“Yes, Leslie?” I interrupted Thatch as she pushed open the door to my office.
“I just finished moving all of your meetings from this morning to this afternoon,” she purred, smiling at me like I should praise her. She was the one who’d told Dean to schedule the investor calls for that morning rather than this afternoon, necessitating a schedule flip in the first place.
“Thanks,” I said through gritted teeth. Catching sight of Thatch’s “Duran Duran” face on the screen in front of me stopped me from rolling my eyes. Operation Cockblock Hungry Wolf superseded my needs.
“You can just leave the new schedule by the door and head to lunch,” I offered, hoping she’d telepathically understand what I was trying so hard to communicate—get out.
She giggled.
Nope. Life wasn’t that easy.
The tile of my office floor turned into a runway, her dramatic, foot-crossing steps designed to amplify the swing of her hips and elicit a man’s attention.
And for any other man, it probably reached into his pants and hardened the attention right out of him.
I, however, was too busy cleaning up her mistakes and trying to finish a phone call so I could go to goddamn lunch.
Tits suddenly filled the frame of my vision, and I practically had to slam my head back into my chair to keep from eating them by accident.
No, I wasn’t that hungry. That was how close she had placed them.
“Here you go.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I said, dismissing her and averting my eyes as much as possible. It wasn’t a battle of wills, but rather, strictly a game of proximity.
The day I was willing to subject myself to that kind of * was the day my cock would rot off and my office would burn straight to the ground. I was sure of it.
Come hell or high water, I was done being this amenable to my mom’s suggestions. Leslie needed to be gone by the beginning of next week. Soon, but not soon enough that I couldn’t talk my way out of it at family dinner.
I watched as she walked, counting the seconds and praying he’d wait until she left the room.
“Ho-ly hell—”
“Thatch—” I attempted to interrupt, recognizing his tone from experience and knowing it would only lead to bad things.
“Where the hell have you been hiding that one?”
“Don’t say another word,” I warned, just as the door shut blessedly behind Leslie.
“Fuck me hard, fast, and dirty, Kline-hole. Did you see the tits on her? Seriously, let her know she can swaddle me up and ride me like a cockpuppet any fucking time she wants.”
I picked up a pen and pretended to scribble on a piece of paper.
“Ride…you…like…a…cockpuppet. Got it.”
The muscled chords of his throat flexed with a bark of laughter, and recognition of his absurdity flashed in his eyes.
“All right, point taken.” He raised his hands and winked, his fingers in air quotes, mocking, “Business.”
I didn’t waste any time getting back to it. “I’ve got two investor meetings in L.A.—”
“And you want me to be there.”
“Yeah.”
He sat back in his leather chair and crossed his thick arms. “Done.”
“You don’t even know when they are,” I pointed out. I reached forward and took hold of my mouse to double-check the timing, but he didn’t wait.
“For you, my love, no time is a bad time.” He blew me a kiss.
“Why do I put up with you?” I asked, sitting back again and raking a hand through my hair.
His response was immediate. “I personally think it’s because you like a reminder of the fine male specimen you’ll never live up to.”
I shook my head and smirked, knowing I’d never be the six-foot-five monster he was and not struggling to swallow it even one little bit. My leaner but no less toned six-foot package hadn’t failed me yet.
“I’ll see you in L.A. tomorrow night, Adonis.”
“No way. I’ll see you here, at the airport, so you can hold my hand during—”
Raising my middle finger in salute, I clicked the button to end the call.
Thatch’s ability to bounce back from a night out was almost unfathomable. I needed more than four hours of sleep, and I needed to do it for some other reason than being blackout drunk.
My best friend and money man could go several nights in a row without, it seemed, and holding his liquor had practically been his first childhood milestone.
Nights out were dwindling for both of us, though. My tendency to be “an old man,” according to Thatch, and his secret rendezvous with every available * in Manhattan pretty much soured the deal.
It’s not that I didn’t enjoy nights out or the company of a beautiful woman. I loved women. I loved every fucking thing about them. I just didn’t love the idea of having drunken sex with some chick I picked up at a bar. I wasn’t a fan of Pussy Roulette, and when I ate one, I wanted to be able to remember the taste.