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I actually heard her sigh of relief over the barks.
“It’s weird. All we’ve really talked about are my tits and his boner, but there’s a strange connection there,” I told Georgia over the phone, fiddling with a napkin on the bistro table.
I called her to fess up about my lie of omission and let her know that Walnuts would be staying with his boyfriend until they got back from their honeymoon. I just chose to start the conversation off on a much lighter note. And for some reason, the weirdness between me and Thatch seemed like the best lead-in.
“That’s all you’ve talked about?” she asked, shock in her voice.
My eyes caught sight of Thatch standing at the coffee shop counter, ordering our drinks and food. After the shit show at the vet’s office, we decided to grab a bite about ten blocks away from my apartment. Well, I decided, and he bitched about the distance from his office, but he still came along regardless.
Why we were doing this was a mystery, but here we were.
“Pretty much,” I answered. It was the truth. His boner and my tits seemed to be the number one topic of discussion whenever we were together. Yet another mystery that needed to be solved.
“For the love of God, why?”
I shrugged. “Mostly because they’re out, I guess. My tits and his boner.”
“Jesus. Next time you’re around him, make like an evangelical and cover those things up. See if that helps…” She paused, and then added, “Wait… What do you mean they’re out?”
Thatch smirked at the barista, and her cheeks flushed pink. For fuck’s sake, he held some kind of magical power over women. One smile and he had the girl making our coffee two seconds away from convulsing into a spontaneous orgasm.
What would he be like in bed?
My mind took that as a green light to conjure up the possibilities—me riding his face, him fucking me with my legs in the air, my tongue sliding up his shaft, my tits wrapped around his cock… Yeah, they were some wickedly dirty fantasies.
My brain and pussy were convinced he’d be a fantastic fuck, and that only made me more intrigued about Thatcher Kelly.
“Cass? Are you still there?” Georgia’s voice filled my ear.
“Yep.”
“You totally just drifted off into ‘I’m gonna Thatch that’ fantasyland.”
“Yep,” I agreed.
“Just promise me you’ll wait to screw his brains out until after you leave the restaurant. I’d like to enjoy the rest of my honeymoon without trying to wire you bail money.”
“I’m not gonna fuck Thatch,” I lied.
Wait…what? Was I already planning on getting in the Jolly Green Giant’s pants?
I’d save that question to mull over at a later time. Preferably when he wasn’t heading toward me with his arms full of coffee and blueberry muffins.
She snorted in laughter. “Yeah, and I’m not looking forward to riding my husband’s cock in about five minutes.”
“He’s standing there with his giant schlong in front of your face, isn’t he?”
Georgia giggled.
“All right, well, before you have your mouthful of pee-nis, I need to give you the rundown on Walnuts.”
“Okay,” she muttered, already sounding distracted.
Perfect.
I took a deep breath and said everything in a rush. “We actually just found him a few hours ago. He’s good. Sorry I lied. He’s at the vet. Gonna stay there until you guys get back because I’ve got a shoot, and obviously, we’re really bad babysitters. So it’s better that way. Okayloveyoubye.”
I hit end on the call as Thatch sat across from me at the table, setting my coffee and muffin before me.
“She take it well?” he asked, his long fingers sliding the wrapper off his muffin with surprising finesse.
Yeah, he could definitely butter my muffin. Any fucking day of the week.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged.
Thatch chuckled. “You hung up before she even responded, didn’t you?”
“Yep,” I answered, taking a sip from my coffee. “You use that same tactic with Kline, don’t you?”
He nodded. “All the fucking time.”
Man, we were so much alike it was creepy.
My phone vibrated across the table with a text notification.
Georgia: You’re lucky I’m in a different time zone. Text me the vet’s info.
Me: You’re a surprisingly good multitasker.
Georgia: Why are we friends?
Me: Less typing. More sucking. P.S. Friends don’t let friends blow and text at the same time, Wheorgie. It’s dangerous.
Georgia: Put a bra on.
I laughed out loud at that one.
Thatch tilted his head to the side. “What’s so funny?”
