Tapping Her (Bad Boy Billionaires #1.5) Read online

“That was an act? An exercise in annoying me?” I asked.

  She nodded and smiled.

  “You’re scary.”

  Her eyebrows just bounced.

  “Well, shit. At least they found him.” Air filled my lungs at the relief that I wouldn’t have to tell Kline I’d permanently lost his wife’s cat. “Thank fuck, right? You look relieved, and I’m sure Georgie will be too.”

  “Yep,” she agreed with a bounce. “Thrilled all around.” Too much bounce.

  “What am I missing?”

  “Let’s just say Kline Brooks is going to have fucking hemorrhoids from trying to shit this load of news.”

  “Fuck.”

  “240 East 80th, please,” I instructed the cabbie as Thatch slid in to sit beside me.

  The cab driver was midforties, sloppily dressed, and sported a serious fucking scowl. I glanced at his driver’s license on the dashboard and saw that Jenk was his name. I’d say it was apparent Ol’ Jenkie boy was having a shit day.

  “240 East 80th?” He glimpsed at us in the rearview mirror and then huffed out a sigh, death-gripping his steering wheel.

  “Yes, please,” I responded, trying to be sweet even though I felt like telling him to cool it on the attitude.

  “Isn’t that a friggin’ vet hospital?” he snapped for some unknown reason. I honestly had no idea why driving us to a vet hospital would put him over the edge, but I did know that Jenk the fuckface wasn’t just having a shit day, it was more like a shit year…or life.

  “Well, shit. Who needs Google Maps when the world has men like you running around?” I retorted loud enough for him to hear. I wanted him to hear. Hell, he needed to hear it. This dude needed a reality check.

  Thatch bumped me with his elbow, hoping I’d get the message and shut up. I turned to him and kept going. “Last time I checked, Jenk the fuckface was the cab driver. Not me or you. Sorry if we’re not going to the destination of his liking, but them’s the breaks when your job is to drive people around.”

  “What was that?” Jenk asked, beaming me with the stink-eye in the rearview mirror.

  “I said—”

  Thatch placed his hand over my mouth. “She said, she loves your hat. Go Mavericks!”

  That wasn’t even close to the content or length of what I’d said, but the cabbie nodded anyway, trying his hand at a stiff smile. It looked like a grimace, but I guess that was what happened to your face when you never smiled.

  News flash, kids. Apparently, it will freeze that way.

  “Our boys are lookin’ good. I think we’re gonna have one helluva season this year.”

  “That’s not what I said, asshat,” I muttered to Thatch.

  “First rule of Fight Club, Cass. Don’t start shit with the man behind the wheel. Especially when you’re in his car and at his mercy.”

  “Whatever, Thatcher,” I huffed out, adjusting myself in the leather seat and accidentally brushing my boob against Thatch’s bicep in the process. Honestly, it was an accident. The Jolly Green Giant was practically taking up the whole back seat.

  He sighed in response, shutting his eyes and holding the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. “Tell me your tits are out again. Please. I’m at the end of my rope here, but your tits have the ability to make all kinds of things grow.”

  I glanced down at my chest. Shit. “Uh, it’s a really thin bra.”

  Yeah, I didn’t have a bra on, and the air conditioning blasting in the cab had my nipples at full attention. It wasn’t even on purpose. I’d been in the shower when Bob had called, and the second he told me the vet found Walter, I hauled ass to Thatch’s office.

  “Is it made out of fucking air?” he asked, voice hopeful and irritated at once. It seemed Thatcher was losing patience with the whole Walter, Cassie, and Thatch circus.

  “What the fuck does it matter to you?” I snapped back. “If I want to walk around without a bra, that’s my business, dude.”

  “Trust me, it’s everyone’s business when they have the power to save humanity from my mental breakdown.”

  “My nipples do not talk, and they don’t have the power to save lives.”

  He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “Honey, they do. All they’re doing right now is waving hello, and I already feel a million times better than I did five minutes ago. I bet Jenk feels better too.”

  Jenk didn’t respond. And frankly, I took offense to that. Thatch noticed the change in me and pulled my attention back to him.

  “Actually, right now, your tits are doing a ‘we’re stuck on a desert island and trying to wave down a plane,’ kind of wave. Not just a hello. That means their power is double.”

  The ridiculousness of this entire conversation had me laughing. “Fuck, for a numbers guy, you’re imaginative. I’ll give you that.”

  He smirked. “Your tits put all sorts of creative ideas in my head, honey.”

  I eye-fucked him for a good ten seconds, honing in on the crotch of his dress slacks before meeting his eyes. “Put your boner away, Thatcher.”

  He glanced at my tits and then his dark brown eyes held my gaze as he nodded toward them. “Do it for me, Cassie.”

  We were at a stalemate, just staring at one another, the “let’s fuck” tension building with each second, and I wasn’t sure if it would end with me smacking the shit out of him or getting his dick out. Hell, maybe both.

  The cab’s brakes squealed as we came to an abrupt stop, and my face almost hit the back of the driver’s seat.

  “We’re here!” Jenk shouted over his shoulder. “Fifteen bucks and I don’t got fucking change.”

  While Thatch pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and tossed money into the front seat, I hopped out and turned toward the open window on the driver’s side, ready to give the cabbie a piece of my mind.

  “Wow, you really fucking suck at—” I started to say, but strong arms wrapped around my middle and carried me toward the entrance of the animal hospital.

  “Fuck you hard, Thatcher! That guy needs to know he’s a fucking asshole!” I shouted loud enough for most of Manhattan to hear.

  Thatch just laughed in my ear while carrying me toward the doors. Each chuckle fueled my fake rage.

  “The second you set me down, I’d protect my balls if I were you.”

  His lips were near my ear. “I’d love to wrestle you, maybe wind up tangled in your deliciously free tits, but we’re about to go in to get Walter, and if you’re acting like a lunatic, they probably won’t let us take him home. And if we don’t get that little asshole home, then you’ll be the one who has to break that news to Georgia.”

  He was so strong and gentle at the same time, and he didn’t seem anything but amused by my antics. I ignored the mating call from my puss-ay. If it were up to her, I’d have Thatch’d that in the cab. “Fine. Just set me down, motherfucker.”

  He set me down, and I strode into the office, not wasting any time holding the door for him.

  “We’ve tried to separate them, but Walter isn’t really having it,” the vet tech stated vaguely, guiding us toward the back room where cages were lined up and stacked on top of one another.

  “What do you mean ‘Walter isn’t really having it’?” Thatch asked, sliding his hands into his pockets as we stood in front of a cage holding one big motherfucker of a dog.

  “Well…” She trailed off hesitantly. “He just gets really upset.”

  I put a hand on my hip. “Upset? You’re going to have to explain what Walter getting upset looks like. That cat generally shows two emotions—utter indifference or satisfaction from spending three hours licking his asshole.”

  Thatch nodded. “Yeah, he’s pretty big on the asshole licking. Is that normal?”

  “Um, yes. Actually, that’s very normal,” she responded as she opened a drawer by the dog’s cage. “Cats are predators. Their instincts are to clean themselves to avoid being scented by their prey.”

  Thatch smirked at me while Julie, the vet tech, was bu
sy rummaging through a drawer full of collars and leashes. “Maybe we should start licking your tits to see if it’d help deter horny motherfuckers from staring,” he whispered.

  I cocked an eyebrow. “We?”

  He shrugged. “Figured you’d need help. Most chicks can’t get their tongues to their nipples without pulling a muscle in the process.”

  “That’s very generous of you, but there’s no risk of injury when it comes to sucking on my own tits.”

  His eyes heated, and he stepped closer. “Prove. It.”

  I grinned. “Make. Me.”

  “Here it is!” Julie yelled victoriously, waving a collar and leash in the air.

  “This conversation isn’t over, honey,” Thatch muttered.

  “Meh, I’m already over it,” I retorted before turning my attention to Julie. “That collar looks a little small for that dog.” I nodded toward the cage she was in the process of unlatching.

  “It’s not for him, it’s for Walter,” Julie said with a laugh. Before she unhooked the final latch, she stopped abruptly. “I almost forgot the gloves!” she said, grabbing an oversized pair from the counter beside her.

  “Gloves?” Thatch questioned, eyebrows raised.

  “When Walter gets upset, he tends to scratch a lot.”

  “Okay…but why are you opening that dog’s cage? You know Walter is a cat, right?”

  I glanced at Thatch, and it was apparent I wasn’t the only one confused.

  “Walter is inside this cage,” she answered.

  “What?” we said at the same time.

  Julie nodded and opened the cage door. She nudged the giant dog to the side, and sure enough, there was the little dickhead, curled up against the dog’s back.

  “This is Walter’s new friend?” I asked, eyes wide and shocked.

  When Bob had called, he’d said the vet had warned him that The Asshole had a new friend he wasn’t too keen on being removed from. I had assumed it was a cat, a female cat, but apparently my assumptions about Georgia’s little buddy were dead wrong. And judging by the size of the balls on the dog he was curled up to, this little dickhead was on Team Dean.

  “Yep,” Julie announced on a whisper as she attempted to pick up Walnuts carefully without waking him. “Walter has really taken a liking to Stan here.”

  I glanced at Thatch and knew the second he got an eyeful of Stan’s gonads.

  “Seems there’s a bigger reason behind Walter’s enjoyment of tossing his own salad.”

  I snorted in laughter, and Julie just glanced over her shoulder, confusion stamped on her face.

  This poor girl. She was so sweet, and yet somehow, she’d managed to pull the short straw and get stuck with Thatch and me. Two assholes who had no filters.

  And all at once, it hit me.

  Thatch and I were very alike. Almost too alike.

  I stared at him, taking in his stupid, sexy smirk. Jesus. He was the guy version of me.

  “You okay, honey?” he asked, his gaze catching on the befuddled expression gracing my face.

  “Yep,” I answered, averting my eyes and trying like hell to forget that revelation.

  But I couldn’t.

  If opposites attracted, then what in the hell was happening between numbnuts and me?

  An ear-piercing shriek grabbed my attention.

  “It’s okay, Walter,” Julie cooed as she tried to disentangle his paws from the cage.

  Was he fucking holding on to the cage door?

  More shrieking and clawing echoed inside the large room. Other pets started to take notice, standing up in their cages and watching shit hit the fan before their curious eyes.

  Stan woke up from his slumber and started barking like a banshee. And within minutes, the entire room was filled with barking and growling and cages rattling.

  “Holy fucking shit!” I covered my ears.

  “This looks like a bit of a problem, Julie,” Thatch shouted over the rising noise.

  She just nodded, sweat dripping from her forehead, and resumed wrestling with Walter, who now had the support of his boyfriend. Stan’s teeth were wrapped around the leash connected to Walter’s collar, and he was tugging the cat back into the cage.

  “Hey, Julie, you guys wouldn’t happen to offer pet boarding services would you?” Thatch’s voice boomed over the barks.

  “Yes, sir, we do!”

  “Fantastic!” He clapped his hands together. “Let’s go ahead and let Walter spend more time with Ol’ Stan here, and I’ll just cover boarding until my buddy and his wife get back from their honeymoon.”

  I actually heard her sigh of relief over the barks.

  “It’s weird. All we’ve really talked about are my tits and his boner, but there’s a strange connection there,” I told Georgia over the phone, fiddling with a napkin on the bistro table.

  I called her to fess up about my lie of omission and let her know that Walnuts would be staying with his boyfriend until they got back from their honeymoon. I just chose to start the conversation off on a much lighter note. And for some reason, the weirdness between me and Thatch seemed like the best lead-in.

  “That’s all you’ve talked about?” she asked, shock in her voice.

  My eyes caught sight of Thatch standing at the coffee shop counter, ordering our drinks and food. After the shit show at the vet’s office, we decided to grab a bite about ten blocks away from my apartment. Well, I decided, and he bitched about the distance from his office, but he still came along regardless.

  Why we were doing this was a mystery, but here we were.

  “Pretty much,” I answered. It was the truth. His boner and my tits seemed to be the number one topic of discussion whenever we were together. Yet another mystery that needed to be solved.

  “For the love of God, why?”

  I shrugged. “Mostly because they’re out, I guess. My tits and his boner.”

  “Jesus. Next time you’re around him, make like an evangelical and cover those things up. See if that helps…” She paused, and then added, “Wait… What do you mean they’re out?”

  Thatch smirked at the barista, and her cheeks flushed pink. For fuck’s sake, he held some kind of magical power over women. One smile and he had the girl making our coffee two seconds away from convulsing into a spontaneous orgasm.

  What would he be like in bed?

  My mind took that as a green light to conjure up the possibilities—me riding his face, him fucking me with my legs in the air, my tongue sliding up his shaft, my tits wrapped around his cock… Yeah, they were some wickedly dirty fantasies.

  My brain and pussy were convinced he’d be a fantastic fuck, and that only made me more intrigued about Thatcher Kelly.

  “Cass? Are you still there?” Georgia’s voice filled my ear.

  “Yep.”

  “You totally just drifted off into ‘I’m gonna Thatch that’ fantasyland.”

  “Yep,” I agreed.

  “Just promise me you’ll wait to screw his brains out until after you leave the restaurant. I’d like to enjoy the rest of my honeymoon without trying to wire you bail money.”

  “I’m not gonna fuck Thatch,” I lied.

  Wait…what? Was I already planning on getting in the Jolly Green Giant’s pants?

  I’d save that question to mull over at a later time. Preferably when he wasn’t heading toward me with his arms full of coffee and blueberry muffins.

  She snorted in laughter. “Yeah, and I’m not looking forward to riding my husband’s cock in about five minutes.”

  “He’s standing there with his giant schlong in front of your face, isn’t he?”

  Georgia giggled.

  “All right, well, before you have your mouthful of pee-nis, I need to give you the rundown on Walnuts.”

  “Okay,” she muttered, already sounding distracted.

  Perfect.

  I took a deep breath and said everything in a rush. “We actually just found him a few hours ago. He’s good. Sorry I lied. He’s at the vet.
Gonna stay there until you guys get back because I’ve got a shoot, and obviously, we’re really bad babysitters. So it’s better that way. Okayloveyoubye.”

  I hit end on the call as Thatch sat across from me at the table, setting my coffee and muffin before me.

  “She take it well?” he asked, his long fingers sliding the wrapper off his muffin with surprising finesse.

  Yeah, he could definitely butter my muffin. Any fucking day of the week.

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged.

  Thatch chuckled. “You hung up before she even responded, didn’t you?”

  “Yep,” I answered, taking a sip from my coffee. “You use that same tactic with Kline, don’t you?”

  He nodded. “All the fucking time.”

  Man, we were so much alike it was creepy.

  My phone vibrated across the table with a text notification.

  Georgia: You’re lucky I’m in a different time zone. Text me the vet’s info.

  Me: You’re a surprisingly good multitasker.

  Georgia: Why are we friends?

  Me: Less typing. More sucking. P.S. Friends don’t let friends blow and text at the same time, Wheorgie. It’s dangerous.

  Georgia: Put a bra on.

  I laughed out loud at that one.

  Thatch tilted his head to the side. “What’s so funny?”

  I held my phone out to him, letting him see the conversation. He chuckled a few times and then took it upon himself to snatch my phone and start scrolling through my shit.

  “Oh, so it’s like that, is it?” I held out my hand. “If you want to be nosy, it has to be on equal terms.”

  He didn’t bat an eye at my demand, sliding his phone out of his pocket and across the table.

  To be honest, I was a little surprised by his openness, but I probably shouldn’t have been. I didn’t have anything to hide or be embarrassed about. Therefore, the guy version of me probably didn’t either.

  Shit. The asshat didn’t even have a passcode set up on his phone.

  My fingers tapped on his pictures first, scrolling through numerous photos of sports games and hilarious candids of his friends. I stopped on one that made me smile. “Are you wearing a ‘Single and Ready to Mingle’ shirt in this pic?”