in.

As a mixture of sympathy and pity washed over me, Bree continued, "It's not like this is LA in July, right? It's still June. It's probably just one hundred degrees out there. They couldn't possibly get heatstroke, or—"

"Alright, alright!" I raised my hands in defeat. "Stop guilt-tripping me."

A tiny accomplished smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "You'll thank me for this."

"Not in a million years." I stomped toward the balcony and opened the door.

Jake scooped up the ten-year-old cat into his arms and gave me the most irritating grin. "Thanks, Shrimp."

I frowned at the nickname and gestured at the towel wrapping around Jake's waist. "Do I have to ask?"

The fresh, minty scent of soap and shampoo wafted into the room as he sauntered past me into the living room. "I was in the shower when my grandma showed up."

As if it's not obvious. "And you didn't have time to, I don't know, grab your underwear?"

"It was a fight-or-flight kind of situation." He shrugged his broad shoulders and lowered Princess Tortie onto the sofa.

"Yet you managed to bring your cat with you."

The tall man gasped in horror as if I'd just accused him of murder. "You don't suggest I leave her in my apartment with my grandma, do you?"

I furrowed my brow. "Why not? I thought you said your grandma loves cats."

"Oh, you don't get it." He shook his head, his mouth straightened into a hard line. "That crazy old woman would do anything to drag me back to Boston with her, and that includes taking my baby hostage."