Banking Her (Billionaire Bad Boys 2.5)

“Why you’re friends with me. The big dick.”

I laughed then. “No, no. I can assure you my friendship has nothing to do with, and I quote, ‘the big dick.’”

“Come on. You know you wouldn’t want to be friends with some little-dicked guy.”

“I’m pretty sure I want to be friends with the guy who doesn’t tell me about his dick size.”

“Huh.” He managed to sound like I’d surprised him. “Well, you’re out of luck there.”

“Thatch, I’m hanging up now.”

“Wait!”

God help me. I glanced over my shoulder once more, but in my attempt to do it inconspicuously, I completely failed to see anything. Apparently, subterfuge wasn’t my specialty.

“I just want to know what safety precautions you have on board your plane.”

My eyebrows shot together. “What?”

His voice turned suddenly serious. “I know Cassie has that shoot coming up for your away game—”

That wasn’t for a couple of weeks. Did I really have to deal with this now? “Thatch—”

“And I’m really trying not to get in her face about all the traveling and everything because, yeah, she’ll pretty much cut my big dick off, but I just need to know.”

I still didn’t even understand what he was asking. “I’m not following here.”

“What kind of medical provisions do you have on the plane?”

I glanced back into the office at Winnie, and actually caught sight of her this time, to find her sitting behind her desk and staring at the ground. I wondered if she was trying to avoid looking at me as hard as I was trying to avoid looking at her.

“Well, Winnie will be on the plane with us. And she’s a doctor.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. That’s right.” He exhaled, and for the first time in this entire conversation, I didn’t want to wring his motherfucking neck.

I was a lot of things, a fair many of them probably not good, but I could tell when something genuinely meant something to him. “She’ll be fine,” I told him gently.

“I know. Fuck. I just can’t stop myself from worrying.”

I shut my eyes. Goddamn this big fucking sap. When he was vulnerable like this, I could barely even stand it. He was so damn genuine. “That means you’re going to be a good dad.”

He didn’t say anything, and I felt my chest tighten.

“I promise that Winnie will look out for her,” I told him. I knew he needed the extra encouragement, and in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to give it to him. “She’s more than capable, and you know that, no matter what, I’d make sure Cassie got the help she needed.”

“I know.”

“Thatch—”

“I’ll let you go,” he interrupted. “Go do anal with the good doctor.”

The line was dead before I could respond.

I shook my head to clear it and then turned to walk into Winnie’s office. I didn’t bother knocking as I walked through the already open door.

“Thatch?” she asked, and I raised my eyebrows.

“How could you tell?”

She put a finger to the skin between her own eyebrows and explained. “You always get a line, right here, when you talk to him.”

I laughed and shook my head, and then, for some reason, shared. “He’s really nervous about Cassie’s pregnancy. I think he calls me and Kline because he’s afraid to smother her about it.”

She looked me right in the eye, and for the first time in as long as we’d been working together, I didn’t feel the hot lash of her anger burning through me.

“Well, he’s not the only one nervous about her pregnancy,” I added for some insane reason. I was thrown off by this entire interaction with Wes. Our history of conversations was short but definitely had an undertone of aggravation or annoyance. I often found myself wondering if he could even stand being in the same room as me. Hell, I had a hard time being stuck in close quarters with him.

Sure, physically, Wes was the absolute perfect picture of my dream man—tall, fit, and Lord Almighty, his hazel eyes whispered promises of hot, mind-blowing sex.

But then, he’d open his mouth and pretty much ruin everything.

He needed a muzzle.

And to stop questioning every single one of my decisions related to the Mavericks. I honestly thought he made it a point to challenge me. It was like he obtained some sort of enjoyment out of being the one person who consistently disagreed with me.

Which made it completely ridiculous that I had asked him to come into my office to look at Mitchell’s MRI. I was the physician between the two of us. Not him. Sure, he was the owner, the one who signed my checks, but he had zero medical background; therefore, his opinion didn’t mean jack shit.