Banking the Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires Book 2)(23)

“Jesus! You what? Talk about burying the goddamn lede.”

“Why are you so shocked? I figured that was the first thing Thatch would’ve told Kline.”

She shook her head.

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I sleep-f*cked him.”

“God, I hate when you call it that. Do you know how bad it sounds?”

“Okay, I didn’t exactly sleep-f*ck him, but he woke me up after I fell asleep on his couch, and then next thing I knew, I was horny and trying to bang him. You know how I get when I’m tired but can’t fall asleep. I need a release or else I’ll just be staring at the ceiling all night, watching the time pass at a snail’s pace.”

“Tell me you were awake while f*cking him.”

“Oh, yeah. I was fully aware of what was happening.”

“Was he?”

I flashed an annoyed look. “Of course, he was. If a man falls asleep while a chick is grinding her * on him and shoving her tits in his face, then he is either narcoleptic, gay, or should seek medical attention.”



What? If men can have double standards, so can we.



“True.” Georgia grinned. “So…”

“So?”

“How was it?”

I tilted my head to the side. “How was what?”

“The sex!” she exclaimed, slamming her hands down on the table. Our cups shook from the vibrations, and a few people turned in our direction.

“Slow your roll, Susie. You’re about ten seconds away from reenacting When Harry Met Sally, and I’m not so sure that couple feeding their dog ice cream is going to appreciate it.”

She giggled, grabbing a fry from the basket. “Great movie.”

Oh yeah, only murderers and puppy-mill directors didn’t recognize that showing of cinematic genius. “Fan-f*cking-tastic movie.”

“All right,” she said, leaning across the table. “Tell. Me. Everything.”

“Wheorgie encouraging an overshare? Color me impressed.”

She gestured with an impatient hand for me to continue.

“Well, it was good sex. Great sex, actually. His dick and mouth are talented, that’s for damn sure. I would have come twice had my * not demanded to be penetrated.”

“Da-yum, that’s a good session of sleep-f*cking, then.”

I laughed, and I couldn’t stop myself from replaying the night’s events in my head. I really had enjoyed last night. Thatch had a body made for f*cking. That was pretty much all there was to it.

“So I’m assuming Thatch enjoyed himself too?”

I rolled my eyes. “His cock was inside me, and my tits were in his hands… Of course, he enjoyed it.”

“Are you sure about that?” she pushed, even though I’d spoken perfect f*cking English.

I tilted my head, scrutinizing her secretive expression. “What do you know that I don’t know?”

“Nothing,” she said, but her shifty eyes said otherwise.

“Spill it.”

“I don’t know anything,” she tried to convince me, but the grin she was fighting made it quite obvious she was full of shit. God, she was about the worst liar in the history of liars.

“Georgia.” I stared at her, unleashing the crazy eyes. It was my biggest weapon when trying to get her to fess up to something. She called it the creepy stare, and it generally only took about ten seconds of half-assed effort to get her to spill her secrets.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

“Fine!” She gave in, raising both hands in the air. “Cool it on the creepy staring. You know it freaks me out.”

Works like a charm. Every time.

“Okay, so maybe I already knew you guys had sex,” she confessed.

“Wheorgie!” I admonished, equal parts shocked and impressed she was able to convince me otherwise for even the short window she had.

“Sorry.” She shrugged, her button nose scrunching up in a textbook gesture of sorry, not sorry. “I just wanted to hear it from you first before I told you what I actually knew.”

“That was way too persuasive.” She had almost convinced me. “I think you’ve been practicing the fake tears on Kline too much.”

She laughed. “I know, right?”

“All right, what did Thatcher tell Kline?”

“Well…he called my husband this morning all freaked out that you were actually moving in with him.”

That had me smiling big. I loved that my plan to mess with him this morning actually worked. I didn’t usually set a precedent of making myself at home at someone else’s place. I just had a feeling Thatch wouldn’t know what the f*ck to do if I made myself comfortable in his bed while he was getting ready to leave for work.

She pointed at my face. “So, you were screwing with him this morning!”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, nodding in confirmation. “I was most definitely screwing with him. You should have seen his face when I got back in his bed, turned on the TV, and started asking him what channels he got.”

But really, I’d had a blast lounging all over his apartment this morning. If I didn’t love Georgie so much, I’d probably still be there, drowning hours in bacon and DVR and anything else I could get my hands on.