“My mom is a fucking lunatic.”
“Well, it’s safe to say she’s pro-anal,” Kline added, amused.
New York, Thursday, April 20th, Afternoon
“I can’t believe you lost their cat!” I shouted, stomping my foot against the pavement of the sidewalk. We’d been walking in circles, covering what felt like every square inch of Central Park and the ten blocks surrounding Georgia and Kline’s. And even though Thatch had suggested we comb the apartment building first, I just knew with the way that little fucker enjoyed licking himself on a daily basis, he hadn’t wasted any time hanging around, and was probably out looking for pussy in the streets.
Thatch stopped in his tracks and turned to face me. God, he was tall. And big. As he moved closer, I realized just how huge he really was—at least six five and every damn inch of him was framed with big, delicious, he-should-be-naked-all-the-time kind of muscles.
His brown eyes shone in the sunlight as one eyebrow quirked up, and a knowing smile curved the line of his lips, highlighting the dark scruff covering his strong jaw. He was about a week’s worth of growth from having an actual beard.
“I lost their cat?” he questioned, visibly amused. “The ol’ Thatch film roll shows the cat sneaking out when I was holding back a certain someone who was about to go Fight Club on an elderly woman.”
“She was not elderly.” I rolled my eyes. “She was like fifty, tops.”
He laughed, loud and hearty. I kind of hated the way that laugh forced my focus to his lips. They were thick, full, and downright kissable. “Her name is Mrs. Thomas, and she is five years younger than Kline’s grandmother, Marylynn.”
Well, shit. I guess she was a little older than I thought. Whatever. The bitch—nice, elderly broad—had asked for it. I mean, she’d stepped out of her apartment and basically said I wasn’t classy. Pfffffft. I was the classiest bitch I knew. And if I wasn’t, I was definitely the Cassiest, and that was close-e-fucking-nough.
“How do you know who that lady was?”
“Because I know everything, honey.” He tapped the side of his head and flashed one of his signature winks. “If it can be seen, I’m seeing it, and anything I can get a hand in, I do.” His eyes burned with innuendo and confidence. “It’s about time you started figuring that out.”
“I swear to God, if you wink at me or another horny admirer on the street one more fucking time, I will cut your nuts off.”
He laughed, again, and then his eyes honed in on my chest. “Ah, don’t be jealous. I’ve been a one-girl-at-a-time kind of a guy since last Thursday. And after the conversation I had with your tits, you’re the number one girl on my list.”
Christ. This guy. He was maybe the biggest flirt I’d ever met. Besides me.
I pushed my braless chest out, knowing full well my nipples were nearly poking holes through my T-shirt. “These tits? They do it for you, baby?” I purred.
“Fuck. Yes.” He nodded and swayed toward me like a huge tree in the breeze.
I ran my finger between my cleavage and then back up, crooking it toward him.
He followed, like a fucking puppy, until we were chest-to-chest. His gaze met mine, and I flashed him a smile that said, “I want you.”
Thatch took that as a hell yes, his face morphing to something way more serious than I was expecting.
His mouth closed in on mine, and that’s when I dropped the seductive act. Both of my hands reached out, and my fingers found his nipples through his shirt. With both index fingers and thumbs working as a team, I pinched and twisted those babies with all of my might. Probably hard enough to leave bruises.
“Ah, hell!” he shouted, jumping away from me while slapping my hands away in the process. “What the fuck was that for?”
I shrugged and bit my bottom lip. “I thought you liked it rough.”
“What?” His large hands covered his chest while his face turned to a grimace. “You are literally the craziest woman I’ve ever met.”
“It’s about time you started figuring that out.” I tossed his earlier words back at him. “And maybe you’ll think twice the next time you feel like perving out over my fantastic rack.”
“Maybe if you’d worn a bra, I wouldn’t be so tempted. Your nipples have been saluting me, and every other motherfucker in this city, since we left the apartment.”
I glanced down and couldn’t exactly disagree. The only reason I wasn’t wearing a bra was because Walnuts decided to use my bag as a litter box and Georgia’s bras were about three sizes too small. My boobs were big, they had always been big, and though I may have been the type to show some skin, I had never set a precedent for trying to poke people’s eyes out with my nipples.