Planet Hollywood was unreal. So many shops filled the glitter-floor-lined hallways that led to the actual theater within the hotel. After buying me a matching It’s Britney, bitch T-shirt, Thatch carried me into the venue on his giant shoulders, shouting random things like, “I hope she plays Hit Me Baby One More Time,” until we reached our seats.
Women stared. I laughed. And the giant ogre never faltered in his ability to not give a single fuck what anyone thought of us.
We were a pair. A loud, outrageous-as-fuck pair.
It was awesome.
Fans screamed around me, and I joined in relentlessly. I was in my element with all the other diehards, watching Britney Spears shake her little ass and hypnotize the audience on stage with her sexy dance moves and catchy lyrics. As she finished up a hot rendition of “I Wanna Go,” I glanced up at Thatch, who appeared to be enjoying himself as much as I was.
He looked outrageous, sticking out like a sore thumb. His large frame—still clad in a Britney tee—towered over everyone in the audience. He was one of the few male attendants for the night, but in true Thatch fashion, he didn’t care. He sang when he knew the lyrics, and he danced like a lunatic during each song, often grabbing my hips and grinding against me playfully.
God, he made things fun. So much fun.
The neon lights glittered and gleamed across the stage as Britney seductively sang the opening lyrics to “I’m a Slave 4 U.” She moved down the stage, rotating her hips in hypnotic motions, and I watched on in amazement.
Thatch wrapped his arms around my shoulders and tugged me back against his chest. And as Brit sang, he sang directly into my ear, swaying us back and forth to the addictive beat.
“I’m having fun with you,” he whispered in my ear between lyrics.
I leaned my head against his chest and looked up at him. His eyes met mine, smirking down at me as he continued to serenade me with the help of Britney herself.
I smiled. “I’m having fun with you too.”
“Good.” My heart jumped as he leaned down and pressed his mouth to mine for a sweet kiss. “It doesn’t sit well with me when you’re sad.”
I turned in his arms and stood on tiptoes to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Thanks for cheering me up, Thatcher.” It felt completely natural to admit how much he meant to me. “You’re starting to become one of my favorite people.”
He smirked. “Likewise, honey.”
“Vegas! Let me hear you!” Britney’s voice filled the venue, and I turned back toward the stage and hooted and hollered with the rest of the crowd. “I need a volunteer. Who’s willing to help me get a little freaky?” She smiled at the audience and started to search through the numerous hands waving frantically.
Thatch watched on with amusement until I abruptly grabbed his hand and threw it roughly into the air. “This guy!” I called toward the pop goddess at an ear-splitting decibel. “He loves to get freaky!”
He chuckled in response, but then his eyes went wide as Britney pointed directly at him and started to walk across the stage until she was standing in front of us.
“Oh, fuck,” he muttered.
“Don’t be shy.” She giggled into the mic. “Come up here, big guy. I need your help,” Britney instructed him.
Thatch started to shake his head, but it was too late; two security guys were already beside him. “You owe me, Crazy,” he growled into my ear before he let them lead him stage right and up the steps.
And there he was, standing tall and proud in his It’s Britney, bitch T-shirt, in front of an entire audience of Britney Army. Women catcalled and screamed for him to look in their direction. I couldn’t blame them. Hell, I even joined in, wolf-whistling and shouting, “Take off your pants!” as loud as my voice could manage.
“Whoa, you’re big,” Britney said once he was standing beside her and her entourage of talented dancers. “What’s your name?”
“Thatch, and I hear that a lot,” he responded without missing a beat.
She laughed. “Well, Thatch, who are you here with tonight, baby?”
“That crazy woman right there.” He pointed directly at me and smirked like the devil as he added, “My girlfriend, Cassie.”
Girlfriend? If I hadn’t been so fucking mesmerized that Britney Spears was within touching distance, I probably would have had the foresight to flip him off.
Sure, that’s exactly why your not contesting that sentiment. Keep telling yourself that.
But seriously, was that him trying to one-up me?
Or was it him trying to tell me something?
I didn’t know what I was to him. Fuck, I didn’t even know what he was to me. But I was certain of two things: the lines of our relationship were starting to become more blurred and confusing by the second, and I didn’t want anything to change. I wanted him all up in my space.