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Lord Almighty, hopefully, the coffee would wash the taste of dog balls away.
By the way, can dogs have beef jerky?
I probably should have looked into that before I let Stan nip into five hundred calories of Slim Jim, but I blame my child’s giant head that is always pressing on my bladder.
Beef jerky was the only thing that distracted Stan long enough that I could avoid pissing all over myself.
Pregnancy is beautiful, isn’t it?
Stan lay by my feet, content and intrigued by everything I said, while I tried to figure out what the two of us were going to do for the rest of the day. New York City wasn’t exactly fit for a pregnant woman and a horse.
Although, homeboy was as cool as a motherfluffing cucumber, and I had a feeling, after I had the baby, Stan and I might dabble in a few more pranking bits together. He handled it like it was old hat. This dog had nerves of steel and a poker face like you wouldn’t believe. He was a hell of a lot better than the amateur accomplices I normally rolled with.
“What shall we do today, big guy?” I asked. He just stared up at me with his big brown eyes and let out a little doggy groan. “Do you think we should call Mommy and see if she wants to meet us for lunch?”
He appeared happy with that idea, his ears perking up and his head tilting to the side in what I assumed was a canine smile.
“I think that’s a good plan too, Stanley,” I said and patted the top of his head.
As his head sank back down to rest comfortably on my feet, I pulled my phone out of my purse and FaceTimed Georgia. It only took two rings before the call started to connect.
“Hey, Cass,” she greeted as her face came into view on the screen of my phone. The large window of her office framed her smiling face. “What are you—” She paused once her gaze caught sight of her dog. “Wait…why in the hell do you have my dog with you? I thought he was at your house with Thatch and the girls?”
Well, technically, he was, but she didn’t need to know that right now. If there was one thing that was a certainty with Georgia, it was that she couldn’t keep a damn secret if her life depended on it. Literally and figuratively, the world’s worst liar.
“I happened to get done early today and decided to spend some one-on-one time with this handsome man,” I lied blatantly. “Want to join us?”
She quirked a skeptical brow. “You wanted to spend time with my dog?”
“Fine,” I said on a sigh. “I’m using Stan for motivation to get my ass moving. Otherwise, I would’ve ended up gorging on cookies for lunch, taking a nap, and adding an extra five pounds to my already expanding ass.”
“Shut up.” She smiled. “Even seven months pregnant, your ass is still fantastic.”
Obviously, I already knew that, but I needed a fluffing reason for dragging a horse around the city for the afternoon.
“Well…” She paused and shuffled through a few papers on her desk. “I guess I could probably take a little break for some lunch.”
I quirked a brow. “How about a long break with lunch and shopping?”
“I don’t know, Cass,” she hesitated. “I’ve got a lot to catch up on.”
Facking hell. I wanted to go shopping.
Plus, I really needed her to take the leash. Stan was a pretty good dog, but holy guacamole, he had the strength of ten men. And the combination of his big ass, my pregnancy tits, and the baby inside of my belly, and my lower back was starting to feel the extra weight.
“And it’s not like I’m not going to see you today,” she added. “We’ll be at Wes and Winnie’s tonight.”
I needed to think quickly. My best friend was notorious for always going the extra mile in her career. She was the opposite of someone who left work before the clock struck five p.m., but considering it was a Sunday and Mother’s Day, I felt like the odds were in my favor.
Vintage, I thought to myself. She can’t say no to vintage…
“You know what today is, right?”
Her face scrunched up in confusion. “Uh…Sunday?”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” I smirked. “But what happens on Sundays?”
“I usually don’t have to wake up before seven because Kline always lets me sleep in on the weekends.”
“Kline lets you sleep in on Sundays?”
“Yep.” A soft smile kissed her lips. “Saturdays, too.”
What the fluff? I needed to have a conversation with Thatcher about that. I wanted to sleep in on the weekends. Hell, I wanted to sleep in every day.
“The only reason Thatch doesn’t let you sleep in is because you keep him up all hours of the night,” she said with amusement brightening her eyes. “The man needs to rest at some point, Casshead.”
She had a point.
In the Kelly household, Friday nights after Ace was in bed, it was a ritual to give Cassie as many orgasms as she could handle. Most Fridays, Thatch and the Supercock didn’t get rest until well after three in the morning. And Saturday nights, well, were pretty much the exact same routine—more orgasms.
God, I love the weekends…
“Meh,” I muttered. “He should still let me sleep in on the weekends, too.”
“Maybe you should actually let him sleep at night,” she teased with a smirk. “Anyway, what happens on Sundays, Cass?”
“Oh, come on, Wheorgie,” I said on a disappointed sigh. “It’s delivery day for our favorite little shop. Brand-new—slightly used—vintage duds.”
Her brows shot up in surprise. “Bella’s? In Chelsea?”
I nodded. “Yep.”
“God, we haven’t been there in ages.”
“Well…that’s mostly because I fluffing hate Chelsea, but—”
“Chelsea isn’t that bad,” she interrupted on a laugh. “It’s actually an amazing little neighborhood. And it was our home for years.”
She was right. Before marriage and kids, Georgia and I had been roomies, and our little apartment in Chelsea had been the place we’d called home. It definitely had its high points—eclectic shops, delicious restaurants, and gorgeous little parks to spend sunny days.
Okay, I guess Chelsea wasn’t that bad once you got past the constant construction and the bitter smell of piss during the hot summer months.
“It’s Sunday and Mother’s Day, Georgie,” I said, and she sighed. “Don’t you think today would be the perfect day for us to take a trip down Memory Lane to our old stomping grounds?”
“I have to work, Cass. I can’t just skip out for the rest of the day,” she responded in annoyance. But it was the tiny little glimmer of temptation in her eyes that let me know I had finally reached my opening.
Now, it’s time to go in for the kill…
I looked down at Stan, and his big brown eyes met mine. “Wouldn’t it be so awesome if Mommy showed you around Chelsea, Stanley?” I asked, and his ears perked up. I moved the screen of my phone closer to his face so that he would eventually spot Georgia. “Plus, Mommy can leave work early, and she’ll get some time to herself because Uncle T is watching the girls…”
He looked at the screen, and once he saw his human mommy, he let out three barks and his tail started wagging.
“Aw,” I said. “I think someone misses his mommy…”
“Hi, big boy,” Georgia cooed, all the love in the world filling her eyes. My best friend loved this dog. He was literally like a child to her. “Are you being a good boy for Aunt Cass?”
Stan barked again, and his tail wagged even faster.
Georgia’s eyes met mine. “You play so dirty, you know that?”
“Uh-huh.” I smirked. “I mean…can you really say no to this adorable fluffing horse of a dog?”
My best friend looked down at Stan before her gaze met mine again. “Fine,” she sighed. “Give me forty minutes, and I’ll meet you guys at Fran’s Diner. We can eat outside on the terrace.”
“Perfect.”
She flashed a pointed look in my direction. “But if Wes starts calling me, you get to take his calls.”
“Deal,” I said without hesitation. “If your boss calls, I’ll handle it.”
“God, you’re a terrible influence,” she muttered. “I’ll see you guys in a few.”
“Oh, Georgia!” I called out before she could hang up the phone.
“Yeah?”
“Maybe bring some Pepcid for ol’ Stan here. I don’t think his stomach is tolerating the beef jerky he ate earlier too well.”
“What the hell, Cass?” she questioned with wide eyes. “Why did you give my dog beef jerky?”
Note to self: Beef jerky is bad for dogs.
“Uh-oh… I’m starting to lose the call…” I lied and put my hand over the camera. “Are you still there?” I questioned and ignored her response. “I’m gonna hang up, Georgie. See you in a little bit! Loveyoubye!” I said in a rush and ended the call before she could start lecturing me on the dos and don’ts of pet care.
Obviously, I knew a little about pets because of Philmore, but that pig’s steel stomach wasn’t a good comparison. He could eat anything and everything—grass, socks, chicken nuggets, ice cream. Come to think of it, Philmore’s don’t list mostly just consisted of bacon. And that was more for moral reasons than anything else.
