This frequent conversation between the two of them wasn’t a surprise. Kline had been trying to get her to come back to Brooks Media ever since she had resigned and had taken a job working for Wes at the New York Mavericks. But Georgia was her own woman, and even though he teased her about working for him again, he was ultimately proud of his wife and everything she had accomplished.
Kline was so good for Georgia it wasn’t even funny. His presence in her life didn’t hold her back from anything. No, he made her flourish into an awesome woman, who also happened to be getting some fan-fucking-tastic loving on the regular.
“Gotta go, baby. It’s lunchtime, and I’m starving,” she said, and despite Kline’s best efforts to keep her on the phone with pouts and good-natured humor, she managed to end the call.
“Where to?” she asked as she got out of her chair and grabbed her purse.
Orange-yellow gooey goodness flashed before my eyes. “Shake Shack? I’ve been jonesin’ for their cheese fries.”
“Sounds good to me.”
We headed out of her office, and after a three-block walk, we were sitting at an outside table, feasting on chocolate shakes and cheese fries, and enjoying the sweet summer air laced with the delicious aroma of burger grease. And human excrement. You never really escaped the lingering hint of every form of human foulness in New York.
I know it sounds awful, but upward of a million people put up with it daily. It’s all about priorities.
“All right, spill it. What happened between you and Thatch last night?” she asked after taking a hearty sip from her straw. Her eyebrow hooked up with intrigue, and I couldn’t help but notice she’d plucked a really nice shape for her brow bed this time around.
“How’d you know about last night?”
“Oh, come on,” she said through a laugh. “Kline, Thatch, and Wes are worse than gossiping teenage girls. My husband was way too excited to share his conversation with Thatch this morning. Normally, his video chats start with, ‘Come on, Benny. Come back to work for me,’” she imitated his deep voice. “But today, he went straight for the juicy gossip.”
“What did Thatch tell him?”
“Nope. I want to hear your side first.”
“Fine,” I said around half-chewed meat and cheese sauce, wiping the grease off my fingers with a napkin. I was obviously a delicate lady. “It was typical Thatch and Cass. We talked about his boner. You know, same old shit, different day.”
She rolled her powdery blue eyes. “You spent the whole day and night together, Cass. Tell me you talked about something else besides his boner.”
“And my tits, too. He’s a big fan.”
“Your boobs are the size of my head. Of course, he’s a big fan.”
“They’re not that big.”
She snorted. “You have double Ds. And both Ds stand for damn.”
I laughed at the inflection of her voice and the size-specific gesture she added to the front of her own chest. “True.”
“So, did you make any progress on the topics of conversation?”
“Sorta. We fucked last night. That seems to have helped. It at least channeled part of his focus to my pussy.”
“Jesus! You what? Talk about burying the goddamn lede.”
“Why are you so shocked? I figured that was the first thing Thatch would’ve told Kline.”
She shook her head.
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I sleep-fucked him.”
“God, I hate when you call it that. Do you know how bad it sounds?”
“Okay, I didn’t exactly sleep-fuck him, but he woke me up after I fell asleep on his couch, and then next thing I knew, I was horny and trying to bang him. You know how I get when I’m tired but can’t fall asleep. I need a release or else I’ll just be staring at the ceiling all night, watching the time pass at a snail’s pace.”
“Tell me you were awake while fucking him.”
“Oh, yeah. I was fully aware of what was happening.”
“Was he?”
I flashed an annoyed look. “Of course, he was. If a man falls asleep while a chick is grinding her pussy on him and shoving her tits in his face, then he is either narcoleptic, gay, or should seek medical attention.”
What? If men can have double standards, so can we.
“True.” Georgia grinned. “So…”
“So?”
“How was it?”
I tilted my head to the side. “How was what?”
“The sex!” she exclaimed, slamming her hands down on the table. Our cups shook from the vibrations, and a few people turned in our direction.
“Slow your roll, Susie. You’re about ten seconds away from reenacting When Harry Met Sally, and I’m not so sure that couple feeding their dog ice cream is going to appreciate it.”
She giggled, grabbing a fry from the basket. “Great movie.”
Oh yeah, only murderers and puppy-mill directors didn’t recognize that showing of cinematic genius. “Fan-fucking-tastic movie.”
“All right,” she said, leaning across the table. “Tell. Me. Everything.”
“Wheorgie encouraging an overshare? Color me impressed.”
She gestured with an impatient hand for me to continue.
“Well, it was good sex. Great sex, actually. His dick and mouth are talented, that’s for damn sure. I would have come twice had my pussy not demanded to be penetrated.”