Banking the Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires Book 2)(123)

Goddammit.

“Cameron Mitchell can’t play today.”

“Why the f*ck not?” Thatch yelled.

I shook my head and clenched my jaw. I didn’t even know if I could talk about it, I was so pissed. My dick was the only one not with the program, thinking about a pretty physician’s heels and skirt and take-no-shit attitude. Who in the f*ck was that woman?

“Ah, man. We are f*cked, Whitney,” Thatch whined.

I looked over my shoulder and expected to find him on his feet and distraught over some large sum of money he had riding on my team, but instead, he sat calmly in his seat, a smile on his face as he looked at his hand interlocked with Cassie’s.

It was almost funny, the sight of his giant hand engulfing hers, but the smile on his face wasn’t. I didn’t understand it, didn’t f*cking want that shit for myself, but after seeing the way he was when he thought they were over, I’d take this sappy version of him every day, all day.

I followed the line of Cassie’s arm up from their hands and met her vivid blue eyes. “Your brother better be good.”

She scoffed. “Can a * take a pounding?” A smirk curved my lips at the memory of hers doing just that in my bathroom, and a pointed eyebrow inched toward my forehead. She held my eyes with absolutely no embarrassment, confirming she knew precisely what I was thinking. “Exactly. Whatever you need? He’s better. Whatever you think he can do? He can do more.”

I sure as f*ck hoped so.

“That’s right, honey,” Thatch encouraged. “You tell him.”

Fucking people in love.

I rolled my eyes and looked back to the field as the captains walked to the center to do the coin toss. We needed this to go in our favor. Without our best defensive end, our offense was going to have to come out blazing and set the tempo for a race up the scoreboard.

“You have any booze in this place?” Cassie asked, and I turned back to look at her. Thatch’s face had turned hard.

“Yeah,” I answered her while I looked at him and tried to figure out what that was about. “There’s some beer in the fridge, but if you want something else, they’ll bring it.”

“Beer’s good,” she announced with a shrug, climbing from Thatch’s lap. But he grabbed on to her hips and didn’t let her go.

“Uh, I’m trying to walk here, Thatcher,” she challenged with a smile. His face was still remarkably devoid of one.

My confusion blossomed. What happened to the happy-go-lucky guy of fifteen seconds ago?

He glanced at Kline briefly, who just smiled and shrugged, and then turned back to Cassie. With one rough yank, he pulled her down to straddle his lap and whispered something in her ear that made her eyes light up.

She moved quick, like a jack-in-the-box, jumping back off of his lap and pulling him to standing. His eyes skated briefly across mine, something in them I didn’t quite understand, before going back to her as she pulled him around the seats and back toward the en suite bathroom.

Jesus Christ, again?

“Is anybody going to actually watch this game with me?” I asked Kline testily. Frankly, I sounded kind of like a whiny kid, but Winnie f*cking Winslow had me all out of whack.

Kline didn’t call me on it, though. He was pretty much the only real adult among us. Rising from his seat, he walked over and stood next to me at the window and both sets of our eyes went to the field.

“What’s the plan?”

I shook my head, grimacing as the coin toss went in Pittsburgh’s favor, and answered honestly. “Play as hard as we can for all four f*cking quarters, I guess.”

Kline’s smirk hooked my attention from the corner of my eye. “What?” I asked.

His head shook slightly, and he smiled. “I’m just hoping Coach Bennett’s plan is a little more detailed.”




Two minutes left in the fourth quarter, and we were up by seven. A f*cking touchdown was practically nothing, the kind of lead that could change on a dime, but it was a lot goddamn better than being behind.

I hadn’t left my spot in front of the windows, my feet having practically grown roots there, and that was the way I liked it. Involved, engaged, and in tune with every second of play.

My friends didn’t have the same kind of avid concentration, but I’d done my best not to notice them as they flitted and squealed all over the room. Cassie had the most attentiveness of anyone, but only when her brother was on the field, and the way she screamed in my ear every time he did something noteworthy made me wish she didn’t.

The fabric of my pants pockets bunched in my hands as I worked to not scrub my hands down my face. I knew there was a camera on me at any given time, and while it wasn’t actually the case at all, I’d made an outward name for myself as having nerves of steel. Commentators often made remarks about my ability to maintain so much composure.

Hell, maybe it was a bad thing. Maybe it was something everyone mocked rather than revered, but it was what I knew. What made me comfortable.

And, as my eyes scanned the sideline to see if I could catch a glimpse of the new team physician, I knew I needed as much f*cking normalcy as possible.

Fourth down and three yards to go, our defense lined up without their star defensive end, with the game on the line. My lungs ached with the huge inhale of air I took, and my jaw wasn’t feeling unused either. But if we stopped them from converting this f*cking fourth down, the game was over. Rodeshiemer took the snap, shuffling his feet while his eyes scanned the field for an open receiver. He was one of the best f*cking passers, with one of the highest completion rates in the entire league, and my balls nearly shriveled up just thinking about having him on the other side of the line in a situation like this. “Get him, get him, get him,” I chanted in my head. Fucking end this.