by Max Monroe
I grumbled, but what I didn’t do was tell them to fuck off. It was just us, no clients to speak of, and I was liking being with both of them.
Knowing it’d take nearly a year for a pizza to be delivered to this location at this time of night, I considered going out to get it myself. But all it took was one glance at Cassie’s face, relaxed with genuine interest and wonder as she hunched over Frankie showing her the inner workings of his tattoo machine, to know I wasn’t going fucking anywhere.
Kline and Wes knew nearly everything about me—my wild teenage antics and Margo’s death. But neither of them knew I’d been apprenticing to actually become a tattoo artist.
I wanted to tell Cassie, though. So much so I had to fight the urge to just blurt it out.
Grabbing my phone off the counter, I reached for my wallet from my back pocket, but when my fingers met the seam, I knew immediately something was wrong. I patted at the fabric in shock, but that didn’t change the outcome.
“Fuck!”
“What?” Cassie asked, jumping up from her spot next to Frankie and coming toward me.
Over a goddamn decade in this city, and I’d finally been pickpocketed. All because my brain had been more concerned about the bump in the front of my pants than keeping the one in the rear.
“What happened?” Frankie called with a crease in his brow as the corners of my mouth started to turn up.
It was completely possible I was actually losing my mental stability. I’d just been taken for the first time in my life. I’d have to get on the phone immediately to cancel all of my shit, go to the DMV for a new license, alert the doorman of my apartment, and never, ever get back the cash I’d had in there, and still, I was smiling. Because when I thought about how distracted I’d been, how irresponsible it was to let my guard down like that, it made me think about why I’d done it—and the way her lips had followed mine like they couldn’t get enough.
I shook my head with a laugh. “Somebody stole my wallet.”
“What?” Cassie shrieked, and Frankie’s brows pushed even closer together.
“How’d that happen?” Frankie asked.
I looked to Cassie’s face and didn’t even try to stop the smile on my own. “I guess I was distracted.”
She blushed, something I didn’t even think was possible when it came to her. She was not the kind of woman who dissolved into a puddle of embarrassment or should-haves, and she never apologized for anything. But she’d felt the same thing I had, that much was more apparent than ever, and the only thing that could make her flush like that was the unexpected.
I knew that was true because the same was true for me.
“I guess rule number twelve should be no kissing in public,” she said with a quick glance at Frankie as she hopped onto the counter in front of me.
I just shook my head. “No way.”
“Come on, Thatcher. The rules need a good, solid foundation, and it seems like this one is warranted.”
“I’ll burn the whole house of rules down. No rule number twelve.”
“Not ever?” she asked with faux seriousness.
I couldn’t find it in me to care that she was mocking me.
“Nope. It’ll be like the thirteenth floor of buildings. It just doesn’t exist.”
“Is it because you’re afraid of it?” she teased.
I shook my head. “It’s because if that rule exists, it’ll only be as a literal example of made to be broken.”
“Why waste the paperwork, then, huh?”
“Exactly.”
Me: Rule #25: Don’t use my body wash.
Thatch: But what if I’m using it on you?
Me: Are you asking for shower sex, Thatcher?
Thatch: I’m not asking, honey.
Me: Ohhhhh, T’s going all alpha male. Will Sir spank me later too?
Thatch: Only if Mistress Cassie begs.
Me: On my knees?
Thatch: You’re making me hard.
Me: Considering a fucking breeze could get you hard, this is not surprising.
Thatch: YOU make me hard. All the fucking time.
Me: Charming me with your snake?
Thatch: What can I say? I have my sweet moments.
Thatch: What are your plans today? Can you do me a favor?
Me: Nothing major. Just editing some photos. You want another office blow job?
Thatch: Yes, but let’s put that on the books for tomorrow. Today, I’ve got something else going on.
Me: And what’s that?
Thatch called my phone thirty seconds later.
“Well, hello, Master,” I teased.
His deep chuckle filled my ear. “Can you be flexible with your schedule today?”
“I can probably work something out. What’d you have in mind?”
“Well, I’m supposed to pick Mila up at one for a Central Park date, but I’ve got a last-minute investors meeting at noon that I can’t skip out on. By the time I get out of this, it will only give me ten minutes to get to Claire and Frankie’s.”
“You want me to pick her up and bring her to your office?” I offered. I generally wasn’t one to rearrange my schedule for a man, but Mila was an exception. I looked around Thatch’s apartment. It wasn’t like I had to travel from Guatemala to do it either.
Next time you have the opportunity to spend time with Mila you probably will be doing a shoot in Guatemala, the little voice inside my head told me. Don’t pass this up.
“Do you mind? Mila is always waiting for me on the front porch, and I’d feel like a bastard for showing up forty minutes late.”
“I’ll do it under one condition,” I negotiated.
I could tell he was smiling when he said, “And what would that be?”
“I’m driving your Audi.”
He laughed again. “You can drive the Audi, but only if you promise to stick around and hang out with us today.”
Yeah, I would have done that anyway. No way was I driving all the way up there to get her and not get to spend the day with her.
“Awwww…Thatcher can’t get enough of me?”
“Something like that.”
“Okay. I’m in. Text me their address, and I’ll get ready to head out now.”
“Thanks, honey.”
I hung up the phone and saved the open files on my laptop before shutting it off. Even though I was on a deadline, and would probably need to put in a sixteen-hour day tomorrow to finish up the pictorial I owed Men’s Health, I decided Mila was more important. And, well, hanging out with Thatch for the day wasn’t exactly a chore.
Actually, I was finding it was the opposite; I really enjoyed spending time with him. He teased and flirted with me relentlessly, and he always found a way to make me laugh.
Last night, I had come home to Thatch sitting in a bubble bath with my favorite exfoliating treatment smeared across his face. The fact that he had finished off a fifty-dollar bottle of face cream—that bastard’s big head had some serious square footage—should have earned him a dick slap, but even I couldn’t deny he had looked fucking adorable.
So adorable, I’d stripped right out of my clothes and joined him.
God, he was a creative motherfucker. And so goddamn much fun. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d enjoyed being with someone so much that the tank never topped up—I always wanted more. His ridiculous smirk or stupid fucking winks or the feel of his big body spooned around mine. No matter how much he did it, it never felt like enough.
When in the hell had he become so vital to my daily life?
It had to be the Supercock. Or his big hands. Or maybe it was his talented mouth.
Yeah, it’s none of those things, moron. This isn’t a game anymore, my brain whispered. You’re falling straight into the real deal with the charming ogre.
I quickly shook off those thoughts and set my focus on less confusing things, like getting ready to pick up Mila.
An hour later, I was pulling up in front of Frankie and Claire’s sweet hou
se in Thatch’s sweet-ass ride. The Audi in question was red, a convertible, and drove like a fucking dream. Since owning a car in New York was generally more hassle than it was worth, it was nice to be able to drive on occasion. And the car made it that much nicer. I made a note to myself to find more reasons to borrow this car. Or one of the others. The proud owner of several, he was no Kline Brooks in that department.
Mila jumped up from the porch swing and came barreling down their front steps, sprinting toward the car before I had a chance to get out of the driver’s seat.
“Aunt Cass!” she shouted.
“Slow down, Mila,” Claire called behind her, following her daughter’s lead while shaking her head in amusement.
Mila didn’t waste any time, opening the passenger door and hopping into the back seat. “Where’s Uncle Thatch?” she asked, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror.
I turned in my seat to face her, taking in her current attire with tickled eyes. From the Harry Styles is my boyfriend T-shirt to her rain boots covered in cut-out magazine pictures of the band, she was decked out, head to toe, in One Direction gear.
“We’re meeting him at his office. Is it okay that I’m coming along today?”
She pumped her little fist in the air. “Yes! I’m so excited!”
“Hey, Cass,” Claire said once she reached the vehicle. “I’m surprised to see you today.”
“I thought I’d tag along, but only because I wanted to hang out with Mila,” I said, winking at the adorable little girl in the back seat.
“Please excuse her outfit,” Claire whispered, leaning over the passenger door and into my space so I could hear her. “But I couldn’t convince her to change.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” I whispered back and then said loud enough for Mila to hear, “One Direction is the coolest.”
“I love One Direction!” Mila agreed excitedly.
Claire laughed. “She literally made those boots this morning. I have a feeling you’ll be losing pictures of Harry and the gang all over Central Park this afternoon.”
“Let’s go!” Mila encouraged. “Bye, Mom!”
Claire laughed. “You think she’s a little eager to leave?”
“Maybe just a little bit,” I agreed, grinning.
After Claire got Mila settled in her booster seat in the back and kissed her daughter good-bye, we were on our way, sunglasses on and ready to rumble.
“You wanna listen to some music?” I asked at a stoplight.
“One Direction!”
Of course, I thought to myself and smiled. “You got it, girlfriend.” I grabbed my phone and pulled up Spotify. Once the perfect playlist—every single One Direction album—was set up, I hit play and headed for Manhattan.
“Wooohoooo!” Mila yelled from the back seat. She alternated between singing the lyrics to every song at the top of her little lungs and throwing her hands in the air as we cruised back into the city.
Traffic was bustling as we drove up 5th Avenue, but that was the New York norm. The streets were cluttered with yellow cabs honking their horns and pedestrians hurriedly crossing the busy intersections. Tourists stared up at the enormous skyscrapers from the sidewalks and natives abruptly moved around them, annoyed and desperate to get to their next destination.
“We need to make a quick stop, okay?” I told Mila as I pulled up in front of Brooks Media.
She clapped her hands. “I hope it’s somewhere fun!”
Paul—one of the security guards for Kline’s building—strode over toward our car, irritation etched across his face. “Ma’am, you can’t park—wait…Cassie Phillips?” Paul’s irritation turned to intrigue, a soft smirk covering his lips.
“Hey, handsome.” I winked. “How are you?”
“It’s been a while, sweetheart. Ever since Georgia left, we never see your gorgeous face around here.”
“I guess I should change that, huh?”
He nodded. “Definitely.”
“Listen, I need to leave the car here for about fifteen minutes. I just need to run inside and grab something from Dean.”
“Cass…I don’t know…”
“Oh, c’mon, Paulie.” I batted my eyelashes. “I promise we’ll be quick.”
He shrugged. “Okay. But make it quick.”
“You’re the best,” I said, getting out of the driver’s seat and helping Mila out of her booster. “I owe you one.”
“Dinner with me, and we’ll call it even.”
I grinned in his direction as I grabbed Mila’s hand. “I’m not sure my boyfriend would be too thrilled with me going out with other men.”
“Boyfriend?” His eyebrows rose. “Cassie Phillips has a boyfriend?”
“Her boyfriend is my Uncle Thatch!” Mila chimed in.
Surprise consumed Paul’s face. “Thatch? As in Thatch Kelly?”
“That’s him!” The little chatterbox continued to speak for me.
I laughed. “This is his niece and fan club, Mila.”
Paul kneeled in front of her, holding out his hand. “Well, pretty Mila, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said as he took her hand and kissed the top.
She giggled, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously, and I couldn’t help but laugh. This little girl already had men eating out of the palm of her hand. Her teenage years would give Frankie, Claire, and probably Thatch, a run for their money.
“Thanks again, Paul,” I called over my shoulder as we strode inside Brooks Media.
“Where are we?” Mila asked, looking around the lobby of the Winthrop Building in wonder.
“We’re heading to my friend’s office. I need to borrow something from him,” I explained as I led her onto the elevator.
“I think I’ve been here before,” she said as we stepped off the elevator and walked through the hallway outlined by various offices. “Does Uncle Thatch’s friend work here?”
“Who? Kline?”
“Yep,” she said with a nod, and her ponytail bounced up and down in response. “Last time I was here, Kline let me play games on his computer.”
“He does work here.” Owned the place. Same thing. Knowing Kline, he’d probably told her he was his own secretary. I grabbed her hand and led her to the end of the hall, where Dean’s office was located. Mila looked on as I turned the knob and opened the door just slightly. “Is this where the One Direction fan club meetings are held?” I asked, peeking my head in to find him typing away on his laptop.
He looked up and grinned. “Only if you brought a ready and willing Harry Styles with you.”
I laughed, opening the door wider and ushering Mila inside. “Well, I brought their biggest fan. Does that count?”
Dean stood up and walked around his desk. His grin widened as he took in Mila’s attire. “Little Miss, you are my new favorite person. I want Harry to be my boyfriend, too.”
Mila’s hand went straight to her hip, and a determined look crossed her tiny face. “He can’t be your boyfriend cuz he’s gonna be my boyfriend. When I’m thirteen, Harry is gonna marry me. I’m gonna wear a pink dress and he’s gonna kiss me.” And she punctuated that statement with a snap in the air.
Dean laughed, visibly amused by her pint-sized sass. “Will you at least invite me to your wedding?”
She eyed him skeptically and pointed her little index finger in his direction. “Only if you promise to not eat all the pizza and donuts.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Donuts?”
She nodded. “Um, yeah. Harry and me is gonna have pizza and a donut cake at our wedding.”
Man, I loved her little mind. My perfect wedding would be pizza and a donut cake, too. And hell, to be honest, I had never really been completely sold on kids. But Mila was the kind of little girl who could maybe get me to consider purchasing some little monsters of my own.
“Deal, little diva,” Dean agreed, smiling down at her.
I tugged on her ponytail. “I hope you’re going to invite me.”
“Duh.” She rolled her eyes. “You a
nd Uncle Thatch have to bring my baby cousin to the wedding, Aunt Cassie!”
Dean’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Baby?”
I laughed and sliced a hand through the air for emphasis. “No baby.”
“Not yet,” Mila insisted. “But soon. You just gotta marry Uncle Thatch first.”
His head tilted to the side. “Uncle Thatch? Something you need to tell me?”
“Nope.”
“Lies-a-Minnelli,” he retorted, and I laughed again.
“Later,” I agreed. “When little ears aren’t around.”
“I’m holding you to that because you know I have got to know everything.” He pointed at me and winked. “Okay, so not that I don’t love that you’re here, but seriously, why are you here?”
“Well, as you can see, Mila is dressed to impress, but I’m kind of lacking,” I hinted. “I’m a sad excuse for a Directioner.”
He raised a sharp brow. “Who told you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I lied. “I just felt like maybe you had some gear I could borrow.”
Dean definitely had the goods. A few years back, One Direction had had a tour stop in the city, and there was a pop-up store for fans inside Madison Square Garden. Georgia might have told me homeboy had cleaned out on anything and everything Brit boy-band themed.
“Don’t ask questions and follow me,” he said, striding out of his office. Mila looked up at me excitedly and pretended to zip her lips.
A few turns through back hallways I’d never been privy to venturing later, he ushered us inside a storeroom on the other side of the floor. Once he switched on the light, the entire room looked like a teenage girl had vomited up her fandom. The walls were lined with posters. There was not one, not two, but three racks cluttered with clothing. And cardboard cutouts of the band stood in the corner.
“Omigod! This is so cool!” Mila jumped up and down.
“I know,” Dean agreed. “This is my favorite place in the building.”
“I’m shocked Kline lets you use this for your undying One Direction love.” I glanced around the room, while Mila helped herself to the racks of clothes.