by Max Monroe
“Hell—” she started to answer, but I immediately interrupted.
“I think he’s fucking crazy.”
“—o,” she finished with too much amusement in her voice.
“I’m being serious, Wheorgie. I think Thatch might be crazier than me, and believe me, I know that’s a fuckload of crazy.”
She laughed. “Why do you think he’s crazy?”
“He just texted me after I gave him an ‘I’m sorry for falling asleep on your dick before you blew your load’ blow job in his office and asked me if I needed anything from the store on his way home. Not to mention he sent me a goddamn kissy-face emoji. He’s nuts, that’s all there is to it. A total whack-job with a Supercock.”
Yeah, no doubt about it, that kissy-face-emoji-sending-motherfucker needed to spend some time in a padded room and reevaluate his life choices. At least, that’s what I needed Georgie to think I was thinking.
“Hold up. Please repeat that because I’m not sure my brain was able to process what you just said.”
“I know,” I said as I stood up from the couch and started pacing my living room. “I had to check that text message fifteen times to believe he sent that. What grown-ass man even uses emojis?”
“That’s not the part I’m having a hard time processing.”
I sighed, shaking my head. “I hear you, G. The store part threw me for a loop too.”
“No,” she voiced. “I’m talking about the blow job, Casshead.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry, I didn’t go narcoleptic on his dick this time. He got the full-service treatment, if you know what I’m saying. Came right in my—”
“That’s not the part either! Jesus,” she said through a laugh. “You went to his office after we had lunch and sucked him off? Are you fucking with me right now?”
I scrunched up my face in annoyance. “Please explain what you’re trying to get at here. I’m not seeing where the confusion is coming from on your end.”
“Cassie!” she exclaimed, bursting into full-belly laughs. “You told me you were going to tell him you were sorry. I thought that meant bringing him lunch, not using his dick as your second lunch.”
I’d thought that too. But goddamn, he’d looked like a culinary delight when I got there. A woman can only be so strong.
“Actions speak louder than words, G.”
It’d been a deviation from the flight plan, but there was no doubt in my mind Thatch appreciated a blow job way more than lunch and a Hallmark card. Hell, I’d much rather a guy show me he was sorry by tonguing my puss-ay than sending me flowers. Flowers died, but fantastic orgasms? Yeah, those fuckers lived on forever by fueling fantasies and becoming priceless spank-bank material.
“Please tell me this without giving too much detail. How does one start off the whole ‘I’m going to apologize by putting your penis in my mouth’ conversation?”
“What conversation? There wasn’t one. I went in, locked the door, got on my knees, and unzipped his pants.”
“Like a drive-by blow job?”
“Exactly like that.”
“Wow. I still don’t understand how you can manage to shock me after all these years.”
“You’ve never blown Kline in his office?”
“Um. No, I have not.”
“You need to do that,” I recommended.
“Brilliant idea, Cass!” Kline’s voice filled my ears. “I’m on board with this plan, Benny.”
“Well, hey there, Big Dick. I see I’m on speaker phone.”
“Sorry, Cass,” Georgia chimed in. “We’re heading home from taking the boys to the park. And you didn’t exactly give me a chance to give you a heads-up.”
And by “boys” she meant their asshole cat, Walter, and his boyfriend, Stan—who also happened to be a one-hundred-pound Great Dane that was still growing by the day. They were star-crossed lovers who had happened to meet in a vet’s office when Thatch had lost Walter.
It only took one sniff of Stan’s asshole, and Walter had found his soul mate. Well, life mate. I was pretty sure that cat didn’t have a soul. He was Satan in feline form.
“No worries,” I responded. “So, Kline, how should we handle this?”
“Handle this?” he asked, voice equal parts amused and uncertain. “What are we handling?”
“Thatch. I mean, isn’t it obvious? He’s fucking lost it. He thinks I’m moving in with him, and he’s actually okay with that. Not freaking out in the least.”
Kline chuckled a few times and paused before offering, “Don’t you think it’s odd that loud—obnoxious most of the time—Thatch seems very reserved about all of this?”
“Yeah, that’s why—” I started to respond, but I stopped when my brain started to process his words. “Wait…no way…no way. You think he’s calling my bluff?”
“I’m not saying I think that, but I’m not saying I don’t think that either.”
“Oh, that devious bastard. He’s good, but he’s not that good.” I headed straight into my bedroom and started pulling shit out of my closet.
“What are you doing?” Georgia asked.
“Obviously, moving on to Plan B.”
“And what’s Plan B, exactly? Isn’t that the name of the morning-after pill? Tell me you’re not pregnant.”
“No, I’m not pregnant! There’s been no completion in this tank, remember?”
Big-brained Brooks felt it was important to take me back to sex ed. “A guy doesn’t have to finish to get you pregnant.”
“So true,” Georgia agreed.
“I’m not pregnant, fuckers. There was a condom. Plan B is me taking this prank to a new level.”
“Uh…is anyone going to get hurt in this scenario?”
“Nope. But I’m about to take that trickster’s ego down several notches.”
Kline chuckled. “Man, I really wish I was privy to seeing this shit go down.”
“Let’s just hope I don’t have to resort to Plan C.”
“Wait…what happens in Plan C?” Georgia questioned.
“You and Kline will have to help me hide the body, obviously. That’s generally what Plan C involves.”
“What!” she shrieked.
I laughed. “Calm your tits, G. I’m kidding…sort of.”
“Cassie!”
“He’ll be fine…as long as he cooperates,” I lied. “Enjoy your night! Bye!” I ended the call with sounds of Kline chuckling and Georgia shouting for me not to hang up the phone.
Sometimes I was almost disappointed in how easy she was to tease.
Georgia: YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE. I know you’re joking, but on the off chance your crazy ass isn’t joking, I’M NOT HELPING WITH PLAN C. He’s too fucking big. I couldn’t even lift a leg.
Me: I’m glad we never had to resort to robbing banks for money. You’d be a terrible accomplice.
Georgia: Yes, remember that. Me = terrible accomplice.
Me: Tell me something I don’t already know. If you were a hooker, you’d probably track your payments on an Excel spreadsheet and claim them on your taxes. (Add terrible hooker to the list.)
Georgia: Whatever. I’d be the most organized hooker. I’d get one of those credit card swipe-y things.
Me: When is the right time to complete the transaction in that scenario?
Georgia: I think they’d swipe before, and sign their PayPal receipt after.
Me: Prostitute Georgia is classy AF.
Georgia: I know, right?
Me: Strippers should use those swipe-y things. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve run out of money at a strip club, I’d never run out of money at a strip club.
Georgia: Those are some deep thoughts, Cass. I’m a little disturbed you frequent strip clubs that often.
Me: I generally go for the steak and stay for the lap dances.
Georgia: Strip clubs serve steak?
Me: Only the good ones.
Georgia: Please don’t kill Thatch until after Kline’s birthday. He’s helping me pl
an the secret shindig.
Me: When is Big Dick’s bday?
Georgia: June 28th.
Me: Okay. You have my word. Thatcher will live to see June 28th.
Georgia: You’re the best.
Me: I’m ending this convo now, asshole. I’ve got some serious packing to do.
Georgia:
I laughed and tossed my phone onto my bed. It landed with a soft bounce beside a few stacks of clothes I had already managed to get out of my closet while chatting with Georgia. I had a plan to execute, and it needed to be in place by the time Thatch got home from work.
My original plan was to use the key Georgia had kindly given me and be sitting on his couch when he got home from work, but now the stakes had been raised.
And since I was pretty much in love with screwing with him, the Jolly Green Giant was about to be on the receiving end of the best prank I had ever come up with.
Oh yeah, let the games begin.
Worn out from one of the weirdest days of my life, I shoved the key in the lock of my door and turned it, and then pushed the door open cautiously so I could poke my head in without having to fully commit to entering.
Everyone kept assuring me Cass was only crazy in the sense of wild—not in the put-her-in-a-muzzle-and-straitjacket kind of way. And for the most part, I believed them. But I’d experienced a few things in the last twenty-four hours at her hands that I didn’t think anyone else in my circle of trust ever had, so a little skepticism was understandable.
All was quiet, and I could finally hear myself think as I stepped inside. I wasn’t exactly hating everything she’d thrown my way. In fact, I mostly felt the opposite—giddy and elated and anxious inside every time she said something that should have made me cringe. But that kind of reaction made me question my own sanity, and well, that’s a dangerous little loop of psychosis.
Moving into the space, I tossed my suit jacket on the back of my couch and my keys on the entry table and made my way into the kitchen. I yanked open the fridge and surveyed the contents. Not because I was actually hungry, but because I was antsy, anxious for something to fill the time and mute the downright excessive amount of thinking going on in my head.
In general, I was a pretty simple guy. Eat, sleep, laugh, fuck, repeat. If I was having a good time, I was at ease. I didn’t analyze or question, I just did.
Shaking my head, I closed the refrigerator with a slam and tugged at my too-tight tie. I needed to change into comfier clothes and just relax.
I moved toward my bedroom at a prowl, frustrated at myself for being disappointed that Cassie wasn’t here. Saddened that my evening would be like normal—relaxing and completely of my own making. Upset that I didn’t have to be on my toes every second of the night, watch what I said, or constantly dodge flying objects and tiny but aggressive fists.
I must have been losing my mind.
The end of my tie came loose with a final tug, and it landed somewhere in the middle of my bed as I discarded it with a mindless throw. Two buttons undone at the top of my dress shirt, I reached behind and over my head with one hand, tugging at the fabric between my shoulder blades until it gave way and slid over my head.
Still blinded by fabric, I turned the corner into my closet and ran so hard into an unexpected wall it nearly knocked me over.
“Ow! What the fuck?” I snapped, pulling the shirt free from my head. My gaze met cardboard.
Several moving boxes cluttered the walk-in space, the set I’d just run into stacked four high.
I pinched my eyebrows together as I peeked around it. More boxes but nothing else.
I moved deeper into the space and then turned around slowly, suspiciously, as objects clinked softly together in my bathroom.
I reached into the open box in front of me, grabbing hold of the first object my hand came in contact with and holding it loosely at my side in case I needed a weapon.
Yes, the chances of my needing a weapon are slim, but I’m pretty sure most robbers don’t ring the doorbell either, ladies. Yeah, I’m looking at you, crawling out of your living room so the person at the front door won’t see you. I know your game.
Vigilantly, I rounded the doorjamb into the bathroom and—
“Boo!” the intruder shouted right in my face. I swung the object before I realized it was Cassie, but I pulled up short just before it would have smacked her in the face.
“Fucking hell,” I snapped as my eyes focused on the vibrator in my hand and Cassie dissolved into an all-out fit of laughter.
“Oh. My. God,” she wheezed. She dropped to the floor and went fetal, the power of her laughter too much to maintain while standing. “Holy shit, this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she said around big gulps of air. “I’d say you don’t know how to use that thing on me, but this is seriously the most pleasure I’ve ever gotten out of it,” she went on as I towered over her.
I shook my head to clear the tingle of excitement in my spine and focused on my irritation. “What are you doing here?”
“Pretty sure I told you I’d see you at home, boss man.”
My thoughts collided and fought for supremacy, but in the end, I couldn’t focus on any of them. “Right,” I mumbled, turning from her to the boxes and back again.
“What do you think, Thatcher?” she asked with a smirk and held out her hand. “Can I put my boner away?” I glanced down at my hand to find her toy still clutched tightly in my grasp.
I smiled then. “And by put it away, you mean…?”
The smart smirk dropped from her features, and her eyes narrowed.
Ah, and the tables turn.
“I mean put it away in my box.”
“Your box?” I questioned further with the raise of an eyebrow.
“Shut up,” she snapped at me.
“Later,” I teased. “I won’t say anything else.”
I looked around at the general female apparel and accessories hanging next to mine in the closet and all the product filling the counter of my bathroom vanity and tried to keep my brain on task. She didn’t like that I was calm, so I very much intended to stay that way.
“This sure is a lot of girl shit.”
She waggled her eyebrows and prompted me excitedly. “Yeah?”
I brushed a piece of hair from her face and murmured, “You must be worn out.”
She scrunched her eyebrows again. “Huh?”
“From all the packing and unpacking. How about I go get us some dinner?”
“Dinner?”
“Yeah. You know, the last meal of the day where we shouldn’t overeat but obviously do.”
“Dinner.”
“Yep,” I said with a pop of my p.
“I—” she started, but I cut her off.
For seemingly the first time during this interaction, she focused on my naked chest and torso. I unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned my dress pants as she watched.
“I’ll just shower quick and then run out,” I told her, stepping out of my shoes and socks and pushing my pants and boxer briefs to the floor. Her gaze followed every movement, but her mouth did absolutely zero talking.
“Did you want to join me, honey?” I asked.
“No,” she answered yet nodded her head at the same time.
I bit my lip to contain my laugh. “Throw those clothes in the hamper, okay?” I prompted with a wink and then climbed under the spray. I hadn’t even needed a shower, but fuck if the warm water didn’t feel good on my buzzing nerves as I watched the most obstinate woman on the planet stoop down to scoop up my dirty clothes. Confusion was an extremely powerful thing.
Showered and dressed, I walked out into the living room to find Cassie stretched out on the couch with the TV remote in hand. The screen was still black.
When I made it to her and she didn’t move, I reached toward her hand and pushed the power button without saying a word and then leaned down to touch my lips to her cheek. Her skin was warm and smelled like citrus. Immediately caught up in the memories of
sex and us, I had to fight the urge to linger.
“I’ll be back,” I called as I walked out the door. When I settled on the other side, I was overwhelmed by déjà vu, but this time, the all-encompassing question had more to do with me than it did her. “What the ever-loving fuck is going on?”
The situation, my reaction, the way it made me feel. All of it felt completely foreign.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I scrolled through recent calls and hit Kline before I moved an inch.
“Yeah?” he asked, laughter in his voice.
I closed my eyes and shook my head. I should have known. “You gave her a key, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t,” he denied. “But Georgie did.”
“What the fuck, man? Is there no bro code in that cold heart of yours?”
His chuckles were obnoxious. “I thought it was hilarious. And she’s just messing with you. You should be in heaven. You’re always messing with everyone.”
“That’s right,” I corrected. “I mess with everyone. Not the other way around.”
“Ah,” he breathed. “I see how it is.”
I narrowed my eyes at the realization he was making me out to be a pussy.
“I can handle it. I’m just not used to it.”
“Poor Thatch,” Kline fake pouted.
“Screw you. I don’t know why I call you.”
“Because you’re looking for reason, and I’m normally the voice of it.”
“Yeah, normally,” I agreed.
He laughed again, and I sighed long and deep. “Just have fun with it. That’s what you do with everything else.”
He was right. And there was one thing I found enjoyable above all others.
“That’s it,” Kline said with excitement in his voice just before I hung up. “That’s the sound of plotting.”
Fuck right.
The door clicked shut behind Thatch, and I stayed on his couch, a bit taken aback by the events that had just gone down. My gaze roamed his apartment—now, my apartment?—taking in the neutral yet sleek décor. Unable to comprehend what had happened between Thatch and me, or any of the implications of it, I came to the only conclusion I could: he had definitely paid someone to decorate his bachelor pad.