Banking the Billionaire (Billionaire Bad Boys, #2)(19)

"I think he might be mentally disturbed, G! I wonder if I should try to  get out of here before he comes back with dinner. Holy. Fuck. What if  dinner is code for something else?" I asked on a dramatic gasp.

"Oh. My. God. Seriously, calm down and stop yelling in my ear," she  responded in irritation. "Thatch isn't a serial killer. He's not a  psychopath or mentally disturbed. He called Kline the second he left his  apartment to grab dinner. He knows you're pranking him."

Bingo.

"Oh, okay. Thanks for the info," I answered in a normal tone.

The phone went silent for a few seconds.

"You are such an asshole," she eventually responded with an incredulous laugh. "Why do I always fall for your bullshit?"

I shrugged. "I have no idea, sweetheart, but I can't believe that big  motherfucker is trying to one-up me. He's in for a rude awakening if he  thinks I'm going to be the one to raise the white flag," I announced,  determined.

"Uh oh …  This sounds like it could end badly," Georgia said in concern.  Although, her concern didn't really sound all that concerned. It sounded  more excited than anything else.

"Yeah, you're right. This could end badly, but I will not be the one to  say uncle. Even if I have to continue this little prank war until I'm on  my deathbed, you can bet your sweet ass I will come out victorious."

"Oh, Jesus," she responded with a laugh. "What exactly are you plotting?  You promised you wouldn't kill Thatch until after Kline's birthday."

"The only thing that will die at the end of this is a big part of the Jolly Green Giant's ego."

She laughed. "There's a small part of me that feels bad for wanting to encourage this."

"If anything, Thatch deserves this."

He has to pay for making my steel-barricaded heart feel like maybe it isn't impenetrable after all.

"I think that's pretty debatable, Casshead. And mostly depends on what  you have planned. Thatch is actually a really good guy. Kline says  he's-"

I didn't want to hear it. I already liked the guy enough all on my own.

"Yeah, speaking of plans, I gotta scoot. My roommate will be coming home  with dinner soon, and I need to make myself nice and comfortable in my  new humble abode."

"Okay … " she said and then paused. "You should probably avoid a few  things, though. You know, just a few things that might make him mad."

Well, I'll be damned, Georgia could be a little devious when she wanted to.

"And what exactly would those things be?"

"Well, for starters, he only keeps one item of junk food in his pantry,  and he gets pretty pissed when someone eats it. So, don't eat his Trix  cereal. Whatever you do, I wouldn't do that."

"Jesus, he's like a giant toddler. I'll be sure to stay away from his favorite sugar fix."

Or I'll eat the whole fucking box in one sitting.

"And don't mess with his DVR. He records all of his favorite teams and a  few shows. One of which is America's Next Top Model, which I gotta say,  I kind of find endearing."

"Got it. Don't mess with the sports." Or I'd delete the games and, obviously, keep Top Model. "Any other no-gos?"

"And he's a bit of stickler for keeping your shoes off in his apartment.  So I would always make sure you take your shoes off at the door. Do not  wear them around his place."         

     



 

"Shoes off, always. Got it."

Or I'd never take my shoes off. Ever. Hell, I'd probably start showering in them.

"All right, G. I better go and make sure I'm not doing any of those things."

"Good plan."

After I hung up the phone, I slid on my oldest pair of Chucks and headed  into the kitchen. I found a serving bowl, filled it to the brim with  Trix and milk, and made my way into the living room where I proceeded to  sprawl out on his couch and scroll through his DVR recordings.

ESPN SportsCenter …  Goddammit, I can't delete that.

America's Next Top Model …  Of course, keep.

The Late Late Show with James Corden …  Keep.

Family Guy …  Keep.

It's Always Sunny …  Keep.

The Voice …  Fuck. Keep.

Well, this wasn't going as planned. At. All. He had the same taste in television as I did.

"Honey, I'm home!" Thatch called as he came through the door. I heard  his footfalls stop in the entryway while he was predictably taking his  shoes off. "Where are you, Cass?"

"I'm on the couch. Bring the food in here, baby!" I yelled over my  shoulder, adding my own endearment as a counterpart to his. If he wanted  to crawl up my ass, I could do the same to him. I was Cassie fucking  Phillips. I could handle whatever he threw my way.

Well, maybe not literal anal fisting. I don't think I could handle that. His hands were big.

He strode into the living room with two bags of Chinese takeout in hand  and stopped dead in his tracks when he found me on his sofa.

"Hi," I greeted with a sugary smile as I took an equally sugary bite of  his favorite cereal. "Sorry," I continued over a mouthful, "I got too  hungry waiting for you to get back."

His brown eyes looked me over, and once they saw the shoe-covered foot  resting on his pristine leather couch, I swore I saw his jaw tick a few  times in response, but somehow, he managed to force his face into an  annoyingly neutral expression.

I swallowed the bite and asked, "What'd ya get?"

"I hope you like Chinese. I would've gotten your favorite food, but I  don't know it." He flashed a smirk in my direction as he set the bags on  the coffee table and sat down beside me. "But I guess that's how all  serious, live-in relationships start out, right? Not knowing anything  about each other. Seems normal to me," he said with a shrug as he pulled  cartons from the bag.

God, he was such a smartass, and I couldn't deny that I enjoyed that aspect of his personality endlessly.

"Well, mystery is what makes a good relationship." I set my serving bowl  onto the table and started opening up the cartons. "At least I've heard  that somewhere … like Cosmo or Georgie? I mean, look at them. They were  catfishing each other, and it worked out pretty damn good."

He chuckled at that. "Yeah, I'd say it worked out well for both of them."

"Can I have the orange chicken, sweetie pie?" I asked, holding up the carton in his direction.

"Anything for you, honeybunch," he said, flashing a wink. He grabbed the  remote from my lap and turned on SportsCenter. As the sportscaster  rolled through the Top Ten Highlights, Thatch leaned back on the couch  and started to dig into a container of Kung Pao Chicken.

I made myself even more comfortable, stretching my legs out and placing  my shoe-clad feet in his lap, but to my disappointment, he briefly  glanced down and then his eyes went back to the TV as he continued  eating his food. And even though I had eaten the equivalent of half a  box of cereal, I couldn't resist gorging on Chinese while we sat in  silence for a while, just eating and watching SportsCenter. It was oddly  comforting.

I didn't realize he had finished his food until he was busy untying my  laces and gently removing my shoes and socks. Next thing I knew, his big  hands were massaging the soles of my feet while his gaze stayed fixated  on the television.

The whole scene felt way too instinctive on his part. I honestly didn't  know if he even realized he was doing it, and that was probably why I  found myself asking, "Have you ever had a roommate before?"

"Kline and I were roommates in college," he answered without looking in my direction.

I removed my foot from his grip and tapped his thigh, urging his attention.

He looked at me, tilting his head in slight confusion.

"I meant roommate of the female persuasion."

"No." He shook his head. "I've never lived with a woman."

Interesting. Maybe he had just had a lot of girlfriends? Because, yeah, his hands were real fucking good at giving massages.

"When was your last girlfriend?"         

     



 

"It's been a while," he answered cryptically.

"A while? Like a few years?"

"I haven't had a girlfriend since high school."

"High school?" I questioned in shock.

He nodded. "Like I said, it's been a while."

"Wow. That's a really long time."

He turned his body toward mine while he kept my feet firmly in his lap  and his hands kept massaging all of the most perfect spots. I had to  fight the urge to moan when he started using his thumbs on my heels.

"What about you? Have you ever lived with a guy before?" he asked, turning the tables on me.

"No."

"When was your last relationship?"

"Um … a while ago." Or never.

He raised an eyebrow and smirked. "A while? Like a few months or a few years?"

"What constitutes a relationship, exactly?"

Thatch laughed. "I'd say it would be the last time you considered someone your boyfriend."

"Then I guess I'd have to say a while, meaning never."