“Da-yum, that’s a good session of sleep-fucking, then.”
I laughed, and I couldn’t stop myself from replaying the night’s events in my head. I really had enjoyed last night. Thatch had a body made for fucking. That was pretty much all there was to it.
“So I’m assuming Thatch enjoyed himself too?”
I rolled my eyes. “His cock was inside me, and my tits were in his hands… Of course, he enjoyed it.”
“Are you sure about that?” she pushed, even though I’d spoken perfect fucking English.
I tilted my head, scrutinizing her secretive expression. “What do you know that I don’t know?”
“Nothing,” she said, but her shifty eyes said otherwise.
“Spill it.”
“I don’t know anything,” she tried to convince me, but the grin she was fighting made it quite obvious she was full of shit. God, she was about the worst liar in the history of liars.
“Georgia.” I stared at her, unleashing the crazy eyes. It was my biggest weapon when trying to get her to fess up to something. She called it the creepy stare, and it generally only took about ten seconds of half-assed effort to get her to spill her secrets.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
“Fine!” She gave in, raising both hands in the air. “Cool it on the creepy staring. You know it freaks me out.”
Works like a charm. Every time.
“Okay, so maybe I already knew you guys had sex,” she confessed.
“Wheorgie!” I admonished, equal parts shocked and impressed she was able to convince me otherwise for even the short window she had.
“Sorry.” She shrugged, her button nose scrunching up in a textbook gesture of sorry, not sorry. “I just wanted to hear it from you first before I told you what I actually knew.”
“That was way too persuasive.” She had almost convinced me. “I think you’ve been practicing the fake tears on Kline too much.”
She laughed. “I know, right?”
“All right, what did Thatcher tell Kline?”
“Well…he called my husband this morning all freaked out that you were actually moving in with him.”
That had me smiling big. I loved that my plan to mess with him this morning actually worked. I didn’t usually set a precedent of making myself at home at someone else’s place. I just had a feeling Thatch wouldn’t know what the fuck to do if I made myself comfortable in his bed while he was getting ready to leave for work.
She pointed at my face. “So, you were screwing with him this morning!”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, nodding in confirmation. “I was most definitely screwing with him. You should have seen his face when I got back in his bed, turned on the TV, and started asking him what channels he got.”
But really, I’d had a blast lounging all over his apartment this morning. If I didn’t love Georgie so much, I’d probably still be there, drowning hours in bacon and DVR and anything else I could get my hands on.
Georgia laughed, loud and boisterous. “Holy shit, that’s awesome! I love that you did that. He’s the ultimate prankster. It’s about time he got a taste of his own medicine.”
I smirked. “I know. I wish I would’ve recorded it.”
“The only other thing he told Kline was that…well…” She paused, eyeing me with an amused look. “The sleep-fucking worked. Like it really worked.”
I thought over her words for a good thirty seconds until I finally caught what she was putting down. “Oh, fuck,” I said through a laugh. “Definitely not Sleepless in Seattle.”
“Nope. More like Comatose in New York,” she agreed.
I replayed the sex in my head and realized I had actually passed out—on his cock—and I did this before he finished. “Man, talk about a bitch move.”
“Yep. It was like something out of How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days,” she agreed again.
I cringed before asking, “Are we speaking only in movie-isms now?”
She shrugged, but she didn’t look like she thought it was the worst idea in the world.
My usual devil-may-care attitude had up and gone hiking. “In my defense, I was running on two hours of sleep from the night before. But still, I kind of feel like an asshole.” Doing the ole dine and dash on someone’s dick was almost never called for.
Georgia let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, you probably should.”
The ogre was right; I did owe him. Because, let’s face it, if Thatch had done that to me, I would’ve been fucking pissed. I honestly had to give the guy props for handling it so well, seeing as I was still alive and everything.
I had always lived my life by one motto: I couldn’t please everyone, I didn’t care to please everyone, but I could motherfucking please myself. Which I did, often.
But for some odd reason, I found myself actually caring about what Thatch thought and trying to find a way to make it right. And the more I thought about it, the worse I felt. It was a foreign concept to me, but even I couldn’t deny I had pulled a big-time bitch move last night.
Maybe there’s some way I can make it right?