“What?” Kline asked, but I was busy fake apologizing to the people five feet away with sticks up their asses.
“Thatch,” Kline called, annoyed about having anything other than my undivided attention. “What’s going on?”
But I had a woman to worry about right now. Knowing what usually worked best, I went with ignorance.
Me: Huh?
She responded almost immediately. Thank God.
Cassie’s Tits: I know you printed out my schedule, and I know you know I was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago. I’m impressed you managed to resist the urge to text me first, though.
Jesus Christ. If she only knew.
Me: Ha. I love you.
Probably past the point of what’s healthy, I admitted to myself.
Cassie’s Tits: I love you too.
“Thatch!” Kline called.
“Goddammit. Give me a motherfucking second here, Klinehole,” I muttered, and finally disgusted, the people at the table in front of me pushed out of their chairs and left. Granted, their food had been consumed and the bill paid, but I was pretty sure I was the real catalyst for their retreat.
“Fine,” Kline agreed over the speaker. “I don’t think you’re where the answers really are anyway.”
Shit. It was not a good sign that he was giving up this easily.
“Enjoy your lunch in… Where did you say you were again?”
“I didn’t.”
Out of my messages and back on the call, I watched as he smiled.
“Enjoy San Diego,” he said with a glimmer in one of his stupid blue eyes. And then he was gone.
Goddammit.
The bags of takeout rustled lightly as I set them on the kitchen counter and headed into our bedroom to change out of the clothes I flew home in.
The second my flight landed at JFK, I grabbed a taxi and got to work on setting my evening plans into motion. Since I was a little surprised Thatch wasn’t home by now, I shot him a quick text as I headed back into the kitchen.
Me: Where are you?
Thatch: Just now leaving the office. You make it home, okay?
As I tied the strap of my frilly apron around my waist, I glanced at the clock on the stove and noted it was half past eight. I found it a little odd that he was just now leaving work.
Me: Yep. I’m home. You’re still at work???
Thatch: No use coming home to an empty apartment, honey. ;)
Charming motherfuc—fluffer. Thatch’s suggestion that I clean up my language hadn’t really sunk in until it had been reinforced by suggestions from Georgia, Winnie, my mom, my brother, and the lady at the grocery store. Though, the lady at the grocery store hadn’t known I was pregnant, so she was just an uptight cunt.
There was a lot of time left before it became a real issue, but evidence was suggesting it was going to take every single minute of it to reform.
Me: What about coming home to me in an apron and stilettos?
Thatch: Naked dinner?
Me: ;)
Thatch: You know you get spanked for stealing my signature winks.
Me: ;) ;) ;) ;)
Thatch: I do love your ass when it’s really fucking pink.
Me: You know what else is nice and pink?
Thatch: Tell me.
Me: My pussy.
Thatch: I think you mean MY pussy.
Me: ;)
Thatch: 10 minutes, honey. Be ready.
I grinned at how easily he played into my hands—not that I’d expected him to resist. I set my phone on the counter, and started removing the Chinese takeout containers from the brown paper bag.
What? This is my version of making dinner.
I lit the candles on the dining room table and dressed up the takeout dishes by tossing them in our nicest serving platters. Thatch knew I wasn’t Susie Homemaker, and there wasn’t a chance in hell I would actually cook a meal, but he always appreciated when I went above and beyond. And if I was being honest, and not the least bit humble, the whole scene was pretty enough to post from Martha Stewart’s Instagram account—which just goes to show, you really can fake fucking anything.
Naked dinners, our Wednesday night ritual, were one of Thatch’s favorite things. But since I had been out of town for the past two Wednesdays, I had some serious making up to do.
True to his word, ten minutes later, Thatch strolled through the door and met me in the kitchen with a giant-ass grin on his face. “Hi, honey,” he said as his eyes trailed over the sight of me in nothing but a frilly apron and black stilettos. “There is literally nothing better than coming home to you like this.”
I smiled and gave him a little twirl, showing off my bare ass in the process.
His grin grew wider as he moved toward me. “God, I’m a lucky son of a bitch.”
I nodded my head, and he chuckled. “Modesty becomes you.”
Thatch didn’t waste any time, lifting me into his arms and wrapping my legs around his waist. He buried his nose in my neck and inhaled deeply, whispering, “Mmm, you always smell so good.” He leaned back and took my mouth in a soft and sweet kiss while his hands continued to palm my ass and squeeze the pliant flesh playfully. Heat consumed the kiss and me, making a greedy ache take over low in my belly as Thatch grinded himself against me with a deep groan. “Fuck, I missed you.”
I giggled against his lips. “Me too. But not enough that I won’t suspend you from naked dinners if you don’t get to work on losing the clothes.”
He chuckled and set me on the kitchen counter. “Suspended? Please, tell me what exactly you’d do without me at naked dinner.”
I shrugged. “Probably just rub one out on the kitchen table.”
“I meant for you to tell me in detail…painfully explicit, one or two fingers, what you taste like, detail,” he told me through a smile as he pulled off his clothes. With a flick of one red-tipped finger, I motioned for him to give me a spin, and he playfully obliged, shaking his bare ass in my direction. I laughed and hopped off the kitchen counter, spanking the meat of one taut cheek before heading into the dining room.
He sat down at the table, and I served him his favorite meal from Wok-n-Roll: Kung Pao Chicken with a side of egg roll. As I spooned Shrimp Lo Mein onto my plate, I noticed Thatch’s expression was less playful and more serious as his gaze honed in on my stomach.
“What’s wrong, T?”
“Does your assistant help you carry shit when you’re on location?”
My brow furrowed. “Carry what? My camera bag? Pretty sure I can manage that, honey.”
He shook his head. “Does he help you?”
I shrugged. “Sure, I guess.”
Thatch grabbed the knot of my apron and pulled me toward him. He untied the strings and tossed the frilly material haphazardly onto the floor. His hands gripped my waist and he leaned forward, softly kissing my belly. “Promise me something, honey.”
Confusion made my face tense up, but somehow, I knew this wasn’t the time to tease him about not making sense. Instead, I rested my hands on his bare shoulders, rubbing at the smooth, hot skin with the pads of my thumbs. “What’s that?”