AUSTIN
My mom.
In Thatch’s office.
Why was my mom in Thatch’s office? Why was this happening? Had I just walked into an alternate universe, one where my mom used words like “nipple”?
I loved my mom, don’t get me wrong, but, this?
Did Dad know?
As far as I was concerned, she’d never even discussed a boob job or anything like it. Besides, her boobs, unlike mine, were basically perfect, like every part of her!
I closed my mouth and shared a horrified look with Thatch, who looked like he was ready to puke, though I wasn’t sure why. It was his job! And it wasn’t like he was touching his own mom’s boobs.
Too far, Austin. Too far.
“What are you doing here?” Mom and I said at the same time.
“Austin’s shadowing me for one of her classes,” Thatch answered, saving me from having to explain myself. I would not be thankful for the save. I would not let his kindness in this moment minimize his rejection this morning.
Spine straightening, I faced my mom. “So? Why are you here?”
“I um—” She looked panicked. “A—” The look she shared with Thatch wasn’t normal. “A breast implant.”
“Implants, you mean?” I corrected. “Not that Thatch can’t just stuff one for you, but I’m pretty sure Dad would have something to say about you being lopsided in pictures.”
Mom’s strained laugh wasn’t normal, not at all.
What the heck was going on?
Thatch grabbed her clipboard and then shielded it from my face, before pulling the top sheet off and shoving it into his front pocket. “So, from what I’ve read, you want to get small implants with a lift?”
Mom nodded.
“And this lift . . . is for . . . yourself? Your husband?”
Mom was silent and then said, “Of course. Both!”
“Right.” Thatch clenched his teeth. “Well, let’s see what we’re working with.”
Yeah, that wasn’t normally how he did things.
I frowned. Why was he being so unprofessional? Maybe because he knew my mom, or at least had met her a few times when we dated? Regardless, she swallowed and then nodded to me. “Do I just—take off my shirt?”
I smiled. “Mom, relax, Thatch is really good at what he does.” Thatch didn’t look at me. “I mean, you know, when he goes to work sober and decides not to fondle your breasts for a little too long because he forgets he’s supposed to be measuring things, or like that one time when he accidently gave someone a thripple.”
My mom knew I was kidding. She laughed.
Meanwhile Thatch looked like he was ready to strangle me. “Amazing you even know what a thripple is, since you can’t even say the word ‘nipple’ without blushing.”
“Nipple,” I blurted. “What’s so hard about that?” I emphasized the word “hard” and glanced down at his crotch, my eyebrows lifting a bit as if to say, Aw, poor baby can’t even get it up?
Mom let out a little squeak. “You know, I think I’ve changed my mind.”
“Stay.” I was still staring at Thatch. “Maybe he’ll give it to you for free. After all, he did technically sleep with one of his patients, right Thatch? Wouldn’t want that getting out.” I was bluffing, but I was pissed and probably didn’t realize how pissed I was until that moment.
“Bullshit!” he roared. “You aren’t even a real patient!”
“I signed papers!” I fired back.
“You know.” Mom grabbed her purse. “I think I’ll just wait until later. Austin, I’ll see you at home. Thatch.” She waved and then closed the door behind her.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Thatch yelled. “Do you realize that I can get fired for what you said?”
“Please!” I rolled my eyes. “It was my mom, and she wants a boob job about just as bad as she wants a third leg!”
“You’d be surprised why your mom wants what she wants.”
“Oh well, that’s cryptic, and you suddenly know so much about my family?”
His face paled again.
“Whatever, I’m leaving.” I stomped out of the exam room and nearly lost an arm as Thatch jerked me toward his office and slammed the door behind us.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
THATCH
“I didn’t leave you,” I said hoarsely. “So stop taking your anger out on everyone else! I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“But you did,” she argued. “I woke up alone!”
I ran my hands through my hair and tried to think of a way to explain without giving her all the details. “This morning, I didn’t leave the building. I wasn’t abandoning you or trying to get out of the awkward morning-after part where you wonder if you’re going to get more sex or if the person’s going to make a run for it.”
She sighed and looked down at the ground. “Well, aren’t you curious which it would have been?”
“Yes.” My body ached for hers.
“Too bad.” She marched over toward the door and placed her hand on the knob. “If you didn’t leave the building, where were you?”
“Does it really matter? I didn’t leave you.”
“It matters to the girl you slept with and then abandoned most of the night, yes.”
“I was with you until five o’clock this morning.”
“Did you want a prize for cuddling?” she countered.
“Are you handing them out?” I tried joking.
She glared.
I held up my hands. “If you must know, I was across the hall.”
Confusion marred her angry features. “Okay,” she said, drawing out the word. “Doing what? Borrowing a cup of sugar? Pancake mix? What?”
I scratched my head. “My neighbor came home drunk, he was banging on all the doors, and he’d given me a spare key for emergencies, because sometimes . . .” Think, Thatch, think. “Sometimes I water his plants and feed his dog.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And both the plants and dog are still alive?”
“Very funny.”
“So you helped him into his apartment.” She put her hands on her hips. I could tell she was mulling over the information to see if I was being honest or just trying to get out of trouble.
“I swear.” I took a step toward her. “The last thing I wanted to do at five in the morning was leave my bed, with you sleeping in it.”
She nodded, exhaling a breath that she must have been holding in. Austin leaned her body against the door and broke off all eye contact. “If I ask you a question, will you be completely honest with me?”
“Yes.” Depends on the question. Please don’t ask about my family, and don’t tell me about yours.
“Have I gained weight?”
Yeah, so not what I was expecting. “What?”
“Weight.” Her eyes locked on mine. “Have I gained weight?”
“Where is this coming from?” I had a sneaking suspicion I knew—her father valued the illusion of perfection above all else. How ironic that the world around him was crumbling, and he had no freaking clue.