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Obviously, I hadn’t chosen this place based on cuisine, and I was fairly certain the hostess was on to me, taking in my six-foot-five, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound frame like it was a huge cosmic joke that I was standing in front of her.
I had to agree. Of course, I couldn’t eat a fucking burger and fries while I did my stalking, it’d be too damn distracting.
When I unearthed my phone from my pocket, pulled it up in front of the menu, and saw the name, I considered not answering. But I knew that wouldn’t help me at all. Detective Kline was officially on the case, and if he’d actually worked for law enforcement, I’d soon be on my way to prison.
Of course, he wanted to fucking FaceTime.
I pushed the button to accept, and his face filled the screen.
“Yes?” I asked with one eyebrow slightly higher than the other.
“Are you at a restaurant?” he asked immediately, taking in the scenery around me like a hawk.
“Yes,” I answered honestly. There was no reason to lie about something he could quite clearly see for himself.
“By yourself?”
“Yes,” I said with a laugh. “I’m not cheating on Cassie. Even if I could consider the possibility of cheating on her, I’d never cheat on her tits. Never.”
“Christ,” Kline groaned and scrubbed at his face as a couple at the table in front of me turned my way.
Whoops. “Sorry,” I told them with a wince.
Okay, so it was more of a wink than a wince, but this is me we’re talking about.
I chanced a peek over toward the building where she was working, the crystal water of the pool sparkling in the early afternoon sun. There was a flurry of activity, but Cassie stood off to the side, her head bent over her phone.
The text message notification sounded on my phone.
“Hold on,” I told Kline, tapping my way out of the call screen and pulling up my messages.
Cassie’s Tits: I’m here, but you probably already know that.
She’s on to me.
My lungs seized, the air in them freezing in panic.
“Motherfucking shit,” I breathed, forgetting that Kline could still see me and that the people at the table in front of me were the goddamn language police.
“What?” Kline asked, but I was busy fake apologizing to the people five feet away with sticks up their asses.
“Thatch,” Kline called, annoyed about having anything other than my undivided attention. “What’s going on?”
But I had a woman to worry about right now. Knowing what usually worked best, I went with ignorance.
Me: Huh?
She responded almost immediately. Thank God.
Cassie’s Tits: I know you printed out my schedule, and I know you know I was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago. I’m impressed you managed to resist the urge to text me first, though.
Jesus Christ. If she only knew.
Me: Ha. I love you.
Probably past the point of what’s healthy, I admitted to myself.
Cassie’s Tits: I love you too.
“Thatch!” Kline called.
“Goddammit. Give me a motherfucking second here, Klinehole,” I muttered, and finally disgusted, the people at the table in front of me pushed out of their chairs and left. Granted, their food had been consumed and the bill paid, but I was pretty sure I was the real catalyst for their retreat.
“Fine,” Kline agreed over the speaker. “I don’t think you’re where the answers really are anyway.”
Shit. It was not a good sign that he was giving up this easily.
“Enjoy your lunch in… Where did you say you were again?”
“I didn’t.”
Out of my messages and back on the call, I watched as he smiled.
“Enjoy San Diego,” he said with a glimmer in one of his stupid blue eyes. And then he was gone.
Goddammit.
The bags of takeout rustled lightly as I set them on the kitchen counter and headed into our bedroom to change out of the clothes I flew home in.
The second my flight landed at JFK, I grabbed a taxi and got to work on setting my evening plans into motion. Since I was a little surprised Thatch wasn’t home by now, I shot him a quick text as I headed back into the kitchen.
Me: Where are you?
Thatch: Just now leaving the office. You make it home, okay?
As I tied the strap of my frilly apron around my waist, I glanced at the clock on the stove and noted it was half past eight. I found it a little odd that he was just now leaving work.
Me: Yep. I’m home. You’re still at work???
Thatch: No use coming home to an empty apartment, honey. ;)
Charming motherfuc—fluffer. Thatch’s suggestion that I clean up my language hadn’t really sunk in until it had been reinforced by suggestions from Georgia, Winnie, my mom, my brother, and the lady at the grocery store. Though, the lady at the grocery store hadn’t known I was pregnant, so she was just an uptight cunt.
