Banking the Billionaire (Billionaire Bad Boys, #2)(41)

I sighed a breath of relief, but before I could snuggle myself back to  sleep, Thatch yanked off the comforter and flipped me over his shoulder.  "Motherfucker!" I shouted.

"Time to wake up!" He spanked my ass. "This is for the good of our  relationship, honey. We need to be doing things with Phil together. We  don't want to bring him into this world only to immediately make him  feel like he's a part of a broken home. Which means, you get to  accompany us to Central Park today."

"What time is it?"

"It's a little after six," he answered, setting me on my feet.

"A little after six?" I shouted and poked him directly in the chest.  "Are you kidding me? It's too early! Way too goddamn early."

He smirked. "I would agree, but Phil would not agree. He's been  whining-well, more like squealing-since about five thirty this morning."  And right on cue, Phil came tip-tapping in on his tiny hoofed feet and  grunted when he plopped his little ass down by Thatch's feet.

"See what I mean?" Thatch questioned, and Phil looked up at me.

"Fine," I groaned. "But I'm not even brushing my hair," I announced as I tossed my long locks into a messy bun.

"Just wear a bra and some gym shoes."

"Huh?" I questioned in the middle of brushing my teeth, but Thatch  ignored me. He picked Phil up and walked into the bedroom, setting the  pig on the bed and fastening the harness leash around his body.

Fifteen minutes later, we were headed toward Central Park, one of  Thatch's hands holding mine and the other wrapped around the leash.  Phil's head stood tall as he trotted down the sidewalk, his little ass  swaying side to side with each step.

This pig knew how to bring all the girls to the yard. We had stopped  four times for random people to kneel down and give him attention. Two  of which were giggly women insisting on taking a picture with the  pint-sized Casanova.

It didn't help that the man holding his leash proudly was bigger than a  giant and soaked up the attention just as much as the snorting pig.  Winks and smirks and hearty chuckles were being passed out like fucking  candy. If I wasn't so pissed off for being woken up at six in the  morning, I might have found it all amusing.         

     



 

Liar. You're totally loving every second of the Jolly Green Giant and Philmore show.

Thatch led us toward a table sitting just outside the entrance of  Central Park and smiled down at the gray-haired lady holding a  clipboard. "Thatch Kelly and Cassie Phillips."

She scrolled her paper with the tip of her pen until she tapped it twice  and grinned. "Looks like you've already filled out the forms and paid  the entry fee." She handed Thatch two square pieces of paper with safety  pins attached. "Just pin on your numbers and head on over to the  starting line. The race will start in ten minutes."

My eyes went wide. "The race? What race?"

"Thanks, honey," he told her and grabbed my hand, tugging me through the  entrance of the park. He led us toward a bench, ignoring my persistent  questions about what the hell was going on and urged my ass to sit down  by giving my shoulders a gentle shove.

When he tried to pin the paper on my shirt, I slapped his hands away. "Thatcher," I snapped. "What the fuck is going on?"

"We're running this 5K together," he said like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Oh, hell to the no," I disagreed. "I am not running in a fucking race.  Do you even know me?" I questioned his sanity. Cassie Phillips did not  run in races. The closest she came to running was when Macy's was having  their end-of-year clearance sale on shoes. And even then, my pace was  more speed-walk than run.

"But you love to run," he stated. "Isn't that what you said last night?"  His gaze met mine, and I didn't like the devious glint of amusement  that rested behind his eyes. "I'm really trying here. Trying to do nice  things for the good of our relationship. I wanted to be thoughtful and  do something with you that you said you loved to do."

His smile said sweet, but his eyes, well, they said checkmate.

"Do you not want to spend time with me today, honey?"

Oh man, he was evil.

The fucking king of one-upping had just laid down the gauntlet.

I plastered a sugary sweet smile on my face. "Of course, I want to spend  time with you, baby. I'm so happy you did this," I lied, snatching the  paper from his hands violently and pinning it to my shirt.

As we lined up at the starting line, I had the urge to kick Thatch in  the nuts. The cute pig standing at his feet was the only thing that had  stopped me.

The gun fired and everyone around us was off, their gym shoes slapping  against the pavement in the direction of the finish line. I started off  slow and silently prayed that Thatch would speed ahead so that I could  sneak off the path and find a park bench to plop my already tired ass  down on. But of course, he didn't do that. No way, that would have been  too damn easy. Thatch jogged leisurely at my side, letting my pace lead  us.

A minute into the run, I was silently cursing everyone and everything.

Fuck you. Fuck running. Fuck the beautiful sun. Fuck those chirping  birds. Fuck that lady pushing her kid in the stroller. It should be me  in that fucking stroller.

I looked up from the ground and found Thatch smiling down at me, his  long legs running at a slow and easy rhythm and not an ounce of  discomfort on his face. He paused briefly to pick up a squealing Phil  and adjust him in his arms like a baby, and I took that moment to  scratch the side of my face with my middle finger pointed directly in  his direction.

He caught it and his smile grew wider. "You okay, honey?"

"I'm fine," I bit out between panting breaths. "Never been better."

I refused to let him know my body was practically screaming for me to stop.

But ten minutes after that I could no longer keep quiet.

"For fuck's sake!" I shouted, and the runners in front of me shot glares  over their shoulders. "I can't go any longer, Thatch," I gasped and  jogged off to the side of the path. My feet stayed firmly planted by a  bench as I leaned forward and rested my hands on my knees. "I'm done.  I'm fucking done. Why do people do this? This is so fucking stupid. Why  would anyone want to run unless they were actually being chased or Prada  was having a going-out-of-business sale?" I rambled through shallow  breaths.

Thatch sat Phil down on the bench, and before I could stop him, he  gripped my hips, lifted me over his head, and set me on his shoulders.

"Whoa! What the hell?" I cried. My head spun from the abrupt change in altitude.

"I'm really proud of you, Crazy," he said and picked Phil up from the  bench. "For someone who's never run before, you kicked ass for the first  mile and a half." He glanced up at me and winked. "So now, just sit  back, relax, and hold on tight to Phil. I'll take it from here."         

     



 

He lifted our little piggy above his head and put him into my arms.

Phil squealed in protest, but I slipped him inside the front of my shirt  and held on tight to comfort him. "It's okay," I soothed. "I've got ya,  little buddy."

Eventually, his squeals stopped, and he peeked his little head out above  my neckline. He sniffed the air a few times and snorted his content,  inside the warmth and safety of my shirt.

"That's the cutest fucking thing I've ever seen," Thatch said as he held  his phone in front of us, catching all three of our faces in the shot.  His gaze met mine in the screen and those chocolate eyes of his  glimmered with affection. "Smile, honey," he said as his lips curled  into a handsome smile.

I smiled.

Phil snorted.

Snap. And just like that, our happy little moment had been recorded.

Forever unchanged. Just like your growing feelings for this beautiful,  charming, perfect-for-you man … well, five minutes ago you would have  thought perfect-for-you asshole.

"All right," Thatch announced as he moved back toward the path and held my thighs tightly to his shoulders. "Let's hit it."

With pep in his step and occasional grinning glances in mine and Phil's  direction, Thatch finished the last two miles of the race just like  that-me on his shoulders and our teacup pig in my T-shirt. And beyond  that, he did it with ease. The second he crossed the finish line, he  pulled me off his shoulders and put his lips to mine. His breathing  wasn't even labored.

Fuck, that man had some serious stamina.




An hour later, we were stuffed full of waffles and settled on a park  bench-Phil asleep on my chest, while my legs were stretched out and  rested in Thatch's lap. I watched him watch the people meandering by,  his eyes following their Saturday paths with nothing but mild curiosity.

He untied my laces and slipped off my shoes and socks, leaving my feet  bare beneath the late morning sun. His fingers kneaded into my soles and  started their talented course of finding all of the sensitive spots  that ached from the run.