Banking the Billionaire (Billionaire Bad Boys, #2)(71)

Kline didn't call me on it, though. He was pretty much the only real  adult among us. Rising from his seat, he walked over and stood next to  me at the window and both sets of our eyes went to the field.

"What's the plan?"

I shook my head, grimacing as the coin toss went in Pittsburgh's favor,  and answered honestly. "Play as hard as we can for all four fucking  quarters, I guess."

Kline's smirk hooked my attention from the corner of my eye. "What?" I asked.

His head shook slightly, and he smiled. "I'm just hoping Coach Bennett's plan is a little more detailed."




Two minutes left in the fourth quarter, and we were up by seven. A  fucking touchdown was practically nothing, the kind of lead that could  change on a dime, but it was a lot goddamn better than being behind.

I hadn't left my spot in front of the windows, my feet having  practically grown roots there, and that was the way I liked it.  Involved, engaged, and in tune with every second of play.         

     



 

My friends didn't have the same kind of avid concentration, but I'd done  my best not to notice them as they flitted and squealed all over the  room. Cassie had the most attentiveness of anyone, but only when her  brother was on the field, and the way she screamed in my ear every time  he did something noteworthy made me wish she didn't.

The fabric of my pants pockets bunched in my hands as I worked to not  scrub my hands down my face. I knew there was a camera on me at any  given time, and while it wasn't actually the case at all, I'd made an  outward name for myself as having nerves of steel. Commentators often  made remarks about my ability to maintain so much composure.

Hell, maybe it was a bad thing. Maybe it was something everyone mocked  rather than revered, but it was what I knew. What made me comfortable.

And, as my eyes scanned the sideline to see if I could catch a glimpse  of the new team physician, I knew I needed as much fucking normalcy as  possible.

Fourth down and three yards to go, our defense lined up without their  star defensive end, with the game on the line. My lungs ached with the  huge inhale of air I took, and my jaw wasn't feeling unused either. But  if we stopped them from converting this fucking fourth down, the game  was over. Rodeshiemer took the snap, shuffling his feet while his eyes  scanned the field for an open receiver. He was one of the best fucking  passers, with one of the highest completion rates in the entire league,  and my balls nearly shriveled up just thinking about having him on the  other side of the line in a situation like this. "Get him, get him, get  him," I chanted in my head. Fucking end this.

His offensive line held strong, but all of his receivers were covered. I  saw him glance to our weak side again, the gaping hole left by Mitchell  only partially filled by his replacement, Harvesty, but Ontario  Williams, our defensive tackle, finally broke his hold against Dan  DeLuva and took his mammoth body barreling toward their quarterback.

Fuck yes. End this.

Pittsburgh was a formidable opponent for a reason and made for a  nightmare of a first game of the season, but even they weren't  invincible. Williams brought Rodeshiemer down with a thud, and my hands  finally shot into the air.

Cassie cheered from the rear, and Kline clapped me on the shoulder  before stepping away to claim back his wife. I smiled at the feeling of  my first full breath.

That is, until I realized that Winnie was still down there as  pandemonium broke out. Like a word search, I scoured each group of  people one by one.

"Quinn Bailey played one fuck of a game," Thatch said from somewhere beside me. I hadn't even noticed him walk up.

I glanced at him briefly, but I kept my focus on the field as a crowd  covered it like a blanket. "Oh? Are you saying you actually saw the  game?"

His face was a weird mix of happiness and regret and apology all in one.  I wasn't sure I'd ever seen him look this way. "Sorry, dude. I know my  attention was a little split today, but I swear, today of all days, I  had a reason. I'll be here right beside you the whole time next game."

I wanted to focus on what he was saying, ask him about what the fuck was  going on with him, but I couldn't. Not until I found her.

"What's wrong?" he asked, and I knew I wasn't doing a good job of hiding the fucking awful feeling in my chest.

"Nothing," I denied as I kept looking.

"Are you looking for someone?" he asked. It took a whole lot of effort  to keep from telling him I'd find who I was looking for a hell of a lot  faster if he left me to it.

"Look!" Georgia squealed from the other end of the glass. "There's Winnie!"

My eyes shot to her to see where she was looking. I followed the line of  her finger and finally saw, in the center of the crowd with a security  guard beside her, Winnie was jogging straight down the middle of the  field for the tunnel.

I closed my eyes and ran a hand through my hair. This is so not fucking good.

Most of my employees were men, or in Georgia's case, married to one of  my best friends, so I didn't really find myself in this situation often,  but it wasn't good. You cannot angry-fuck one of your employees.

Long legs wrapped around me with her skirt up to her waist and her tits  in my mouth, I pictured fucking her against the goalpost. Fuck, I told  myself. I told you, you can't fuck her.

The sound of Cassie's excited voice pulled me out of my daydream. "I'm so glad she's going out with us tonight."

I couldn't even stop myself from asking. "Who?"

She looked at me like I was crazy. "Winnie."

Shit. My gaze jerked back to the field, but she'd already disappeared inside the tunnel.         

     



 

"Me too," Georgia agreed. "Where do you think we should go?"

They answered in unison. "Barcelona Bar!"

Thatch jumped to attention beside me. Honest to God, I think he'd been sleeping on his feet.

"Barcelona Bar?" His face was a mask of no-fucking-way.

Cassie transformed into a woman possessed right before our eyes. "Yes,  Barcelona Bar! I want some Harry Potter shots, goddammit!"

"No," Thatch denied outright, and my eyebrows jumped up in surprise.  Georgia's face said Danger Will Robinson too, but Kline, the only one  who seemed to understand, stood smirking in the background.

"No?" Cassie asked back in a voice that would scare anyone. "What do you mean, ‘no'?"

"Cass-"

"No, Thatcher. You've been cockblocking my good time for hours now, and I want to know what the fuck is going on."

He glanced around at all of us desperately, but no one tried to help.

"Come on, baby," he tried. "Let's go have sex."

Her eyes flashed, and she started to move toward him before she caught  herself. "Wait. Are you using pussy persuasion to distract me?"

Thatch tried to look innocent, but he failed spectacularly.

"Oh my God, you are!" she yelled. "You better tell me what's going on here right fucking now, or I will destroy you."

"Cass," he whispered. "Trust me, honey. Now really isn't the time."

A knock sounded on the door of the suite, and Winnie peeked her head in. Her eyes came straight to me.

"You think you can't feel your dick now, but you definitely won't be able to when I cut it off your body," Cassie retorted.

I winced at the visual, my eyes still locked with Winnie's. It was like some weird magnet that would not let go.

"Fine," Thatch yelled. "You're pregnant, okay? Are you happy now?"

Huh? My head whipped to the side to look at the lovers' spat.  Apparently, that kind of news was strong enough to break the connection.

"What?" Cassie shrieked.

Thatch nodded.

"No." Cassie shook her head and laughed maniacally. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard in my life."

"Cassie," Thatch tried softly.

"I'm not pregnant, you lunatic. Why would you even say something like  that? It's literally the craziest thing that's ever come out of your  mouth." Georgia tried to step in and put a hand of comfort to Cassie's  shoulder, but she tossed it off.

"Cassie."

Cassie turned to look at her. "I'm not pregnant," she repeated.

"Cassie," Thatch tried to get her attention again.

"I'm ignoring you, Thatcher. Stop telling our friends lies." She flipped  him off over her shoulder. "I swear, I'm not pregnant," she said again,  and I wasn't sure if she was trying to convince us or herself.

"Honey," Thatch said and moved to stand beside her. He placed both hands  on her shoulders and refused to let her shrug them off. "I'm not  spouting off crazy bullshit right now. I honestly think you might be  pregnant."

She shook her head, and her face morphed into utter disbelief. "Do you  even realize how insane you sound? I'm on birth control. There's no way  I'm pregnant."

"I think you need to take a test, honey," he said, voice soft. "When was your last period?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," she scoffed. "I'm not going to recount my ovulation cycle with you."