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Thatch: My hand is a piss-poor substitute for your perfect pussy.
Before I could even think of responding, he quick-fired two more.
Thatch: I didn’t even jerk off last night. I couldn’t. Nothing feels as good as you do, honey. I’m so fucking hard for you. God, Cass, I miss you so much.
Thatch: You still there?
Me: Keep going…
Thatch: I love you, Crazy. I love you and that most likely crazy but beautiful baby girl growing inside your belly. Come home, honey. I miss my family.
Thatch: Phil misses you too. He’s been moping around since you left.
Poor Phil. The mere thought of him sad and mopey had me two seconds away from bursting into tears. Stupid pregnancy hormones.
Me: Even though you were an asshole last night, I miss you too, T. So much. Call me so I can talk to Phil.
Thatch: I’m actually not at home right now, baby. I’m getting ready to meet a client for a late lunch at Alberto’s.
My brow furrowed as I read through the message. Thatch going into the tattoo shop on a Saturday seemed legit, but a client meeting? On the weekend? It would’ve been more likely to see Phil grow wings and fly around our apartment.
Me: On a Saturday?
Thatch: Unfortunately, yes.
Like I said, something was up.
Me: But you never do meetings on Saturday.
Thatch: What’s the point of being at home on a Saturday when you’re not there?
Thatch: Answer: There is no point.
Evasive response laced with charm. Thatch was undoubtedly up to something, and I was undoubtedly going to figure it the fu-fluff out.
Me: Gotta go. Getting ready to start shooting again.
Thatch: Love you, Crazy.
Me: I know ;)
I searched Alberto’s NYC and found their number quickly thanks to Google. The line rang three times before someone picked up. “Alberto’s. How may I help you?” a man with a strong Italian accent greeted.
“Hi, I’m supposed to meet a man named Thatcher Kelly for a late lunch this afternoon, and I’m running a few minutes behind schedule. What time is his reservation?”
“I have no reservation for Mr. Kelly this afternoon, signorina.”
My lips pursed together in irritation. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I know Mr. Kelly very well, and he has no reservation for today. Has there been a mix-up?”
“Oh, you know what? Maybe I got the restaurant confused. I’ll just call him directly. Thanks for your help,” I said and ended the call.
That sneaky son of a butter knife had lied to me!
He lied. To me.
I stared at the cracks in the red-brick wall across from me as I searched my brain for answers. Why would he lie? What in the hell was he hiding from me? Nothing made sense, but there was one thing I was certain of—Thatcher Kelly was in big flipping trouble.
Before I read him the riot act, I knew there was one person who probably knew what was up, which meant my best friend, Georgia, who also happened to be a terrible liar, would know too.
First order of business, finish up the last part of this shoot.
Second, find Kleorgie and trick them into telling me what was going on.
Third, Google cruel and unusual punishments.
Then, it was game on, motherfluffer.
Standing in a darkened corner of a sports facility five miles outside of Phoenix, with eyes on the love of my life, I watched as she got down on the ground and took several pictures—from between the legs of the Mavericks’ star running back.
It was almost surreal, watching her lie between another man’s legs, knowing she was looking for the best lighting and angle to enhance the appearance of his dick in his uniform pants and not being upset about it.
But I wasn’t.
Pride surged through my veins as she worked, knowing she’d built this career and her reputation for herself. She’d put in the hours and the effort, just like I had with everything I did. And now that she was pregnant, society expected her to make a fucking choice—everything she’d worked toward or everything she’d always longed for personally. There was an illusion that she could have both, but something would suffer. Something would have to give.
And she was working so hard now, traveling so much, not resting at all, so that the thing that took a back seat wouldn’t be me and our kid.
A little sacrifice now for a big reward later.
It really hadn’t hit me until now, but she awed me.
And I’d done what I had to do. But now I had to stop. I had to trust her to look out for herself and our baby because, really, she already was.
She was giving everything to it.
Resting my back on the wall, I pulled myself around the corner and took a breath—and saw a shadowy figure at the other un-well-lit end of my hiding spot.
Kline.
“Are you really following me right now?”
