Banking Her: A Billionaire Bad Boys Novella (Book 2.5) (Bad Boy Billionaires) (2 page)

“Come on. The sooner the two of you bang, the sooner we can all go on a tropical vacation together. It’ll be like that movie,
Couple’s Retreat
.”

“Don’t like seventy-five percent of the couples in that movie break up?”

“Okay, so it won’t be like
Couple’s Retreat
. It’ll be like a totally better, porno version of it. No one breaks up in porn.”

“Of course, no one breaks up in porn,” I told him, following him down the rabbit hole of conversation without even realizing it. Thatch was the master of dragging you into insanity without your knowledge. I think it was the matter-of-fact way he talked about absurdities. “It’s an explicitly no-boundaries situation.”

“It’s an accidental anal situation.”

“Exactly. In real life, women break up with you for accidental anal.”

His voice turned grave. “Is that why there’s so much tension with Winnie? I thought it was because you hadn’t fucked, but it’s because you gave her accidental anal, isn’t it?”

“Jesus Christ! No.” My whisper turned harsh as I took a couple of steps away from Winnie’s office and checked to make sure she couldn’t hear me.

“It’s not accidental anal. There’s no anal.”

“Oh. So that’s the problem. I’ve gotta tell you, Wes. Even I haven’t gotten anal. And if I can’t get anal from Cassie, you’re never getting anal from Winnie.”

“I don’t want anal from Winnie!”

Thatch laughed, and I closed my eyes in frustration. “So just the pussy, then?”

“I’m done talking to you.”

“Wait!” he called before I could hang up. “I called for a reason.”

“I’m not going to get ice cream for Cassie.”

“That’s not—”

“I know nothing about pregnancy panties.”

He barked laughter. “Well, you know more than me. I wasn’t aware there were pregnancy panties—”

“I don’t have access to any fried pickles, and I absolutely will not bring you Chinese food.”

“You know, I’m really starting to question your opinion of me, Whitney.”

“That’s fine,” I told him. “I’ve been questioning my opinion of you forever, in that I have one to give, because I’m still friends with you despite the fact that you are one of the most ridiculous human beings I’ve ever met.”

“It’s the big dick.”

“What?” My voice was incredulous and completely fucking confused about how we’d gotten here.

“Why you’re friends with me. The big dick.”

I laughed then. “No, no. I can assure you my friendship has nothing to do with, and I quote, ‘the big dick.’”

“Come on. You know you wouldn’t want to be friends with some little-dicked guy.”

“I’m pretty sure I want to be friends with the guy who doesn’t tell me about his dick size.”

“Huh.” He managed to sound like
I’d
surprised
him
. “Well, you’re out of luck there.”

“Thatch, I’m hanging up now.”

“Wait!”

God help me
. I glanced over my shoulder once more, but in my attempt to do it inconspicuously, I completely failed to see anything. Apparently, subterfuge wasn’t my specialty.

“I just want to know what safety precautions you have on board your plane.”

My eyebrows shot together. “What?”

His voice turned suddenly serious. “I know Cassie has that shoot coming up for your away game—”

That wasn’t for a couple of weeks. Did I really have to deal with this now? “Thatch—”

“And I’m really trying not to get in her face about all the traveling and everything because, yeah, she’ll pretty much cut my big dick off, but I just need to know.”

I still didn’t even understand what he was asking. “I’m not following here.”

“What kind of medical provisions do you have on the plane?”

I glanced back into the office at Winnie, and actually caught sight of her this time, to find her sitting behind her desk and staring at the ground. I wondered if she was trying to avoid looking at me as hard as I was trying to avoid looking at her.

“Well, Winnie will be on the plane with us. And she’s a doctor.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. That’s right.” He exhaled, and for the first time in this entire conversation, I didn’t want to wring his motherfucking neck.

I was a lot of things, a fair many of them probably not good, but I could tell when something genuinely meant something to him. “She’ll be fine,” I told him gently.

“I know. Fuck. I just can’t stop myself from worrying.”

I shut my eyes. Goddamn this big fucking sap. When he was vulnerable like this, I could barely even stand it. He was so damn
genuine
. “That means you’re going to be a good dad.”

He didn’t say anything, and I felt my chest tighten.

“I promise that Winnie will look out for her,” I told him. I knew he needed the extra encouragement, and in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to give it to him. “She’s more than capable, and you know that, no matter what, I’d make sure Cassie got the help she needed.”

“I know.”

“Thatch—”

“I’ll let you go,” he interrupted. “Go do anal with the good doctor.”

The line was dead before I could respond.

I shook my head to clear it and then turned to walk into Winnie’s office. I didn’t bother knocking as I walked through the already open door.

“Thatch?” she asked, and I raised my eyebrows.

“How could you tell?”

She put a finger to the skin between her own eyebrows and explained. “You always get a line, right here, when you talk to him.”

I laughed and shook my head, and then, for some reason, shared. “He’s really nervous about Cassie’s pregnancy. I think he calls me and Kline because he’s afraid to smother her about it.”

She looked me right in the eye, and for the first time in as long as we’d been working together, I didn’t feel the hot lash of her anger burning through me.

“W
ell, he’s not the only one nervous about her pregnancy,” I added for some insane reason. I was thrown off by this entire interaction with Wes. Our history of conversations was short but definitely had an undertone of aggravation or annoyance. I often found myself wondering if he could even stand being in the same room as me. Hell, I had a hard time being stuck in close quarters with
him
.

Sure, physically, Wes was the absolute perfect picture of my dream man—tall, fit, and Lord Almighty, his hazel eyes whispered promises of hot, mind-blowing sex.

But then, he’d open his mouth and pretty much ruin
everything.

He needed a muzzle.

And to stop questioning every single one of my decisions related to the Mavericks. I honestly thought he made it a point to challenge me. It was like he obtained some sort of enjoyment out of being the one person who consistently disagreed with me.

Which made it completely ridiculous that I had asked him to come into my office to look at Mitchell’s MRI. I was the physician between the two of us. Not him. Sure, he was the owner, the one who signed my checks, but he had zero medical background; therefore, his opinion didn’t mean jack shit.

Yeah, but you didn’t ask him into your office for intellectual conversation. You want to ogle his fine ass in that suit…

I did. I
really
did. And I was torn between thinking I was a genius for luring him into my office so I could stare at his ass, versus realizing I had reached an all-time low. The truth of it was, I hadn’t even been looking at Mitchell’s MRI—it just seemed like a good excuse to get him inside. But hell, it had been over a year since I’d last had sex, and Wes Lancaster had a really fantastic ass.

Yes, you heard that right.

One whole year.

Three hundred and sixty-five days.

Five hundred twenty-five thousand and six hundred minutes.

But who’s counting, right?

Obviously, me. I’m counting. And it’s a wonder my vagina hasn’t packed her bags and fucked off to somewhere else where single-mom responsibilities and work hours aren’t a priority.

The last time I had sex was a drunken night of regret with Lexi’s father. Nick had been in town for Lexi’s preschool graduation, and I’d caved on letting him spend the night at my house. And I’d justified it by telling myself I was merely letting our daughter have more time with her father before he left again for who even knew how long.

It wasn’t that Nick was a shitty father, he was just an absent father.

Needless to say, after our daughter had gone to bed, we’d shared a bottle of wine, and then another, and then another, until my brain had only been able to focus on how much I missed the feel of a man. In me, around me, I had just needed to be kissed, touched,
fucked
. I’d needed to feel like I was desirable again. I had needed an orgasm that didn’t occur from my own devices.

In that moment, with Nick, my ex-boyfriend from a relationship that ended in an unplanned pregnancy and a disastrous breakup, I’d just needed sex.

And that’s all it was. Sex, pure and simple.

It was an epically stupid choice, obviously.

Now that a full year had passed since that wine-fueled decision, my brain was starting to feel the effects, frequently fantasizing about what it would be like to have the kind of sex that made your hands fist the sheets and sweat trickle down your skin. The kind of sex that left you wanting more. The kind of sex that made sleepless nights worth the fatigue.

God, I want that kind of sex.
I want it so bad.

“Not the only one?”

Wes’s voice pulled me from my sex-fogged thoughts, and I stared back at him in confusion.

Not the only one? What in the hell was that supposed to mean? He wanted to have sex, too? Right now? With me? “Huh?” I asked eloquently.

Could I have sex with Wes? No-strings-attached sex?

Naked. Rough. My hands clenching his hair. His hands clutching my ass as he thrusts inside of me. His lips to my ear, whispering dirty things that have my nipples tightening from the sheer audacity of his filthy mouth…

Welp, no need to phone a friend, there’s your answer.

He tilted his head to the side, and a slight smirk crept across his full lips. “You said Thatch wasn’t the only one nervous about Cassie’s pregnancy.”

“Oh…oh, right.” My cheeks heated in embarrassment. Sweet baby kittens, I had been three seconds away from ripping my blouse off and mounting him on my desk. I cleared my throat and rubbed my now sweaty palms down the top of my skirt. Shit, I was losing it, sitting here, fantasizing over visuals of Wes spreading me out over my desk and burying his face…

For the love of God, I needed a shrink.

Or an orgasm…from Wes Lancaster.

I pushed those thoughts aside and grabbed my phone from the top of my desk and unlocked the screen, my fingers quickly finding the group text conversation with Cassie and Georgia. I held it up for him to see. “Georgia has been demon-texting me and Cass for the past seventy-two hours. She’s not too happy Cassie is traveling so much.”

He took the phone from my hand and started to read a few of the texts aloud. “Goddammit, Winnie Winslow. You’re a doctor. Help me out here! Tell Cassie she’s not allowed to travel anymore. It’s not healthy for her or the baby.”
His hazel eyes shone with amusement, and he glanced up at me with a grin. “How far along is Cassie again?”

“Three months. You’d think she’s forty weeks and ready to deliver with the way Georgia is trying to put the kibosh on all of her travel plans. She’s hell-bent on Cassie being put on bed rest for the rest of her pregnancy.”

“Wait…forty weeks? I thought it was nine months?”

“Ten months, actually. Due dates are calculated at forty weeks.”

“Damn,” he groaned while a small smile kissed his lips. “It’s about to be a long seven months for all of us.”

I laughed. “Yeah. It definitely is.”

My phone pinged with a notification as Wes continued to read the insane text messages Georgia had been sending Cassie and me. His brow furrowed, and he quickly averted his gaze from my phone. “Here,” he said, handing my phone back. His voice no longer tinged by warmth and amusement. Instead, his tone hinted at irritation. “You got a text message.”

“Oh, thanks,” I said, but I couldn’t help the confusion wrapped around my words.