Mother Fluffer (A Billionaire Bad Boys Bonus Novella)(13)

Lord Almighty, hopefully, the coffee would wash the taste of dog balls away.



By the way, can dogs have beef jerky?

I probably should have looked into that before I let Stan nip into five hundred calories of Slim Jim, but I blame my child’s giant head that is always pressing on my bladder.

Beef jerky was the only thing that distracted Stan long enough that I could avoid pissing all over myself.

Pregnancy is beautiful, isn’t it?



Stan lay by my feet, content and intrigued by everything I said, while I tried to figure out what the two of us were going to do for the rest of the day. New York City wasn’t exactly fit for a pregnant woman and a horse.

Although, homeboy was as cool as a motherfluffing cucumber, and I had a feeling, after I had the baby, Stan and I might dabble in a few more pranking bits together. He handled it like it was old hat. This dog had nerves of steel and a poker face like you wouldn’t believe. He was a hell of a lot better than the amateur accomplices I normally rolled with.

“What shall we do today, big guy?” I asked. He just stared up at me with his big brown eyes and let out a little doggy groan. “Do you think we should call Mommy and see if she wants to meet us for lunch?”

He appeared happy with that idea, his ears perking up and his head tilting to the side in what I assumed was a canine smile.

“I think that’s a good plan too, Stanley,” I said and patted the top of his head.

As his head sank back down to rest comfortably on my feet, I pulled my phone out of my purse and FaceTimed Georgia. It only took two rings before the call started to connect.

“Hey, Cass,” she greeted as her face came into view on the screen of my phone. The large window of her office framed her smiling face. “What are you—” She paused once her gaze caught sight of her dog. “Wait…why in the hell do you have my dog with you? I thought he was at your house with Thatch and the girls?”

Well, technically, he was, but she didn’t need to know that right now. If there was one thing that was a certainty with Georgia, it was that she couldn’t keep a damn secret if her life depended on it. Literally and figuratively, the world’s worst liar.

“I happened to get done early today and decided to spend some one-on-one time with this handsome man,” I lied blatantly. “Want to join us?”

She quirked a skeptical brow. “You wanted to spend time with my dog?”

“Fine,” I said on a sigh. “I’m using Stan for motivation to get my ass moving. Otherwise, I would’ve ended up gorging on cookies for lunch, taking a nap, and adding an extra five pounds to my already expanding ass.”

“Shut up.” She smiled. “Even seven months pregnant, your ass is still fantastic.”

Obviously, I already knew that, but I needed a fluffing reason for dragging a horse around the city for the afternoon.

“Well…” She paused and shuffled through a few papers on her desk. “I guess I could probably take a little break for some lunch.”

I quirked a brow. “How about a long break with lunch and shopping?”

“I don’t know, Cass,” she hesitated. “I’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

Facking hell. I wanted to go shopping.

Plus, I really needed her to take the leash. Stan was a pretty good dog, but holy guacamole, he had the strength of ten men. And the combination of his big ass, my pregnancy tits, and the baby inside of my belly, and my lower back was starting to feel the extra weight.

“And it’s not like I’m not going to see you today,” she added. “We’ll be at Wes and Winnie’s tonight.”

I needed to think quickly. My best friend was notorious for always going the extra mile in her career. She was the opposite of someone who left work before the clock struck five p.m., but considering it was a Sunday and Mother’s Day, I felt like the odds were in my favor.

Vintage, I thought to myself. She can’t say no to vintage…

“You know what today is, right?”

Her face scrunched up in confusion. “Uh…Sunday?”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” I smirked. “But what happens on Sundays?”

“I usually don’t have to wake up before seven because Kline always lets me sleep in on the weekends.”

“Kline lets you sleep in on Sundays?”

“Yep.” A soft smile kissed her lips. “Saturdays, too.”

What the fluff? I needed to have a conversation with Thatcher about that. I wanted to sleep in on the weekends. Hell, I wanted to sleep in every day.

“The only reason Thatch doesn’t let you sleep in is because you keep him up all hours of the night,” she said with amusement brightening her eyes. “The man needs to rest at some point, Casshead.”