Scoring Her (Billionaire Bad Boys 3.5)

“What are you saying to her?”

“I’m lying to her. Telling her I have a headache.”

“Good idea,” Thatch agreed.

Georgia: Oh, no. Are you okay? Can I bring you anything?

“For fuck’s sake,” Thatch groaned as he read her response. “Does she ever give up?”

Me: Awww, you’re so sweet, but I’ll be okay. Just another hour or two of shut-eye and I should be good to go.

Georgia: So, are you going to grab the “shut-eye” before or after you eat?

Me: Definitely before I eat anything. Not sure my stomach could handle food right now.

Georgia: So, you’re just going to sleep at the table? Not sure that’s a good position for a headache…

Me: Huh?

Georgia: WE CAN SEE YOU ASSHOLES. GO AHEAD AND PUT YOUR MENUS DOWN.

Mayday…Mayday…the eagle has been spotted…

“Jig is up. Kleorgie is hip to our game, T,” I announced at a normal volume and set my menu on the table.

Thatch’s eyes went wide for a second until I pointed to the screen of my phone. He read the last text, and his shoulders sagged in defeat as he tossed his menu on the table. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Shit.”

Georgia: Your baby is fine btw.

“Ace is doing good, though.”

Thatch smiled. “Have her tell him we love him.”

I nodded. “Good idea.”

Me: Tell him Mommy and Daddy love him.

Georgia: You’re lucky I love my godson so much.

Me: Awww, and I know he loves his Auntie Georgia so much, too.

My eyes met Georgia’s, and she flipped me the bird before adjusting Ace on her hip and walking in the opposite direction of the dining room.

“Well, that went better than I thought it would go.”

“Yeah…” Thatch nodded and took a sip of coffee. “Can’t say I’m disappointed with the outcome.”

“Me either,” I agreed and then pointed to the dessert section of the menu that now sat on the table. “I think we should go for the Bananas Foster for our after-lunch dessert.”

He winked. “Perfect plan, honey.”

“Are you sure Lex is okay with Quinn?” I asked for probably the fourth time. I hadn’t questioned it at first, my little girl hanging out with the quarterback of my professional football team at a resort in a foreign country, but Kline’s astonishment when I had mentioned it to him upon our arrival went a long way to open my eyes. He didn’t get astonished about much, and if he was questioning it, I figured maybe I should be too. I’d just been too distracted this morning to put all of this well-meaning transference together—good God, Winnie’s legs wrap around me nearly twice.

“And Sean and Mitchell and Melinda and half the other players on the team?” Winnie asked sarcastically. I narrowed my eyes.

Her laugh rang out, rough and, yet, somehow melodic, through the open space of the lobby, and just like that, I wasn’t even the slightest bit annoyed with her teasing anymore.

“Yes. I’m fairly certain that Lex will be fine without us.”

I pouted a little anyway. Lexi Winslow made me smile, and I liked to spend time with her. My stupid players were hogging all the fun and beating me out by a mile in appeal. Apparently, even little girls didn’t mind a little positive attention from a bunch of brutes.

“Aw, don’t be sad,” Winnie consoled with a far too cheery lilt and a giggle.

“We’re the boring parents,” I sulked.

“Speak for yourself.” Her cheek lifted and jerked with the pop of a wink as she lifted up the hem of her shirt to show me the four-leaf clover tattoo she’d gotten spontaneously—by Thatch, no less. She said something about it bringing us luck.

All I saw was sex appeal.

God, yeah. Sex would make me feel better.

“Maybe we should—”

“Hey, look! It’s the people you’re having elaborate daydreams about,” Winnie said with a gesture toward the lobby café, the grand sweeping movement of her arm meant to force me into the convenient segue in conversation.

I followed her prompt and scanned the room, but it didn’t take me long to understand—Thatcher Kelly stood out like a very large sore thumb. One of those double-jointed ones you can’t help but stare at.

“More like nightmares,” I corrected with faux glumness. Winnie laughed and knocked my body off-balance with the slight weight of her own.

“I personally think it’s hilarious that they just showed up here without an invitation. I’ll be reliving the breastfeeding encounter for years to come.”

I smirked sardonically and shook my head. “You just haven’t spent enough time with them yet.”

A bark of laughter startled the silence and encouraged a smile to form on my face as she took my hand and pulled me in their direction.

“Where are you going?” I asked suspiciously—I had a feeling I already knew the traumatizing answer.

“Over to talk to them.”

I tugged at her hand to slow her down, but she redoubled her efforts and pulled harder. I followed helplessly.

I’d like to tell you that I stopped trying for fear of hurting her, but she’s actually just really fucking strong.

Still unwilling to subject myself to unnecessary torture, I tried reasoning with her verbally. “See. This is further evidence that you’re still learning. They haven’t seen us yet, which means we go in the opposite direction.” I hooked a thumb over my shoulder toward the elevators.

“Come on, grumpy Gus,” Winnie teased. “I want to go talk to them, which means—”

I sighed as my shoulders sank dramatically in defeat. “We’re going to talk to them.”

“Ah,” she breathed with a smile and a wink. “I guess you’ve already learned.”

That I’d do anything to see her smile?

Yeah, I’d learned that quite a while ago.

“All right,” I agreed, fake aggravation roughening my voice. “But you’re going to owe me for this.”

“Oh, I am, huh?”

I nodded with a knowing smirk.

“And what, exactly, is the expected payment?”

I feigned seriousness. “It’ll be tough.”

“Tough?” she questioned.

“And hard.”

“Hard, huh?” she asked, smiling now.

“Yep. Definitely hard. And dirty. You probably won’t even want to wear any clothes.”

She mocked a grimace. “I seem to have that problem a lot.”

“I know. But because I’m so gracious and all, I put up with it.”

“Look up magnanimous in the dictionary, and it’s your picture right next to it, huh?” she teased, wrapping her arms around my waist and plastering her body to mine.

“Let’s go upstairs,” I whispered, too turned on to give a flying fuck what we were talking about.

She bit her bottom lip and shook her head, just enough to tell me that I was completely at her mercy—and that we both very much knew it.

“It’s a no, then?” I questioned.

Her hair swayed as she shook her head, bemused. “It’s a no.”

“Just for now, though, right?” I asked as I advanced.

She put a warm hand to my chest to halt me. “Stop stalling, Wes.”

Smiling, I leaned in and just barely touched my mouth to the corner of her peachy-pink lips. “Okay,” I whispered there, inhaling the sweet smell of her skin. “All you have to do is ask, Fred, and it’s yours.”

“Ask and argue briefly,” she clarified.

“Of course.” I grinned. “That’s the fun part.”

“Oh, check it out!” Thatch boomed so loud Winnie jumped. I closed my eyes, knowing we’d been spotted.

I glanced toward the dining room where the two crazies were currently eating and then looked back at my wife. “Way to go, baby. It’s officially too late to get out now,” I whispered into Winnie’s ear. She rewarded me with an elbow to the ribs.

“Be nice.”

“I’m the epitome of nice,” I murmured as she turned from my arms and dragged me toward the table where a beaming Thatcher Kelly and his braless wife sat cozily beside one another.

What? It’s literally impossible not to notice.

“Holy hell, I think her nipple may have just pierced my eye,” Winnie said in an aside.

See?

As I sputtered and coughed on my own saliva, she slapped my back a couple of times once we stood at their table. It was anyone’s guess whether it was in an effort to save me or make it worse.

“Where’s your kid, Wesnnie?” Thatch asked immediately, but there was no room for anyone but him and Cassie in their apparently already ongoing conversation.

Cassie scoffed and shook her head.

“Winnes?” Thatch asked with a tilt of his head.

His wife’s face scrunched up in disgust. “No. They’re both garbage.”

“Yeah,” Thatch agreed. “Doesn’t have the necessary ring to it.”

“Um,” I butted in. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to give you a celebrity couple name,” he said condescendingly—as if I should have known.

“Bennifer, Brangelina, Kleorgie,” Cassie supplied helpfully as she smeared an entire tiny container of butter on a triangle of toast. She held it out for Thatch to take a bite, and he grinned like the fucking king of an Atlantis castle.