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“Mine can wait,” Wes said just as Kline murmured, “This is suddenly more important.”
“Fuck you guys.”
“Bye, Princess Peach,” Kline said in dismissal through his chuckles.
Wes’s laugh trailed on after Kline hung up.
“You seriously don’t have questions for me?” I asked.
“We’ll talk about it all when I get back. But you better fucking tell me how this plays out.”
“Don’t worry, Samantha. I’ll fill you in on all the happenings of Sex and the City.”
Slamming the phone into the cradle before he could say more, I picked up my cell phone off the corner of the desk and pulled up her number to text.
Me: Thanks for “lunch.” I need to stop by the drugstore on my way home. Need me to pick you up anything, honey?
Sent. Think you can mess with me? Think again, honey.
Student, meet teacher.
I reread the text and triple-checked that the message was in fact from Thatch.
Did he just send me a goddamn kissy-face emoji?
I opened and closed my eyes a few times, just to be sure what I was seeing was real.
For the love of freaks, he really sent that.
I knew I was a talented cocksucker, but I had told him I would see him at home after putting him back into his pants. Home, meaning his home, meaning he should’ve thought I was off my rocker and actually trying to move in with him, meaning that text message should’ve been him freaking the hell out. Not all kissy-faced and asking me if I needed anything from the store.
Why wasn’t he losing his shit over this?
I grabbed my phone off my coffee table and called Georgia.
“Hell—” she started to answer, but I immediately interrupted.
“I think he’s fucking crazy.”
“—o,” she finished with too much amusement in her voice.
“I’m being serious, Wheorgie. I think Thatch might be crazier than me, and believe me, I know that’s a fuckload of crazy.”
She laughed. “Why do you think he’s crazy?”
“He just texted me after I gave him an ‘I’m sorry for falling asleep on your dick before you blew your load’ blow job in his office and asked me if I needed anything from the store on his way home. Not to mention he sent me a goddamn kissy-face emoji. He’s nuts, that’s all there is to it. A total whack-job with a Supercock.”
Yeah, no doubt about it, that kissy-face-emoji-sending-motherfucker needed to spend some time in a padded room and reevaluate his life choices. At least, that’s what I needed Georgie to think I was thinking.
“Hold up. Please repeat that because I’m not sure my brain was able to process what you just said.”
“I know,” I said as I stood up from the couch and started pacing my living room. “I had to check that text message fifteen times to believe he sent that. What grown-ass man even uses emojis?”
“That’s not the part I’m having a hard time processing.”
I sighed, shaking my head. “I hear you, G. The store part threw me for a loop too.”
“No,” she voiced. “I’m talking about the blow job, Casshead.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry, I didn’t go narcoleptic on his dick this time. He got the full-service treatment, if you know what I’m saying. Came right in my—”
“That’s not the part either! Jesus,” she said through a laugh. “You went to his office after we had lunch and sucked him off? Are you fucking with me right now?”
I scrunched up my face in annoyance. “Please explain what you’re trying to get at here. I’m not seeing where the confusion is coming from on your end.”
“Cassie!” she exclaimed, bursting into full-belly laughs. “You told me you were going to tell him you were sorry. I thought that meant bringing him lunch, not using his dick as your second lunch.”
I’d thought that too. But goddamn, he’d looked like a culinary delight when I got there. A woman can only be so strong.
“Actions speak louder than words, G.”
It’d been a deviation from the flight plan, but there was no doubt in my mind Thatch appreciated a blow job way more than lunch and a Hallmark card. Hell, I’d much rather a guy show me he was sorry by tonguing my puss-ay than sending me flowers. Flowers died, but fantastic orgasms? Yeah, those fuckers lived on forever by fueling fantasies and becoming priceless spank-bank material.
“Please tell me this without giving too much detail. How does one start off the whole ‘I’m going to apologize by putting your penis in my mouth’ conversation?”
“What conversation? There wasn’t one. I went in, locked the door, got on my knees, and unzipped his pants.”
“Like a drive-by blow job?”
“Exactly like that.”
“Wow. I still don’t understand how you can manage to shock me after all these years.”
“You’ve never blown Kline in his office?”
“Um. No, I have not.”
“You need to do that,” I recommended.
“Brilliant idea, Cass!” Kline’s voice filled my ears. “I’m on board with this plan, Benny.”
“Well, hey there, Big Dick. I see I’m on speaker phone.”
“Sorry, Cass,” Georgia chimed in. “We’re heading home from taking the boys to the park. And you didn’t exactly give me a chance to give you a heads-up.”
And by “boys” she meant their asshole cat, Walter, and his boyfriend, Stan—who also happened to be a one-hundred-pound Great Dane that was still growing by the day. They were star-crossed lovers who had happened to meet in a vet’s office when Thatch had lost Walter.
It only took one sniff of Stan’s asshole, and Walter had found his soul mate. Well, life mate. I was pretty sure that cat didn’t have a soul. He was Satan in feline form.
“No worries,” I responded. “So, Kline, how should we handle this?”
“Handle this?” he asked, voice equal parts amused and uncertain. “What are we handling?”
“Thatch. I mean, isn’t it obvious? He’s fucking lost it. He thinks I’m moving in with him, and he’s actually okay with that. Not freaking out in the least.”
Kline chuckled a few times and paused before offering, “Don’t you think it’s odd that loud—obnoxious most of the time—Thatch seems very reserved about all of this?”
“Yeah, that’s why—” I started to respond, but I stopped when my brain started to process his words. “Wait…no way…no way. You think he’s calling my bluff?”
“I’m not saying I think that, but I’m not saying I don’t think that either.”
“Oh, that devious bastard. He’s good, but he’s not that good.” I headed straight into my bedroom and started pulling shit out of my closet.
“What are you doing?” Georgia asked.
“Obviously, moving on to Plan B.”
“And what’s Plan B, exactly? Isn’t that the name of the morning-after pill? Tell me you’re not pregnant.”
“No, I’m not pregnant! There’s been no completion in this tank, remember?”
Big-brained Brooks felt it was important to take me back to sex ed. “A guy doesn’t have to finish to get you pregnant.”
“So true,” Georgia agreed.
“I’m not pregnant, fuckers. There was a condom. Plan B is me taking this prank to a new level.”
“Uh…is anyone going to get hurt in this scenario?”
“Nope. But I’m about to take that trickster’s ego down several notches.”
Kline chuckled. “Man, I really wish I was privy to seeing this shit go down.”
“Let’s just hope I don’t have to resort to Plan C.”
“Wait…what happens in Plan C?” Georgia questioned.
“You and Kline will have to help me hide the body, obviously. That’s generally what Plan C involves.”
“What!” she shrieked.
I laughed. “Calm your tits, G. I’m kidding…sort of.”
“Cassie!”
“He’ll be fine…as long as he cooperates,” I lied. “Enjoy your night! Bye!” I ended the call with sounds of Kline chuckling and Georgia shouting for me not to hang up the phone.
Sometimes I was almost disappointed in how easy she was to tease.
Georgia: YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE. I know you’re joking, but on the off chance your crazy ass isn’t joking, I’M NOT HELPING WITH PLAN C. He’s too fucking big. I couldn’t even lift a leg.
Me: I’m glad we never had to resort to robbing banks for money. You’d be a terrible accomplice.
Georgia: Yes, remember that. Me = terrible accomplice.
Me: Tell me something I don’t already know. If you were a hooker, you’d probably track your payments on an Excel spreadsheet and claim them on your taxes. (Add terrible hooker to the list.)
Georgia: Whatever. I’d be the most organized hooker. I’d get one of those credit card swipe-y things.
Me: When is the right time to complete the transaction in that scenario?
Georgia: I think they’d swipe before, and sign their PayPal receipt after.
Me: Prostitute Georgia is classy AF.
Georgia: I know, right?
Me: Strippers should use those swipe-y things. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve run out of money at a strip club, I’d never run out of money at a strip club.
