“Actions speak louder than words, G.”
It’d been a deviation from the flight plan, but there was no doubt in my mind Thatch appreciated a blow job way more than lunch and a Hallmark card. Hell, I’d much rather a guy show me he was sorry by tonguing my puss-ay than sending me flowers. Flowers died, but fantastic orgasms? Yeah, those fuckers lived on forever by fueling fantasies and becoming priceless spank-bank material.
“Please tell me this without giving too much detail. How does one start off the whole ‘I’m going to apologize by putting your penis in my mouth’ conversation?”
“What conversation? There wasn’t one. I went in, locked the door, got on my knees, and unzipped his pants.”
“Like a drive-by blow job?”
“Exactly like that.”
“Wow. I still don’t understand how you can manage to shock me after all these years.”
“You’ve never blown Kline in his office?”
“Um. No, I have not.”
“You need to do that,” I recommended.
“Brilliant idea, Cass!” Kline’s voice filled my ears. “I’m on board with this plan, Benny.”
“Well, hey there, Big Dick. I see I’m on speaker phone.”
“Sorry, Cass,” Georgia chimed in. “We’re heading home from taking the boys to the park. And you didn’t exactly give me a chance to give you a heads-up.”
And by “boys” she meant their asshole cat, Walter, and his boyfriend, Stan—who also happened to be a one-hundred-pound Great Dane that was still growing by the day. They were star-crossed lovers who had happened to meet in a vet’s office when Thatch had lost Walter.
It only took one sniff of Stan’s asshole, and Walter had found his soul mate. Well, life mate. I was pretty sure that cat didn’t have a soul. He was Satan in feline form.
“No worries,” I responded. “So, Kline, how should we handle this?”
“Handle this?” he asked, voice equal parts amused and uncertain. “What are we handling?”
“Thatch. I mean, isn’t it obvious? He’s fucking lost it. He thinks I’m moving in with him, and he’s actually okay with that. Not freaking out in the least.”
Kline chuckled a few times and paused before offering, “Don’t you think it’s odd that loud—obnoxious most of the time—Thatch seems very reserved about all of this?”
“Yeah, that’s why—” I started to respond, but I stopped when my brain started to process his words. “Wait…no way…no way. You think he’s calling my bluff?”
“I’m not saying I think that, but I’m not saying I don’t think that either.”
“Oh, that devious bastard. He’s good, but he’s not that good.” I headed straight into my bedroom and started pulling shit out of my closet.
“What are you doing?” Georgia asked.
“Obviously, moving on to Plan B.”
“And what’s Plan B, exactly? Isn’t that the name of the morning-after pill? Tell me you’re not pregnant.”
“No, I’m not pregnant! There’s been no completion in this tank, remember?”
Big-brained Brooks felt it was important to take me back to sex ed. “A guy doesn’t have to finish to get you pregnant.”
“So true,” Georgia agreed.
“I’m not pregnant, fuckers. There was a condom. Plan B is me taking this prank to a new level.”
“Uh…is anyone going to get hurt in this scenario?”
“Nope. But I’m about to take that trickster’s ego down several notches.”
Kline chuckled. “Man, I really wish I was privy to seeing this shit go down.”
“Let’s just hope I don’t have to resort to Plan C.”
“Wait…what happens in Plan C?” Georgia questioned.
“You and Kline will have to help me hide the body, obviously. That’s generally what Plan C involves.”
“What!” she shrieked.
I laughed. “Calm your tits, G. I’m kidding…sort of.”
“Cassie!”
“He’ll be fine…as long as he cooperates,” I lied. “Enjoy your night! Bye!” I ended the call with sounds of Kline chuckling and Georgia shouting for me not to hang up the phone.
Sometimes I was almost disappointed in how easy she was to tease.
Georgia: YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE. I know you’re joking, but on the off chance your crazy ass isn’t joking, I’M NOT HELPING WITH PLAN C. He’s too fucking big. I couldn’t even lift a leg.
Me: I’m glad we never had to resort to robbing banks for money. You’d be a terrible accomplice.
Georgia: Yes, remember that. Me = terrible accomplice.
Me: Tell me something I don’t already know. If you were a hooker, you’d probably track your payments on an Excel spreadsheet and claim them on your taxes. (Add terrible hooker to the list.)
Georgia: Whatever. I’d be the most organized hooker. I’d get one of those credit card swipe-y things.
Me: When is the right time to complete the transaction in that scenario?
Georgia: I think they’d swipe before, and sign their PayPal receipt after.
Me: Prostitute Georgia is classy AF.
Georgia: I know, right?