Thatch glanced around, confused. “You have somewhere to be?”
I picked my purse up off the ground, sliding it over my shoulder. “Yeah, I’ve got a flight to catch.”
“A flight?” He stood up, grabbing our empty cups and discarded wrappers, and tossed them in the trash can across from our table.
“A few last-minute shoots in the Bahamas. Just found out this morning.”
He looked surprised. “You’re flying to the Bahamas? Today? For a photo shoot?”
“Yeah, ESPN asked me to do a couple of pictorials… I’m pretty sure I’m speaking English right now…”
He ignored my sarcastic retort. “Why didn’t you say anything about it?”
“It just slipped my mind,” I said, walking beside him as we headed out of the coffee shop.
He held open the door. “How long are you going to be gone?”
“Not sure. Three, maybe four, weeks tops.”
Thatch stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk. “You’re going to be gone an entire month?”
My face scrunched up in confusion. “Yeah, is that okay?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I guess so, yeah.”
“Is your boner going to miss me, Thatcher?” I teased.
He chuckled, but he stepped closer to me. “Your tits? Fuck yes. You? Eh, I think I’ll be okay. Maybe I’ll even manage to get some work done without you calling my office fifteen times a day.”
I grinned, standing on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Don’t worry, T-bag, I’ll set time aside out of my busy schedule to brighten your day with my beautiful voice.”
He smiled back, eyes amused. “At the very least, shoot me a text so I know you made it there safely.”
“You got it,” I agreed. “Bye, Thatch,” I said, turning and heading for my apartment.
A smack to my ass startled a squeal from my lips and stopped my feet dead in their tracks. I turned back around to find him smirking and walking backward in the opposite direction.
“Be good, Cass!”
“I don’t know about that, Thatcher! I’m feelin’ a bit wild!”
“Be. Good,” he demanded and then turned on his heels, getting lost in the crowd.
Be good?
What in the fuck did that even mean? And more importantly, why did I care?
He didn’t have a say in what I did or didn’t do. But fuck, he sure had a say in whether or not he wiggled his way into my head. Like a leech, he had taken up residence in my thoughts, and I wasn’t sure how to get rid of him.
Did I even want to?
New York, Monday, May 1st, Late Afternoon
I was damn near bouncing in the car as Frank drove us to the vet’s office to pick up Walter. In the two weeks since I’d seen him, he’d been forced to spend time with Cassie and Thatch and gone missing. I could hardly fathom the thought of him roaming the city streets by himself, but bearing Cassie’s disdain probably wasn’t much better.
“Little excited, Benny?” Kline asked, placing a soothing hand on my thigh to stop my leg from bouncing.
I held out my thumb and forefinger, adding, “Just a little bit.”
He grinned, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and tucking me close to his side.
Instead of going home and catching some shut-eye after a long flight, I had convinced Kline to go straight from the airport to pick up my little buddy. Well, maybe less convinced, more told him if he didn’t go, I still was. Walter didn’t need to stay another night in a cold crate. He needed to be home with his family.
Kline kissed my forehead. “Thanks for a wonderful honeymoon, Mrs. Brooks.”
I looked up at him, my heart in my eyes. “Likewise, Mr. Brooks. I’ll probably be bow-legged for the next three months, but I had the best time. You’re real good at honeymoons.”
He smirked, tucking a lone curl behind my ear. “Who says that treatment stops after the honeymoon? Consider yourself thoroughly well-fucked and bow-legged for the next hundred years.”
I laughed, grinning back at him. “If you can still fuck me like that when we’re ninety years old, you’re not real.”
“Should I expect a blood test? A surgical examination?”
“Gross.”
One perfect eye shut in a wink. “I’m real, Benny. Really in fucking love with my wife, and love has the power to do crazy things. I’m just hopeful those things include giving a ninety-year-old man the stamina to keep his pretty little wife satisfied.”
“Jesus. Cool it on the swoon, you bastard. I might actually pass out from it.”
He didn’t cool it, though—his blue eyes still smoldered.
“Kline!” I smacked his chest. “I’m being serious.”