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He snorted. “Oooooooh, yes, Mama likes!”
Obviously, he had our roles confused, but I didn’t bother correcting him.
After the day he’d just suffered through, if my husband wanted to be Mama all night and call me Daddy, I’d fucking do it.
Although, I highly doubted the Supercock would be up for any kind of hanky-panky. Pretty sure Thatch had guzzled enough tequila to put him out of commission for the rest of the day.
Pepper slid the tab toward me, and I didn’t even bother looking at it. Instead, I just slid a credit card his way and told him to add a thirty percent tip for himself.
Surely the man needed a reward for the things we’d subjected him to for the last few hours.
While he finished closing us out, I pulled up the Uber app and ordered us a ride back to the hotel. It might’ve only been a short walk, but there was no way in hell I was going to be able to carry my big-ass husband if the tequila started to make his legs forget how to work.
But before I could put my phone back in my purse and start figuring out how I was going to get Thatch to his feet,Incoming FaceTime Call Georgiastarted to flash across the screen.
I almost ignored it completely, but when I remembered that she was the emergency contact I’d given the nanny for Philmore, panic started to fill my stomach, and I hit accept.
Instantly, her pretty face filled the screen.
“Oh my God, Georgia. Tell me my little Philmore is okay,” I said in a rush, and her nose scrunched up in confusion.
“Huh?”
“Did the nanny call you? Did something happen?”
“You got your pig a nanny?” she asked, tilting her head to the side, and I sighed.
“Technically, yes, I got Philmore a nanny. Though I’m hoping she’s going to watch the baby eventually. Why’s that so strange?”
She didn’t answer my question. Instead, once she squinted and took in the unexpected pub atmosphere behind me, she met my eyes again. “I was calling about our shopping date—wait… Where are you? Oh my God! Are those empty shot glasses? Cassie Kelly, did you bring your unborn son to a bar to do freaking shots?!”
It was then that I realized, besides Phil’s nanny, when I’d planned our honeymoon trip to Panama City in the span of two days, I’d forgotten to let anyone else know we’d be MIA for a week.
Meh. Whatever. She’ll get over it.
“Cassie!” she shouted again, her voice rising in frustration. “Tell me you’re not doing freaking shots in some bar right now! I swear on everything, if you—”
“Relax, G.” I rolled my eyes and sighed. “I wasn’t doing the shots. Thatch was.”
At the sound of his name, my husband’s head shot up off the bar, and he pushed his big face toward the screen of my phone. Once he recognized who was on the call, his lips quirked up into a lazy smirk. “Shmey they, Gorge!”
“See?” I retorted and met Georgie’s eyes above where Thatcher had decided to take a short nap on my cleavage.
“Good God,” Georgia muttered. “How many has he taken? And how is he so damn drunk already? It’s not even five o’clock.”
“I don’t know…A lot?” I shrugged. “And, well, we got an early start on our day of fun.”
“Day of fun? Cassie, what is happening right now?”
“We’re enjoying our honeymoon.”
“Yourhoneymoon? Where the hell are you?”
“Panama.”
“What?” Her jaw went unhinged. “You left the damn country?”
I swear, my best friend was so fucking dramatic sometimes.
