Mother Fluffer (A Billionaire Bad Boys Bonus Novella)(24)

“You’re breathing hard.”

“I was chasing the kids.” Searching my damn house like I am on an episode of CSI for clues and trying to crack the code to confirm my wife’s fluffing scheme.

“Right.”

God. Maybe I should just tell him. Why was I so reluctant to tell him in the first place? Because you fucking love him and his wife, and you don’t want to face the fact that they may actually tire of your irresponsibility.

“Kline…I…”

“Yeah?”

“What time do you think you’ll be at Wes and Winnie’s for dinner?”

He sighed deep and long, and I wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. I could have sworn it sounded like disappointment, but I’d chickened out. I hadn’t actually told him the thing I’d done that would make him sound like that. I just wished I’d lost Walter. He would have been cheering me on. But he actually fucking liked Stan. Of course.

“You know, I should come over there and make you explain everything right now, but I won’t.”

“You won’t?” I asked, completely confused by the turn of conversation and cautiously hoping Kline’s intelligence was so honed that he’d come to the conclusion that I’d lost his dog without my even saying it. Don’t ask me why, but I felt like it might be easier that way. It’s pretty fucking hard to break the news to your best friend that you’ve lost one of his pets. His favorite pet, actually.

“No. Because you’re all fucking crazy, every last one of you, and somehow, I signed on to live in the middle of it forever.”

“What are you—”

“I’ll see you at six.”

The line clicked, and the call went dead before I could say another word.

Dread lined my stomach at the thought of our friendship changing. We’d been a trio for fucking years, and I didn’t want to see myself become the extra. Everyone knew the extra was Wes right now, but one more move and I’d be even lower than him on Kline’s shit list.

Speaking of the shittiest of us all…where the fuck was Wes with the flyers?



Thatch: Where the fuck are you, dude? I thought you’d come help me look. And make the fucking flyers you kept going on about.



When several minutes passed, I decided I couldn’t wait anymore. Sure, I thought Georgia and Cassie sounded a little weird, but I didn’t want to leave the dog unattended if he really was here. Plus, I was going to need to find a way to calm Walter down. I couldn’t transport him into the city as he was.

Three clicks into my recent calls to call Georgia back—I knew I could break her—a text message popped up onto my screen.

Will.

What did he want?

I clicked out of the keypad and into the messages quickly.



Will: Georgia and Cassie have Stan. This is a prank that I wasn’t supposed to tell you about. Consider my debt for your contribution to Mel’s clinic paid.



Of course it’s a prank. I should have known Cassie would be out for blood after I’d harmlessly joked about losing Ace this morning.

I’d just joked. What kind of a sick person really executes stealing a living thing?

My wife. That was who. And truthfully, under different circumstances, probably me.

But, fuck, that was different. I’d be on the other side of that.



Thatch: Thanks, Will. God, I was panicked.



Will: Good. Now you can call them, and this whole thing can be over.



Thatch: Call them? Are you kidding me? I’m not making it that easy on my wife.



Dialing Kline again, I waited the two short rings before he answered. “What? Did you lose my kid now?”

“You knew?”

“Of course I fucking knew, asshole. I know everything. Next time, lose the fucking cat for shit’s sake.”

“Right. Of course, K.” I winced before deciding I wasn’t completely in the wrong here. “Though, if you really analyze this, this is more our wives’ fault. I’m mostly a victim.”

“Good Christ, I hate when you say things that are true.”

I nodded to myself. “You aren’t alone. A lot of people feel that way about me.”

“So what are you doing now?”

I was going to make this motherfluffing day my bitch, that’s what. Time for Thatcher’s plans to come to heel.

“I’m gonna go fucking stalk them.” I knew I’d downloaded an app to GPS track my wife for a reason.

Kline let out a deep sigh.

“Oh,” I added, before I forgot. “Are there extra car seats for Julia and Evie at your house? I forgot to get one earlier. And a crate for the devil.”

“In the garage.” Kline didn’t even sound annoyed anymore. Just resigned.