“Goddammit, Cass,” Georgia muttered. “Kline is going to be so pissed at me.”
“Hot makeup sex later?” I suggested, and she flashed an irritated glare in my direction.
Geez. Tough crowd.
Kline: Georgia, what’s going on? Is everything okay?
Georgia: Everything is fine. No need to worry, baby.
Kline: Do you have Stan?
Georgia: Maybe…
Kline: Georgia.
Georgia: Yes.
Kline: Does Thatch know?
Georgia: Uhh… I’m not sure?
Kline: Georgia…
Georgia: Ugh. No. He doesn’t know. But in my defense, he didn’t even call me or you in the first place when he found out that our dog was gone.
Kline: Jesus Christ. Are you two fucking with me right now?
“Uh-oh,” Georgia muttered and looked at me with wide eyes. “I think the cat might be out of the bag.”
More like horse out of the barn.
I quickly sent Kline a text.
Me: Come on, Big-dick. You know it’s a little bit funny.
Kline: A fake kidnapping?
Why did everyone keep acting like I’d kidnapped an actual human being? I mean, I wasn’t a sociopath. I just borrowed a dog for a little bit, right?
Me: Not exactly kidnapping. I just borrowed him for a little bit. Honestly, I think he needed the break from Walter.
Kline: This is crazy. You know that, right?
Me: I think my scale o’ crazy and your scale o’ crazy are a little different, Big-dick.
Kline: Ya think?
Me: So… does this mean you’re going to tell Thatch?
Kline: What do you think?
Me: That you want to be in on the prank, too?
Kline: I think you need to keep thinking.
“I think Big-dick is a little irritated,” I said and glanced at Georgia.
“Yep,” she answered with a little pop of her p. “I think that’s a fair assessment.”
Son. Of. A. Biscuit.
Standing on the other side of the nursery door with my ear pressed forcefully to the surface, I listened for signs that it was safe to check on Walter. He’d been raising all holy hell in there for nearly an hour, and after the conversations with Georgia and my wife that all but confirmed my prank suspicions, I wasn’t sure this was going to end the way Cassie thought it would.
She’d never get the months she’d spent getting the nursery just right back, and it would be a minor miracle if anything in that room came out unscathed. And so far, she’d fairly efficiently screwed herself out of having one of her biggest dreams realized.
Fuck, I’ve got to come up with a Plan C…or is it D? Hell, I don’t even know what letter I’m on at this point.
All was quiet, and even though I was scared, I knew there wouldn’t be a better time to go in than now. Hopefully, he’s fucking sleeping off his breakdown.
I barely had the door cracked, a line of light cutting into the dark room, when my phone started to ring in my pocket.
“Oh, shit!” I yelled, struggling to reach into my pants like they were on fire. Shit, shit, shit.
“Reowwww,” I heard Walter cry, the noise of a fluffing cat warrior, as his body slammed into the door and forced it back closed.
Jesus, that was a close one. Finally, with my phone in hand but none of the joy inside that my ringtone normally brought, I got a look at the caller ID.
Kline calling.
Oh, fuck me.
Sometimes I truly regretted the advances in technology that allowed someone to contact you whenever the fuck they wanted. Like, why couldn’t he be in the car, without access to a phone, while I could say I was in the yard and missed the call as a backup? I mean, what was this world coming to that he had a cell phone and I had a cell phone, and if I didn’t answer it, people assumed something was up?
Gah.
Okay, I’m stalling. But Kline is the one guy who will always intimidate me. He’s just so fucking clever it’s sneaky. Like he’s reading my thoughts and shit. I don’t like it.
At nearly the end of my “Thong Song” ringtone, when I knew he had to be moments away from getting sent to voice mail, I swiped my finger across the screen.
I might as well be signing my death warrant.
“Hello?”
“What’s going on?”
Shit. Fuck.
“What do you mean? Nothing is going on. Just hanging out with the kids.” Trying not to die at the paws of your cat because I lost his lover. Man, I didn’t do a very good impression of innocent. I’d have to rely solely on my ability to lie. “Are you still at work?”
“Yes. Why are you talking so fast? What’s wrong with your voice?”
“What?” I squeaked. Forcing my voice back down to its normal timbre, I went on. “Why do you think something is wrong?”