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“The guys?”
“And we were talking and drinking, and it just hit me. I had to change my number.”
I was curious about the guys. Really fucking curious. But now I was curious about other things. “You’re drunk right now?”
“Tipsy,” she admitted.
Jesus. All that whale shit and subterfuge. “You’re probably the most proficient drunk texter I’ve ever encountered in my life,” I said and laughed.
“Baby,” drunk Cassie cooed, and my dick swelled from half cocked to fully loaded. “I’m proficient at all kinds of things.”
Bahamas, Tuesday, May 16th, Very Early Morning
“I’m all ears, honey.” His husky voice vibrated against my cheek.
I ran my finger across the rim of my margarita glass and then slid it into my mouth, sucking the salt off. The jury was still out on why Thatch had been my first text from my new number, but for some odd reason, he was.
I couldn’t help myself. I just really liked screwing with him—he took any shit I gave with ease and tossed it right back. And if I was being honest, I really fucking liked it. Not many men could handle my version of sarcasm. But, Thatch? Yeah, he handled it all right, seemingly entertained by whatever came out of my mouth.
Well, that and my tits. Yeah, he found them entertaining too.
“Put your boner away, Thatcher,” I teased him with our running joke. An inside fucking joke. With Thatcher Kelly. What was the world coming to?
“You started this,” he said, and I could picture his sexy smirk. “What are your tits wearing, Cass?”
“None of your business.” I laughed. And smiled.
“Oh, but it is my business. Your tits and I are on a first-name basis. We’re like Pam and Jim. P, B, and motherfucking J.”
I kept smiling. “You watch The Office?”
“Would Kline eat dog shit for Georgia? Of course, I watch The Office.”
“I take it you heard about Stan.”
“Yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “I owe Kline a lot of favors thanks to you losing their cat.”
“I did not lose their cat!” I exclaimed, and nearly everyone in the bar turned in my direction. “Oh, fuck off! This is a bar, not a goddamn library!” I shouted toward no asshole in particular.
“Starting your UFC career in the Bahamas doesn’t sound like a good idea, Cass,” Thatch said. “I thought you agreed to be good?” His voice was edged with something my drunken brain couldn’t decipher.
“Yeah, but it’s your version of good. That leaves room for a lot of possibilities.”
He ignored the jab. “Promise me something, honey.”
“And what would that be?”
“No Fight Club unless I’m with you.”
“Ohhh…Thatcher doesn’t think I’m strong enough to take care of myself?” I retorted sarcastically.
“I know you are, Cass,” he responded immediately.
“Then why would I need you around?”
“Because I want to be there. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
My chest felt tingly and weird. “Well…that’s really kind of sweet of you to say.”
“I can be sweet, honey. I can be real fucking sweet when I want to be.”
“Cass! We’re getting ready to head out. You comin’?” Arnoldo yelled from the bar as he closed out his tab.
“Who was that?” Thatch asked.
“Arnoldo,” I answered. “He’s one of the models I’ve been working with down here.”
The phone went silent for a few beats, and for some odd reason, I felt the need to add a few more details. “Arnoldo is crazy good-looking…and getting over a harsh breakup with his boyfriend. I told him we could spend the rest of the night in my hotel room, stuffing our faces with room service and trashing stupid men.”
He chuckled. “Sounds like a party.”
“You know it.” I got up from my barstool and grabbed my purse. “I better go. I’ve got a guy to console, feed, and shove off to bed, before I rub one out and call it a night.”
“Tell your tits I miss them.”
“I’ll be sure to pass along the message.”
“Do that while you’re spread-eagled on your bed and getting yourself off to thoughts of me.”
“I would, but you haven’t given me anything to have thoughts about.”
Yeah, yeah, I know that was a lie.
Of course, he’d given me things to think about. I had felt his cock.
Believe me, I had a lot of fucking thoughts about that monster.
“I accept that challenge.”
God, he was like the king of one-upping.
“Good night, Cass. Be good.”
