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I shook my head with a laugh. “Somebody stole my wallet.”
“What?” Cassie shrieked, and Frankie’s brows pushed even closer together.
“How’d that happen?” Frankie asked.
I looked to Cassie’s face and didn’t even try to stop the smile on my own. “I guess I was distracted.”
She blushed, something I didn’t even think was possible when it came to her. She was not the kind of woman who dissolved into a puddle of embarrassment or should-haves, and she never apologized for anything. But she’d felt the same thing I had, that much was more apparent than ever, and the only thing that could make her flush like that was the unexpected.
I knew that was true because the same was true for me.
“I guess rule number twelve should be no kissing in public,” she said with a quick glance at Frankie as she hopped onto the counter in front of me.
I just shook my head. “No way.”
“Come on, Thatcher. The rules need a good, solid foundation, and it seems like this one is warranted.”
“I’ll burn the whole house of rules down. No rule number twelve.”
“Not ever?” she asked with faux seriousness.
I couldn’t find it in me to care that she was mocking me.
“Nope. It’ll be like the thirteenth floor of buildings. It just doesn’t exist.”
“Is it because you’re afraid of it?” she teased.
I shook my head. “It’s because if that rule exists, it’ll only be as a literal example of made to be broken.”
“Why waste the paperwork, then, huh?”
“Exactly.”
Me: Rule #25: Don’t use my body wash.
Thatch: But what if I’m using it on you?
Me: Are you asking for shower sex, Thatcher?
Thatch: I’m not asking, honey.
Me: Ohhhhh, T’s going all alpha male. Will Sir spank me later too?
Thatch: Only if Mistress Cassie begs.
Me: On my knees?
Thatch: You’re making me hard.
Me: Considering a fucking breeze could get you hard, this is not surprising.
Thatch: YOU make me hard. All the fucking time.
Me: Charming me with your snake?
Thatch: What can I say? I have my sweet moments.
Thatch: What are your plans today? Can you do me a favor?
Me: Nothing major. Just editing some photos. You want another office blow job?
Thatch: Yes, but let’s put that on the books for tomorrow. Today, I’ve got something else going on.
Me: And what’s that?
Thatch called my phone thirty seconds later.
“Well, hello, Master,” I teased.
His deep chuckle filled my ear. “Can you be flexible with your schedule today?”
“I can probably work something out. What’d you have in mind?”
“Well, I’m supposed to pick Mila up at one for a Central Park date, but I’ve got a last-minute investors meeting at noon that I can’t skip out on. By the time I get out of this, it will only give me ten minutes to get to Claire and Frankie’s.”
“You want me to pick her up and bring her to your office?” I offered. I generally wasn’t one to rearrange my schedule for a man, but Mila was an exception. I looked around Thatch’s apartment. It wasn’t like I had to travel from Guatemala to do it either.
Next time you have the opportunity to spend time with Mila you probably will be doing a shoot in Guatemala, the little voice inside my head told me. Don’t pass this up.
“Do you mind? Mila is always waiting for me on the front porch, and I’d feel like a bastard for showing up forty minutes late.”
“I’ll do it under one condition,” I negotiated.
I could tell he was smiling when he said, “And what would that be?”
“I’m driving your Audi.”
He laughed again. “You can drive the Audi, but only if you promise to stick around and hang out with us today.”
Yeah, I would have done that anyway. No way was I driving all the way up there to get her and not get to spend the day with her.
“Awwww…Thatcher can’t get enough of me?”
“Something like that.”
“Okay. I’m in. Text me their address, and I’ll get ready to head out now.”
“Thanks, honey.”
I hung up the phone and saved the open files on my laptop before shutting it off. Even though I was on a deadline, and would probably need to put in a sixteen-hour day tomorrow to finish up the pictorial I owed Men’s Health, I decided Mila was more important. And, well, hanging out with Thatch for the day wasn’t exactly a chore.
Actually, I was finding it was the opposite; I really enjoyed spending time with him. He teased and flirted with me relentlessly, and he always found a way to make me laugh.
Last night, I had come home to Thatch sitting in a bubble bath with my favorite exfoliating treatment smeared across his face. The fact that he had finished off a fifty-dollar bottle of face cream—that bastard’s big head had some serious square footage—should have earned him a dick slap, but even I couldn’t deny he had looked fucking adorable.
So adorable, I’d stripped right out of my clothes and joined him.
God, he was a creative motherfucker. And so goddamn much fun. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d enjoyed being with someone so much that the tank never topped up—I always wanted more. His ridiculous smirk or stupid fucking winks or the feel of his big body spooned around mine. No matter how much he did it, it never felt like enough.
When in the hell had he become so vital to my daily life?
It had to be the Supercock. Or his big hands. Or maybe it was his talented mouth.
Yeah, it’s none of those things, moron. This isn’t a game anymore, my brain whispered. You’re falling straight into the real deal with the charming ogre.
I quickly shook off those thoughts and set my focus on less confusing things, like getting ready to pick up Mila.
An hour later, I was pulling up in front of Frankie and Claire’s sweet house in Thatch’s sweet-ass ride. The Audi in question was red, a convertible, and drove like a fucking dream. Since owning a car in New York was generally more hassle than it was worth, it was nice to be able to drive on occasion. And the car made it that much nicer. I made a note to myself to find more reasons to borrow this car. Or one of the others. The proud owner of several, he was no Kline Brooks in that department.
Mila jumped up from the porch swing and came barreling down their front steps, sprinting toward the car before I had a chance to get out of the driver’s seat.
“Aunt Cass!” she shouted.
“Slow down, Mila,” Claire called behind her, following her daughter’s lead while shaking her head in amusement.
Mila didn’t waste any time, opening the passenger door and hopping into the back seat. “Where’s Uncle Thatch?” she asked, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror.
I turned in my seat to face her, taking in her current attire with tickled eyes. From the Harry Styles is my boyfriend T-shirt to her rain boots covered in cut-out magazine pictures of the band, she was decked out, head to toe, in One Direction gear.
“We’re meeting him at his office. Is it okay that I’m coming along today?”
She pumped her little fist in the air. “Yes! I’m so excited!”
“Hey, Cass,” Claire said once she reached the vehicle. “I’m surprised to see you today.”
“I thought I’d tag along, but only because I wanted to hang out with Mila,” I said, winking at the adorable little girl in the back seat.
“Please excuse her outfit,” Claire whispered, leaning over the passenger door and into my space so I could hear her. “But I couldn’t convince her to change.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” I whispered back and then said loud enough for Mila to hear, “One Direction is the coolest.”
“I love One Direction!” Mila agreed excitedly.
Claire laughed. “She literally made those boots this morning. I have a feeling you’ll be losing pictures of Harry and the gang all over Central Park this afternoon.”
“Let’s go!” Mila encouraged. “Bye, Mom!”
Claire laughed. “You think she’s a little eager to leave?”
“Maybe just a little bit,” I agreed, grinning.
After Claire got Mila settled in her booster seat in the back and kissed her daughter good-bye, we were on our way, sunglasses on and ready to rumble.
“You wanna listen to some music?” I asked at a stoplight.
“One Direction!”
Of course, I thought to myself and smiled. “You got it, girlfriend.” I grabbed my phone and pulled up Spotify. Once the perfect playlist—every single One Direction album—was set up, I hit play and headed for Manhattan.
“Wooohoooo!” Mila yelled from the back seat. She alternated between singing the lyrics to every song at the top of her little lungs and throwing her hands in the air as we cruised back into the city.
Traffic was bustling as we drove up 5th Avenue, but that was the New York norm. The streets were cluttered with yellow cabs honking their horns and pedestrians hurriedly crossing the busy intersections. Tourists stared up at the enormous skyscrapers from the sidewalks and natives abruptly moved around them, annoyed and desperate to get to their next destination.
“We need to make a quick stop, okay?” I told Mila as I pulled up in front of Brooks Media.
