“It’s actually painful to be friends with you right now.”
Exasperated laughter pulsed in my ear. “I’m picking up on that. You’ve got a seriously heavy aura pouring through the phone lines right now.”
“You know what comes through right after my aura?” I asked.
“Something tells me I don’t wanna know, but at the same time, I have to know.”
“My hand. To fucking strangle you.”
“Kline—”
“I’m on my honeymoon right now,” I pointed out the obvious. “A vacation specifically designed for constant sex with my insanely hot wife. And you and fucking Wes won’t stop interrupting it.”
I sat down on the edge of the bed and glanced toward the bathroom again.
“I don’t know about Wes, but this is my first and final time, dude. I just want to know if the cat’s got a tracking chip in it.”
I wrapped a hand around my throat, dropped my head back, and closed my eyes. “I’m not completely sure, but my mom would know. She did all of his vet stuff.”
“Thank fuck,” he muttered. He actually sounded worn-out and weird. But I didn’t care. I planned to save all of my energy for exponentially more pleasurable activities, and I refused to let my tendency to care get in the way of that.
“She’s also likely to make your life a living hell if you speak with her directly about her missing, beloved cat,” I advised. “Your best bet is to talk to Bob.”
Thatch chuckled. “I don’t know why you decided to show leniency toward me by telling me that, but thank you. I can only handle one irrational woman at a time.”
“You’re welcome. And you owe me.” I stood from the bed again and looked out at the turquoise water. If it weren’t for the sun, it might have looked like it went on forever.
He sighed. “I’m completely unsure how my watching your cat has ended in me owing you another favor, but I don’t even care. As long as this day ends without bloodshed or blue balls, I’ll count it as a very difficult win.”
My eyebrows pinched together, and I turned to the sound of Georgie in the bathroom door. “I don’t know, I don’t want to know, I don’t need to know. Just take care of it,” I said in vague dismissal.
Thatch laughed yet again in my ear. “Break it to her easy, K. Probably best if you mumble it while your mouth is otherwise occup—”
“Bye,” I interrupted, pulling the phone from my ear and hanging up before he could say anything else.
“Who was that?” Georgie asked, cinching her towel tighter around her body. This definitely wasn’t the way I wanted to start the second part of our day. I had a special dinner planned, and I wanted my wife nothing but sated, sassy, and seductive. If she knew about Walter, all of those things would go straight to hell.
“Thatch,” I muttered, turning around to set my phone on the nightstand and gathering my thoughts on how to handle this.
“Is everything okay? Is Cass okay? Did Walter kill her?” she asked rapid-fire, immediately on edge. I had to smile about the last question.
“Did he kill her?” I asked with a snicker. “You know, Benny, I’m searching my brain, but all I can seem to remember is you defending him. Telling people what a sweetheart he is. Why would you think affable little Walter would do anything other than love and protect your best friend?”
Her eyes narrowed, and a foot rotated out into her fighting stance. I bit my lip to curtail a smile. “This isn’t about Walter. This is about Cassie. I love her dearly, but she’s really good at instigating and infuriating. It wouldn’t take much of her to make our softhearted cat turn.”
I shook my head and charged her, scooping her into my arms and smelling the fresh scent of her neck. She squealed but wrapped her arms around my shoulders. I tugged her towel free and spoke at the same time. “God, you’re good. Are you sure you can’t come back to work with me?”
She pulled back, pushing me off her gently and raising a brow. “Kline—”
“I know, I know. You’re happy where you are. I get it,” I surrendered, pulling her immediately back into my arms.
“Kline, we should talk about this. It’s obviously bothering you.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I told her honestly. “I want to ignore it and everything else but you and us and our honeymoon.”
She put a hand to my jaw and looked into my eyes.
“Does it bother me?” I went on. “Yeah. Obviously, it does. But not like you’re thinking, and not to the point that I can’t put on my fucking big-boy pants and get over it. When our honeymoon is over, we’ll talk about it more. Make the compromises we need to. But for now, the only aggression I want between the two of us is between the sheets, on the deck, in the pool, in the shower—any-goddamn-where as long as our clothes are off and our bodies are as close as we can get them.”