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Kline did his best to talk over her like she wasn’t shrieking. “I wanted you to have a heads-up.” If he had been tackled, he was doing a good job of making it sound like he hadn’t been. Only Georgia and I were out of breath and hyperventilating.
He never failed to be cool as a motherfucking cucumber in all situations.
“Thanks.” Advanced warning was better than nothing.
I looked down at the bags in my hands briefly before it really hit me. If I had any hope at all of pulling everything off, I was going to need help.
“Actually, I have one more favor to ask of you guys.”
“Okay,” Kline agreed easily with a smile in his voice. “Anything shy of grand larceny or murder, and we’re probably willing.”
Georgia’s giggle cut right through the phone line and seemed to fill the open air around me. It was infectious, seeping in through my skin until I couldn’t hold back my smile. “No murder today. Maybe next week.”
Even Kline laughed at that.
“I just need you to store some stuff.”
“Stuff?”
“Not drugs. Or prostitutes. Or guns.”
“Oh, well, okay. As long as it’s not those three things.”
“Great.” Glancing down at my watch, I noted the time. “Georgia?”
“Yeah?” she asked, her voice getting louder as though Kline had put her on speakerphone.
“I’m gonna need you to use some of your new skills to keep an eye on Cassie. Over.”
“Don’t worry, Thatch,” she assured me seriously. “Her ass won’t touch grass without me knowing about it. Over.”
“Over and motherfucking out,” I agreed as I clicked the screen to end the call.
Five tasks down. Approximately twenty to go.
A few hours later, after I’d showered and changed out of my sweaty clothes from the shoot, I was ready to head down to Mr. Phil Latio’s room and confront that clocksucker head on.
Of course, I’d also managed to shave, exfoliate, apply Thatch’s favorite shade of lipstick, and toss on the tightest shirt I could find that didn’t reveal a nipple. Well, it showed nipples, but that probably had more to do with the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra, and it wasn’t like you could distinguish areola color.
Yeah, yeah, I know I should be mad at him right now, but I’m looking at the big picture.
Fights always equal makeup sex. And let’s be real, my puss-ay barely let me cover her up with a skirt and panties for this occasion.
Even though I was peeved over the lying, I didn’t believe Thatch’s motivation for deceiving me was malicious. Sure, I’d had a few irrational, crazy scenarios cross my mind, but deep down, I knew that’s all they were: crazy and irrational. The man brought me midnight snacks in bed and made my coffee every morning for fluff’s sake. He all but worshipped the ground I walked on and never failed to show me he was devoted—one hundred percent committed to me, this relationship, and our family.
Three quick glances in the mirror and one elevator ride later, I stood in front of his hotel room. The numbers 455 were displayed proudly on the door, and I rapped my knuckles a few times against the wood.
I covered the peephole and pressed my ear against the door as I listened for his movements inside the room, but besides the buzzing of an air conditioner kicking on, I heard nothing but silence.
After three more quick knocks, I disguised my voice in a high-pitched tone and announced, “Housekeeping for Mr. Phil Latio.”
Still, nothing.
“Housekeeping for Phil Latio,” I announced again as a man holding an ice bucket walked past me. His eyes all but bugged out of his head as my words registered.
I had to fight my laughter when I realized how ridiculous I sounded, propositioning my cleaning services for oral. Of course, I had to give it another go for comedic effect.
“Towels for Phil Latio? What about pillow mints? Pillow mints for Phil Latio?”
To my satisfaction, I watched the man stop at the room four doors down and fumble with his keycard while cubes of ice fell to the floor. It took him a good ten times before he got the swipe motion right and gained access to his room.
I knocked on the door one last time until I called it quits and headed back into my room. My search to find Thatch and wring his neck would be continued…after I grabbed a bag of M&M’S from the vending machine, laid my tired ass on my bed, and watched a few episodes of Teen Mom.
Once I reached my room with my vending machine loot, I slipped off my heels, took off my skirt, and plopped my ass onto the bed.
I’d find him eventually, and I figured text messages were basically the same thing as sending out a search party.
