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“Shh,” she replied savagely. “I like the show better when you don’t talk.”
Shaking my head with a smile, I backed up on the stage and rose to my feet to swing my hips and then turned around and presented my ass. I didn’t know if Britney would be proud of my performance, but I sure was.
Chasing the end of the song, I worked my way to the edge of the stage, my breath coming in heaving pants at this point, and settled myself into the pose I’ve seen the contestants hit in the Miss Universe pageant. One knee cocked, hand on hip, titties held up high, loud and proud, I brought my wet T-shirt dance to the big finale pose.
I could only hope my crazy little dandelion appreciated the effort I’d put in.
Thatch stood on the stage, sweat dripping down his brow, and his shirtless body was contorted into a pose that made my entire mood take a nose dive.
He looked…so unlike my husband, it wasn’t even funny. Honestly, if he actually had a set of breasts on his chest, those puppies would be pushed out with the kind of confidence that said they were about to take over the fucking world.
And I didn’t know why, but…I’d gone from cheering him on to wanting him to get off that stage as fast as he could.
Oh, holy hell, things have taken a serious turn for the bizarre.
A wet T-shirt contest had sounded like a great idea at the time, and Thatcher had really gone all out, but my mood had swung from enjoyment to nausea in the span of a heartbeat, and I wasn’t sure how to break it to him. I mean, he was up on the stage, panting like a wounded dog, for Pete’s sake, his foot poised and prissy. His pecs pushed out and perky.
Fluff, this is no longer bueno.
There was no damn way I was going to make him feel bad for doing everything I’d asked. He deserved way more than that from me. But I needed to find a way to bring myself back from the edge of horror, and I needed to do it fast without letting on at all.
That was simple enough, though,right?
If I could handle some of the things I’d seen in my wilder youth, I could handle a simple sweep under the rug with my emotions for Thatcher.
“How’d I do, Crazy?” he asked, still cocked in his ending pose. “Did I nail it? Was it everything your wet T-shirt dreams were made of?”
Ah, shit. I needed a distraction, and I needed one fast.
Quick! Think of something! Anything!
Suddenly, a thought popped into my head, and it was out of my mouth before I could stop it. “Shots!” I yelled suddenly, as though it weren’t the most random word in the free world to be yelling if you weren’t LMFAO.
Thatch’s eyes narrowed, and his stance returned to normal. I was thankful for the latter, but nervous about what to do with the former.
“What? Did you just say shots?” he asked then, grabbing his drenched T-shirt from the ground, hopping off the stage, and walking toward me shirtless with the finesse I knew and loved. Deep, relieved breaths filled and left my lungs quickly.No more wet T-shirt contest demands for my husband,I told myself.If you’re in the mood for one, you’re going to have to do itforhim. Not the other fucking way around.
“Well, yeah, Thatcher. It’s spring break!”
“Cass, baby, I really hate to be the one to say this again, but it’s October. And you’re pregnant.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well,I’mnot going to drink. I just plan to watchyoudrink. Come on, T-bag. You don’t have a little ballbuster in your uterus. Get wild for me. Tequila. Oh, oh! And rum! And whiskey! Yes, yes, whiskey!”
“Sounds like what you really want is for me to be leaned over the toilet bowl later, puking my guts up.”
“Oh, come on,” I retorted and motioned one hand toward him. “You’re huge. It’ll take, like, a ton of booze to fluff you up. Don’t be such a dickwad.”
He gave me a hard glare, and I smiled apologetically.
“Sorry, but there’s not really a good replacement word for dickwad,” I defended with a shrug.
“Well, mixing liquor isn’t a good idea.” He shook his head on a sigh. “Maybe pickone. And I’ll do a flight of shots or something.”
“Body shots!” I shouted and fist-pumped the air, completely ready to go Jersey Shore on this place. “Yes! Yes! Body shots!”
“Cass.”
“What?” I tossed back, pulling my fist out of the air and placing it back in my lap with a frustrated jerk of my wrist. “You could easily do onlyone liquor. You’ll just need a body.”
