by Max Monroe
“Yay!” she squeaked, reaching for the phone. I pulled it away slightly.
“But let’s not say anything about playing hide-and-seek for Stan, okay?” I whispered.
Her tiny eyebrows squished together, but Ace nodded his support, saying, “Yeah, we don’t say anything to Daddio or your mommy.”
“Don’t say anything to Daddio?” I muttered as Julia snagged the phone from my hand. “Ace, what did you say?”
His eyes widened. “Nothing.”
“Ace, if you know something about where Stan is, you have to tell me,” I whispered so my voice wouldn’t carry over the phone.
He shook his head, but his eyes did the crazy crossing thing they did when he was lying. He’d mastered the game pretty well, but when faced with a direct question, he almost always broke.
“Ace, tell Daddy what you know. This is very serious.”
“Mommy! Can we get another dog?” Julia asked. “Cause Stan’s—”
I reached out and snagged the phone, putting it back to my ear while I covered Julia’s mouth. “Oh, shoot, G. She took off. You know kids, running away mid-sentence.”
“Lia!” Ace yelled. “Fuck!”
Oh, shit.
“Did he just say fuck?” I heard in the background, in what I could have sworn was my wife’s voice. My wife, who was supposedly still at work.
Something was smelling fishier and fishier by the motherfluffing minute.
“Is Cassie there?” I asked outright.
“Uh…no,” Georgia mumbled. So, basically, yes.
Mm-hmm. Just as I suspected.
“Did she get off of work early?”
Georgia giggled nervously. “She’s not here, Thatch.”
Cassie not at work, Georgia calling and asking prying questions—also not at work—and a fucking tractor-trailer-size dog vanishing, from the bedside of the baby he loves, without a trace.
My eyes narrowed. I had a feeling I wasn’t the villain I thought I was in this scenario, but I wouldn’t rest until I was sure.
“Okay. I must be imagining her,” I excused. “I just miss her when she works on weekends.”
“Aww,” Georgia mooned. “That’s…God, that’s so sweet.”
There. She was sufficiently buttered and ready to motherfluffing crack. Now I just had to leave her hanging.
“It is, isn’t it? Anyway, tell my wife I love her.”
“Thatch, Cassie isn’t—”
“Talk soon, Georgie. Buh-bye now.”
“Do you think he knows?” Georgia asked, and I shrugged.
“Probably not.” Honestly, I wasn’t sure. My husband had a knack for sniffing out a prank. It was a skill he’d honed after years of setting up his own entertaining schemes—a mutual interest that actually brought us together in the first place.
And if I were him, yeah, I’d probably know something was up. A dog that was bigger than most teenage boys didn’t just up and disappear. Plus, my best friend, although I love her dearly, sucked goat cheese at lying. She’d basically given Thatch all of the clues in a few simple words.
“This is starting to stress me out.” She scrubbed a hand down her panicked face. “How in the hell do you guys manage to keep these going for more than a day?”
“Just relax,” I reassured. “Enjoy our day of shopping, and I’ll give Thatch a quick call to get the lay of the land.”
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and hit Call on Thatch’s name. As I held my phone up to my ear and listened to the first unanswered ring, I glanced outside the store window of Bella’s to make sure Georgia’s horse hadn’t moved from his spot just outside the entrance.
“Is he answering?” she asked while she perused a rack of vintage dresses. “I’m starting to feel a little bad. I mean—”
“No,” I cut her off as the third unanswered ring filled my ear. “Put those sad little doe eyes away, Bambi. This is just a simple little prank. Not homicide.”
She flashed a pointed look in my direction. “Technically, it’s dognapping.”
“Borrowing,” I corrected.
“Stealing,” she retorted. “A dog. My dog, for that matter.”
“Meh. Tomayto tomahto.”
She shook her head on a laugh. “It’s kind of an evil prank, Cass.”
“It’s not that evil,” I scoffed and nodded toward Stan outside the window. “Stan is having the time of his life. It’s not like I’ve got him locked up inside a kennel. If anything, we did your horse a favor, Georgie. He’s enjoying some alone time without his feline lover demanding every second of his attention.”
Georgia looked at Stan and then back at me. “I bet Walter is losing his shit right now.”
I laughed.
“Poor Thatch,” she added.
“No,” I retorted. “Not poor Thatch. Have you forgotten the fact that he thinks your dog is missing and he didn’t even call you? Nor did he tell you when you called him?”
“Ugh. True. He’s definitely blacklisted from all future pet sitting opportunities.” Her voice dropped to a level of self-reflection. “Though, I will say he sounded pretty sweet with the kids.”
“Jesus. He’s not answering.” I hit End on the call before it went to voice mail and fired off a quick text to my husband, who I assumed, was currently looking for Stan, and quite possibly, trying to avoid the wrath of Satan’s claws.
Me: Call me back, T-bag. I want to chat with Ace.
Thatch: I’m a little busy here, Cass.
Me: Oh c’mon. You’re not that busy. Three kids and two pets isn’t that hard to manage.
Thatch: What do you mean, two pets?
Oh, fuck. How did I fudge that up?
I might as well have let Georgia send these texts.
God, it was safe to say that I officially had pregnancy brain.
Me: Philmore doesn’t count. When he’s not getting fed, he’s usually sleeping on his bed. And since it’s not meal time, I know it’s his nap time.
And from the looks of, it was also Stan the Man’s nap time. The proof lay outside the store with his leash hooked to a pole and his big, sleepy doggy face resting on his paws.
Thatch: Of course he’s sleeping. But still, I feel like I’m running a day care over here. It’s hard work, Cass.
Pfffft. Yeah. Hard work to find a missing dog…
Me: Can I talk to Ace?
Thatch: Nope. He’s busy.
Me: Busy? He’s 4. What in the hello is he busy with?
Thatch: You know how he is. He’s a busy guy. Places to run. Shit to destroy. His schedule is jam-packed, honey. I’ll let him know you called, though.
Before I could respond, he followed that up with another text message.
Thatch: Will you ask Georgia if Julia can have chocolate milk?
Just play it off, Cass.
Me: Are you wanting me to call her? Why can’t you just call her?
Holy sneakers. No. Unless I wanted to blow the lid off this Popsicle stand, I couldn’t allow any more phone conversations with Wheorgie.
Me: Jesus. Hold on. I’ll call her. It should be noted here that I’m actually working, and you’re just sitting at home playing with kids and pets all day.
Thatch: Thanks, honey. I’m sure you’ll have no issues getting ahold of her.
Fuck, he knows. I needed to play this off at an expert level or else the prank would be dunzo.
Me: She’s not answering. I sent her a text. I’ll let you know if she gets back to me. Quick, send me a Bambi pose before I have to get back on set.
Thatch: I’m watching kids and pets, Crazy. I don’t have time to Bambi pose for you.
Me: Liar. I know you have at least 4 new ones saved on your phone.
Thatch: If I get through this day, I’ll pose for you while you take live shots tonight.
Me: With the Supercock out.
Thatch: Deal.
“Can Julia have chocolate milk?” I asked, and Georgia looked at me over the vintage black leather Prada purse in her hands.
> “Uh, yeah, why?”
“Thatch wanted to know.”
“Oh. My. God. He knows!” she exclaimed, and I gestured for her to calm down before we got kicked out of Bella’s.
“Chill out, Wheorgie,” I demanded and held up my phone for her to read the text conversation. “I handled it.”
Her eyes scanned the messages, and eventually, her shoulders relaxed and she asked, “All right, I am probably going to regret asking this, but what in the hell is a Bambi pose?”
I grinned. “You haven’t seen it yet? It’s the new Instagram craze,” I explained. “And God, I love when Thatch Bambi poses for me. It probably shouldn’t turn me on, but fluffing hello, it does.”
Honestly, it did. Seeing that big, muscular body of his in the Bambi pose was like crack to my pussy. She was addicted and probably needed rehab at this point.
“A bigger craze than duck face?”
“Uh-huh. It’s amazing,” I added and scrolled through a few photos on my phone.
“Here, let me show you one.” Once I found the perfect one, I held the screen for her eyes, and she immediately freaked out and covered the top of my phone with her hand.
“Jesus, Cass! My eyes!”
“What?” I questioned and glanced down at my gorgeous and sexy husband all posed out for me. “My husband is a sexy motherfluffer.”
Her jaw dropped. “You literally just showed me a picture of Thatch’s penis…with Thatch’s penis…God, there was a penis.”
Yeah, so maybe I should’ve chosen a picture where my husband had pants on, but I couldn’t deny that embarrassing Georgia had always been one of my favorite pastimes.
“I love the Supercock.” I grinned and waggled my eyebrows. “And I love that you still say the word penis like a little schoolmarm. God, I bet Big-dick gets so horny over your innocent and shy routine.”
“Shut. Up.”
“Do you even do that when he’s sliding through your back door?”
“Oh. My. God,” she exclaimed, and immediately, Stan perked up outside and started barking through the window.
“Shit,” Georgia muttered while Stan continued to power loud, deep barks from his lungs.
The young store clerk looked at us with annoyance, and my best friend glared at me.
“Thanks a lot,” Georgia said and headed outside. “I didn’t even get to hit the back racks yet.”
I followed her out and watched her untie a barking Stan’s leash from the pole. “You were the one who was yelling, not me.”
She huffed out her frustration in three quick breaths before lowering her voice to a near whisper. “Because you were forcing me to look at Thatch’s penis and talking about anal sex.”
I smirked. “You know, people only get defensive when they’re trying to lie about something, Wheorgie.”
“I’m not talking about this with you,” she muttered and then held out Stan’s leash toward me. “Did you bring some food for him? I’m pretty sure it’s time for him to eat.”
“Uh, no. I’m not toting around dog food in my purse, Wheorgie. Why do you think I gave him beef jerky and half of my chicken salad sandwich earlier?”
“You’re literally the world’s worst dognapper.” She sighed in annoyance and took Stan’s leash from my hand. Once she spotted an empty bench outside of the store, she walked toward it and sat down. “I wonder if there are any pet stores close by,” she muttered, and Stan sat down in front of her, his giant doggy face nudging her thigh and whining his hunger.
“Just breastfeed him,” I teased, and she choked on a laugh.
“You’re fluffing ridiculous. I’m not breastfeeding my dog.”
“What?” I feigned confusion and sat down beside her. “I’m sure you’ve got enough milk in those tits for that big horse.” I smiled, but a lady passing by us with one of the worst looks of disgust I’ve ever witnessed ruined my high.
She scoffed and stared at Georgia and then the dog like an actual gang bang was occurring right before her very eyes.
“What are you looking at?” I questioned, and the lady’s eyes met mine.
“Stop it, Cass,” Georgia muttered, but I ignored her. Not because I didn’t value my best friend’s opinion, but because I was all hopped up on pregnancy hormones and this judgmental woman deserved a piece of my mind.
She stopped right in front of us. “People like you shouldn’t even be allowed in public. If she starts breastfeeding that mutt, I’m calling the cops.”
“It was a joke, lady.” I stood up and pointed in her direction. “And you shouldn’t be in public with your asshole attitude. You’re what’s wrong with society today.”
“No, you are,” she retorted. “Just talking about something like that is absolutely repulsive.”
“Stop it, Cass,” Georgia whispered beside me through gritted teeth.
Fluff this woman.
“What offended you so much while you were listening to our conversation? The idea of breastfeeding or just boobs in general?” I asked, and she scoffed. “Is it boobs that offend you that much?” I questioned and pulled down the top of my blouse to expose mine. “How about now? Are you even more offended?”
“Oh. My. God. Put your boobs away,” Georgia exclaimed.
“You’re disgusting!” the woman shouted in my direction before quickly walking away from us.
“The only thing disgusting right now is your judgy attitude!” I shouted toward her back while I tucked my tits back into my bra, but all she did was stomp her feet in the opposite direction and hot glue her phone to her ear to bitch about her experience with me.
Served her right. I mean, maybe flashing her was a little over the top, but I blamed the pregnancy mood swings. Plus, New York was starting to get a little warm, and my blood was filled with enough hormones that hot flashes were a constant. My tits needed a little air.
“Seriously, Cass. I think you’ve reached your day’s limit of illegal activities.”
I shook my head. “That wasn’t illegal.”
“Uh…yeah, indecent exposure ring a bell?”
“Meh.” I waved it off with my hand. “I’d just tell the cop we were breastfeeding.”
“There’s no baby here, Cass.”
I glanced down at my belly, and she laughed.
“No baby that can actually breastfeed, ya freak!”
Her phone started to ring inside of her purse, and I pulled it out and handed it to her, announcing, “It’s Will.”
With her the free hand that wasn’t keeping hungry Stan calm with soft caresses to the top of his head, she hit Accept and greeted, “Hey, what’s up?”
Georgia’s eyes went wide with whatever her brother was saying on the other line.
“What do you mean Thatch called you?” she questioned.
Uh-oh…
“Uhh…well…yeah…Julia and Evie are with Thatch,” she fumbled over her words. “And Walter and Stan? Well…”
Before she could ruin the whole plan, I snagged the phone from her hand and put it up to my ear. “Hey, William, it’s Cass.”
“What’s going on? I’m about to go into a delivery, and your husband is calling and asking me if there’s a way to put out Amber Alerts for dogs.”
Call me evil, but I laughed at that. Unfortunately, it was loud enough to startle a half-asleep Stan. He lifted his head off of Georgia’s lap and started barking.
Fluffing hell. I think it was safe to say I was too pregnant for this shit. It was like I was completely off my game now. These pregnancy hormones were ruining everything for fluffer nutter’s sake.
“Whose dog is that?” Will questioned suspiciously.
“Uhh…no one’s,” I muttered. “So, how’s the baby business, William?” I tried to redirect the conversation, but he wasn’t having it.
“No one’s dog? I can hear a dog barking, Cass.”
“It’s okay, buddy,” Georgia whispered toward her horse and rubbed behind his ears with her fingers.
“And I can now hear my sister
talking to a dog,” Will added and I sighed. “Is Stan with you guys?”
“Uhh… What exactly do you mean by with you guys?”
“Seriously?” Will snapped, audibly out of patience for the day. I guessed pregnancy was making everyone crazy today. “What is going on?”
“Well…it’s a possibility that Thatch might think he lost Stan.”
A shocked laugh left his lips. “Might think?”
“It’s just a little prank, Will,” I reassured.
“This is kind of a fucked-up prank, Cass. Like, even for you, it’s a bit over the top,” he stated in disbelief.
But before he could get another word out, someone in the background called toward him, “Dr. Cummings. We need you in room four right now!”
“Shit. I gotta go,” he muttered and immediately ended the call.
Relief filled my veins until Georgia’s and my phone buzzed with a text.
It was from Will.
With Kline included in the group message.
Oh, holy sneakers.
Will: Thatch thinks he lost one of your pets.
Kline: Which one? Please tell me Walter…
Will: Stan, actually.
Kline: Shit.
Will: But Cass and Georgia (who are in this group text) have him right now in the name of a prank. I have to run into a delivery now, but I thought you should know.
“Goddammit, Cass,” Georgia muttered. “Kline is going to be so pissed at me.”
“Hot makeup sex later?” I suggested, and she flashed an irritated glare in my direction.
Geez. Tough crowd.
Kline: Georgia, what’s going on? Is everything okay?
Georgia: Everything is fine. No need to worry, baby.
Kline: Do you have Stan?