"I'm not pregnant, fuckers. There was a condom. Plan B is me taking this prank to a new level."
"Uh … is anyone going to get hurt in this scenario?"
"Nope. But I'm about to take that trickster's ego down several notches."
Kline chuckled. "Man, I really wish I was privy to seeing this shit go down."
"Let's just hope I don't have to resort to Plan C."
"Wait … what happens in Plan C?" Georgia questioned.
"You and Kline will have to help me hide the body, obviously. That's generally what Plan C involves."
"What!" she shrieked.
I laughed. "Calm your tits, G. I'm kidding … sort of."
"Cassie!"
"He'll be fine … as long as he cooperates," I lied. "Enjoy your night! Bye!" I ended the call with sounds of Kline chuckling and Georgia shouting for me not to hang up the phone.
Sometimes I was almost disappointed in how easy she was to tease.
Georgia: YOU'RE AN ASSHOLE. I know you're joking, but on the off chance your crazy ass isn't joking, I'M NOT HELPING WITH PLAN C. He's too fucking big. I couldn't even lift a leg.
Me: I'm glad we never had to resort to robbing banks for money. You'd be a terrible accomplice.
Georgia: Yes, remember that. Me = terrible accomplice.
Me: Tell me something I don't already know. If you were a hooker, you'd probably track your payments on an Excel spreadsheet and claim them on your taxes. (Add terrible hooker to the list.)
Georgia: Whatever. I'd be the most organized hooker. I'd get one of those credit card swipe-y things.
Me: When is the right time to complete the transaction in that scenario?
Georgia: I think they'd swipe before, and sign their PayPal receipt after.
Me: Prostitute Georgia is classy AF.
Georgia: I know, right?
Me: Strippers should use those swipe-y things. If I had a dollar for every time I've run out of money at a strip club, I'd never run out of money at a strip club.
Georgia: Those are some deep thoughts, Cass. I'm a little disturbed you frequent strip clubs that often.
Me: I generally go for the steak and stay for the lap dances.
Georgia: Strip clubs serve steak?
Me: Only the good ones.
Georgia: Please don't kill Thatch until after Kline's birthday. He's helping me plan the secret shindig.
Me: When is Big Dick's bday?
Georgia: June 28th.
Me: Okay. You have my word. Thatcher will live to see June 28th.
Georgia: You're the best.
Me: I'm ending this convo now, asshole. I've got some serious packing to do.
Georgia:
I laughed and tossed my phone onto my bed. It landed with a soft bounce beside a few stacks of clothes I had already managed to get out of my closet while chatting with Georgia. I had a plan to execute, and it needed to be in place by the time Thatch got home from work.
My original plan was to use the key Georgia had kindly given me and be sitting on his couch when he got home from work, but now the stakes had been raised.
And since I was pretty much in love with screwing with him, the Jolly Green Giant was about to be on the receiving end of the best prank I had ever come up with.
Oh yeah, let the games begin.
Worn out from one of the weirdest days of my life, I shoved the key in the lock of my door and turned it, and then pushed the door open cautiously so I could poke my head in without having to fully commit to entering.
Everyone kept assuring me Cass was only crazy in the sense of wild-not in the put-her-in-a-muzzle-and-straitjacket kind of way. And for the most part, I believed them. But I'd experienced a few things in the last twenty-four hours at her hands that I didn't think anyone else in my circle of trust ever had, so a little skepticism was understandable.
All was quiet, and I could finally hear myself think as I stepped inside. I wasn't exactly hating everything she'd thrown my way. In fact, I mostly felt the opposite-giddy and elated and anxious inside every time she said something that should have made me cringe. But that kind of reaction made me question my own sanity, and well, that's a dangerous little loop of psychosis.
Moving into the space, I tossed my suit jacket on the back of my couch and my keys on the entry table and made my way into the kitchen. I yanked open the fridge and surveyed the contents. Not because I was actually hungry, but because I was antsy, anxious for something to fill the time and mute the downright excessive amount of thinking going on in my head.
In general, I was a pretty simple guy. Eat, sleep, laugh, fuck, repeat. If I was having a good time, I was at ease. I didn't analyze or question, I just did.
Shaking my head, I closed the refrigerator with a slam and tugged at my too-tight tie. I needed to change into comfier clothes and just relax.
I moved toward my bedroom at a prowl, frustrated at myself for being disappointed that Cassie wasn't here. Saddened that my evening would be like normal-relaxing and completely of my own making. Upset that I didn't have to be on my toes every second of the night, watch what I said, or constantly dodge flying objects and tiny but aggressive fists.
I must have been losing my mind.
The end of my tie came loose with a final tug, and it landed somewhere in the middle of my bed as I discarded it with a mindless throw. Two buttons undone at the top of my dress shirt, I reached behind and over my head with one hand, tugging at the fabric between my shoulder blades until it gave way and slid over my head.
Still blinded by fabric, I turned the corner into my closet and ran so hard into an unexpected wall it nearly knocked me over.
"Ow! What the fuck?" I snapped, pulling the shirt free from my head. My gaze met cardboard.
Several moving boxes cluttered the walk-in space, the set I'd just run into stacked four high.
I pinched my eyebrows together as I peeked around it. More boxes but nothing else.
I moved deeper into the space and then turned around slowly, suspiciously, as objects clinked softly together in my bathroom.
I reached into the open box in front of me, grabbing hold of the first object my hand came in contact with and holding it loosely at my side in case I needed a weapon.
Yes, the chances of my needing a weapon are slim, but I'm pretty sure most robbers don't ring the doorbell either, ladies. Yeah, I'm looking at you, crawling out of your living room so the person at the front door won't see you. I know your game.
Vigilantly, I rounded the doorjamb into the bathroom and-
"Boo!" the intruder shouted right in my face. I swung the object before I realized it was Cassie, but I pulled up short just before it would have smacked her in the face.
"Fucking hell," I snapped as my eyes focused on the vibrator in my hand and Cassie dissolved into an all-out fit of laughter.
"Oh. My. God," she wheezed. She dropped to the floor and went fetal, the power of her laughter too much to maintain while standing. "Holy shit, this is the best thing that's ever happened to me," she said around big gulps of air. "I'd say you don't know how to use that thing on me, but this is seriously the most pleasure I've ever gotten out of it," she went on as I towered over her.
I shook my head to clear the tingle of excitement in my spine and focused on my irritation. "What are you doing here?"
"Pretty sure I told you I'd see you at home, boss man."
My thoughts collided and fought for supremacy, but in the end, I couldn't focus on any of them. "Right," I mumbled, turning from her to the boxes and back again.
"What do you think, Thatcher?" she asked with a smirk and held out her hand. "Can I put my boner away?" I glanced down at my hand to find her toy still clutched tightly in my grasp.
I smiled then. "And by put it away, you mean … ?"
The smart smirk dropped from her features, and her eyes narrowed.
Ah, and the tables turn.
"I mean put it away in my box."
"Your box?" I questioned further with the raise of an eyebrow.
"Shut up," she snapped at me.
"Later," I teased. "I won't say anything else."
I looked around at the general female apparel and accessories hanging next to mine in the closet and all the product filling the counter of my bathroom vanity and tried to keep my brain on task. She didn't like that I was calm, so I very much intended to stay that way.
"This sure is a lot of girl shit."
She waggled her eyebrows and prompted me excitedly. "Yeah?"
I brushed a piece of hair from her face and murmured, "You must be worn out."
She scrunched her eyebrows again. "Huh?"
"From all the packing and unpacking. How about I go get us some dinner?"
"Dinner?"
"Yeah. You know, the last meal of the day where we shouldn't overeat but obviously do."
"Dinner."
"Yep," I said with a pop of my p.
"I-" she started, but I cut her off.
For seemingly the first time during this interaction, she focused on my naked chest and torso. I unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned my dress pants as she watched.