Banking the Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires Book 2) (32 page)

“Wake up, honey,” Thatch whispered in my ear.

“Go away.” I groaned and swatted at his face.

“C’mon, Cassie. It’s time to rise and shine.”

I rolled onto my side and pulled the comforter over my head, and his chuckles practically followed me under the blankets. “It’s too early for this shit.”

We’d spent the rest of last night eating and watching trashy Lifetime movies while Phil fell asleep in Thatch’s lap. And when I had fallen asleep, I’d relished the idea of spending today sleeping my ass off. This wake-up call was
not
on my agenda.

“You don’t even know what time it is.”

“I know it’s
too
fucking early.”

He wrapped his arm around my waist and turned me onto my back with ease, even managing to pull the comforter away from my face in the process. “But I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“I don’t want a boner, Thatcher.” Though, my pussy hadn’t gotten any kind of party last night, so maybe I did.
If only the pull of sleep wasn’t so strong.

He laughed. “It’s not my dick.”

I peeked out of one skeptical eye and turned my head to face him. “Then what is it?”

“Belgian waffles. What breakfast dreams are made of.”

“As in
Wafles and Dinges
?” They were my favorite waffles. Think whipped cream and hot fudge and caramel and pretty much any topping you wanted, and that was
Wafles and Dinges.

He nodded. “I figured we’d get Phil some fresh air in Central Park before the Saturday morning crowd hits and grab waffles on our way back.”

“But what if you and Phil went together? You know, since you haven’t really had a chance to get to know each other…” I trailed off and turned over on my side again. “I think that’s the best idea. You take Phil to the park and bring me back a waffle on your way home.” I made kissy noises as I pulled the comforter back over my face. “Kisses. You’re the best, baby.”

He chuckled, and I felt the mattress move as he stood up from the bed.

I sighed a breath of relief, but before I could snuggle myself back to sleep, Thatch yanked off the comforter and flipped me over his shoulder.
“Motherfucker!”
I shouted.

“Time to wake up!” He spanked my ass. “This is for the good of our relationship, honey. We need to be doing things with Phil together. We don’t want to bring him into this world only to immediately make him feel like he’s a part of a broken home. Which means, you get to accompany us to Central Park today.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s a little after six,” he answered, setting me on my feet.

“A little after six?” I shouted and poked him directly in the chest. “Are you kidding me? It’s too early! Way too goddamn early.”

He smirked. “I would agree, but Phil would not agree. He’s been whining—well, more like squealing—since about five thirty this morning.” And right on cue, Phil came tip-tapping in on his tiny hoofed feet and grunted when he plopped his little ass down by Thatch’s feet.

“See what I mean?” Thatch questioned, and Phil looked up at me.

“Fine,” I groaned. “But I’m not even brushing my hair,” I announced as I tossed my long locks into a messy bun.

“Just wear a bra and some gym shoes.”

“Huh?” I questioned in the middle of brushing my teeth, but Thatch ignored me. He picked Phil up and walked into the bedroom, setting the pig on the bed and fastening the harness leash around his body.

Fifteen minutes later, we were headed toward Central Park, one of Thatch’s hands holding mine and the other wrapped around the leash. Phil’s head stood tall as he trotted down the sidewalk, his little ass swaying side to side with each step.

This pig knew how to bring all the girls to the yard. We had stopped four times for random people to kneel down and give him attention. Two of which were giggly women insisting on taking a picture with the pint-sized Casanova.

It didn’t help that the man holding his leash proudly was bigger than a giant and soaked up the attention just as much as the snorting pig. Winks and smirks and hearty chuckles were being passed out like fucking candy. If I wasn’t so pissed off for being woken up at six in the morning, I might have found it all amusing.

Liar. You’re totally loving every second of the Jolly Green Giant and Philmore show.

Thatch led us toward a table sitting just outside the entrance of Central Park and smiled down at the gray-haired lady holding a clipboard. “Thatch Kelly and Cassie Phillips.”

She scrolled her paper with the tip of her pen until she tapped it twice and grinned. “Looks like you’ve already filled out the forms and paid the entry fee.” She handed Thatch two square pieces of paper with safety pins attached. “Just pin on your numbers and head on over to the starting line. The race will start in ten minutes.”

My eyes went wide. “The race? What race?”

“Thanks, honey,” he told her and grabbed my hand, tugging me through the entrance of the park. He led us toward a bench, ignoring my persistent questions about what the hell was going on and urged my ass to sit down by giving my shoulders a gentle shove.

When he tried to pin the paper on my shirt, I slapped his hands away. “Thatcher,” I snapped. “What the fuck is going on?”

“We’re running this 5K together,” he said like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Oh, hell to the no,” I disagreed. “I am not running in a fucking race. Do you even know me?” I questioned his sanity. Cassie Phillips did not run in races. The closest she came to running was when Macy’s was having their end-of-year clearance sale on shoes. And even then, my pace was more speed-walk than run.

“But you love to run,” he stated. “Isn’t that what you said last night?” His gaze met mine, and I didn’t like the devious glint of amusement that rested behind his eyes. “I’m really trying here. Trying to do nice things for the good of our relationship. I wanted to be thoughtful and do something with you that you said you loved to do.”

His smile said sweet, but his eyes, well, they said
checkmate.

“Do you not want to spend time with me today, honey?”

Oh man, he was evil.

The fucking king of one-upping had just laid down the gauntlet.

I plastered a sugary sweet smile on my face. “Of course, I want to spend time with you, baby. I’m so happy you did this,” I lied, snatching the paper from his hands violently and pinning it to my shirt.

As we lined up at the starting line, I had the urge to kick Thatch in the nuts. The cute pig standing at his feet was the only thing that had stopped me.

The gun fired and everyone around us was off, their gym shoes slapping against the pavement in the direction of the finish line. I started off slow and silently prayed that Thatch would speed ahead so that I could sneak off the path and find a park bench to plop my already tired ass down on. But of course, he didn’t do that. No way, that would have been too damn easy. Thatch jogged leisurely at my side, letting my pace lead us.

A minute into the run, I was silently cursing everyone and everything.

Fuck you. Fuck running. Fuck the beautiful sun. Fuck those chirping birds. Fuck that lady pushing her kid in the stroller. It should be me in that fucking stroller.

I looked up from the ground and found Thatch smiling down at me, his long legs running at a slow and easy rhythm and not an ounce of discomfort on his face. He paused briefly to pick up a squealing Phil and adjust him in his arms like a baby, and I took that moment to scratch the side of my face with my middle finger pointed directly in his direction.

He caught it and his smile grew wider. “You okay, honey?”

“I’m fine,” I bit out between panting breaths. “Never been better.”

I refused to let him know my body was practically screaming for me to stop.

But ten minutes after that I could no longer keep quiet.

“For fuck’s sake!” I shouted, and the runners in front of me shot glares over their shoulders. “I can’t go any longer, Thatch,” I gasped and jogged off to the side of the path. My feet stayed firmly planted by a bench as I leaned forward and rested my hands on my knees. “I’m done. I’m fucking done. Why do people do this? This is so fucking stupid. Why would anyone want to run unless they were actually being chased or Prada was having a going-out-of-business sale?” I rambled through shallow breaths.

Thatch sat Phil down on the bench, and before I could stop him, he gripped my hips, lifted me over his head, and set me on his shoulders.

“Whoa! What the hell?” I cried. My head spun from the abrupt change in altitude.

“I’m really proud of you, Crazy,” he said and picked Phil up from the bench. “For someone who’s never run before, you kicked ass for the first mile and a half.” He glanced up at me and winked. “So now, just sit back, relax, and hold on tight to Phil. I’ll take it from here.”

He lifted our little piggy above his head and put him into my arms.

Phil squealed in protest, but I slipped him inside the front of my shirt and held on tight to comfort him. “It’s okay,” I soothed. “I’ve got ya, little buddy.”

Eventually, his squeals stopped, and he peeked his little head out above my neckline. He sniffed the air a few times and snorted his content, inside the warmth and safety of my shirt.

“That’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Thatch said as he held his phone in front of us, catching all three of our faces in the shot. His gaze met mine in the screen and those chocolate eyes of his glimmered with affection. “Smile, honey,” he said as his lips curled into a handsome smile.

I smiled.

Phil snorted.

Snap.
And just like that, our happy little moment had been recorded.

Forever unchanged.
Just like your growing feelings for this beautiful, charming, perfect-for-you man…well, five minutes ago you would have thought perfect-for-you asshole.

“All right,” Thatch announced as he moved back toward the path and held my thighs tightly to his shoulders. “Let’s hit it.”

With pep in his step and occasional grinning glances in mine and Phil’s direction, Thatch finished the last two miles of the race just like that—me on his shoulders and our teacup pig in my T-shirt. And beyond that, he did it with ease. The second he crossed the finish line, he pulled me off his shoulders and put his lips to mine. His breathing wasn’t even labored.

Fuck, that man had some serious stamina.

An hour later, we were stuffed full of waffles and settled on a park bench—Phil asleep on my chest, while my legs were stretched out and rested in Thatch’s lap. I watched him watch the people meandering by, his eyes following their Saturday paths with nothing but mild curiosity.

He untied my laces and slipped off my shoes and socks, leaving my feet bare beneath the late morning sun. His fingers kneaded into my soles and started their talented course of finding all of the sensitive spots that ached from the run.

A soft moan fell from my lips, and his gaze met mine.

“Feel good?”

“So good.”

He grinned.

“You know, you’re a really good boyfriend,” I admitted. Even though our relationship had an undertone of pranks and jokes and relentless teasing, Thatch
was
a good boyfriend. I knew I wasn’t an expert by any means when it came to relationships, but beneath that wicked sense of humor, he was thoughtful and caring and sweet. So fucking sweet sometimes I wondered if I’d get a stomachache from sugar overload.

His brow rose in question.

“I mean, look at you,” I said, nodding toward his hands on my feet. “You’re rubbing my gross feet after I just ran like fifty miles.”

“You’re feet aren’t gross.” He plucked one of my hot-pink painted toes with his index finger and thumb. “They’re cute.”

I wiggled my toes. He chuckled.

“And you only ran a mile. Mile and a half, tops,” he added with an amused grin. “I ran more than half of the race with you and Phil on my shoulders.”

“But I ran the hardest part of the trail. There were more hills on the first end.”

Yeah, that was a lie. They weren’t any hills.

He winked. “Of course, you did, honey.”

I wiggled my toes again. “So who taught you how to be a good boyfriend? Your last girlfriend was in high school, right? What was her name?”

“Yes.” He paused briefly and then started kneading at the balls of my feet. “Her name was Margo.”

“How long did you guys date?”

“A little over a year.”

“Why did you break up?”

“We didn’t.” He turned on the bench to face me. “She died at the end of our senior year.”

Whoa. That had been unexpected. In the past, before Thatch, I would’ve shied away from going further with this conversation and tried to lighten the tone, but I didn’t want to do that.

“Wow, Thatch…I’m so sorry…I don’t really know what else to say.”

“It was a long time ago,” he reassured. “When it happened, of course, I was devastated. But as time passed, and wounds healed, I knew that my relationship with Margo was a huge part of my life because of the way it ended, not because of the actual relationship we had. We were both young, wild, and selfish. If she had lived, and every day I wish she had, I know Margo and I wouldn’t have been sitting here together on this park bench. I just wish she could have had the opportunity to spread her wings and really fly, really find herself.”