Banking the Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires Book 2)(54)

He looked outrageous, sticking out like a sore thumb. His large frame—still clad in a Britney tee—towered over everyone in the audience. He was one of the few male attendants for the night, but in true Thatch fashion, he didn’t care. He sang when he knew the lyrics, and he danced like a lunatic during each song, often grabbing my hips and grinding against me playfully.

God, he made things fun. So much fun.

The neon lights glittered and gleamed across the stage as Britney seductively sang the opening lyrics to “I’m a Slave 4 U.” She moved down the stage, rotating her hips in hypnotic motions, and I watched on in amazement.

Thatch wrapped his arms around my shoulders and tugged me back against his chest. And as Brit sang, he sang directly into my ear, swaying us back and forth to the addictive beat.

“I’m having fun with you,” he whispered in my ear between lyrics.

I leaned my head against his chest and looked up at him. His eyes met mine, smirking down at me as he continued to serenade me with the help of Britney herself.

I smiled. “I’m having fun with you too.”

“Good.” My heart jumped as he leaned down and pressed his mouth to mine for a sweet kiss. “It doesn’t sit well with me when you’re sad.”

I turned in his arms and stood on tiptoes to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Thanks for cheering me up, Thatcher.” It felt completely natural to admit how much he meant to me. “You’re starting to become one of my favorite people.”

He smirked. “Likewise, honey.”

“Vegas! Let me hear you!” Britney’s voice filled the venue, and I turned back toward the stage and hooted and hollered with the rest of the crowd. “I need a volunteer. Who’s willing to help me get a little freaky?” She smiled at the audience and started to search through the numerous hands waving frantically.

Thatch watched on with amusement until I abruptly grabbed his hand and threw it roughly into the air. “This guy!” I called toward the pop goddess at an ear-splitting decibel. “He loves to get freaky!”

He chuckled in response, but then his eyes went wide as Britney pointed directly at him and started to walk across the stage until she was standing in front of us.

“Oh, f*ck,” he muttered.

“Don’t be shy.” She giggled into the mic. “Come up here, big guy. I need your help,” Britney instructed him.

Thatch started to shake his head, but it was too late; two security guys were already beside him. “You owe me, Crazy,” he growled into my ear before he let them lead him stage right and up the steps.

And there he was, standing tall and proud in his It’s Britney, bitch T-shirt, in front of an entire audience of Britney Army. Women catcalled and screamed for him to look in their direction. I couldn’t blame them. Hell, I even joined in, wolf-whistling and shouting, “Take off your pants!” as loud as my voice could manage.

“Whoa, you’re big,” Britney said once he was standing beside her and her entourage of talented dancers. “What’s your name?”

“Thatch, and I hear that a lot,” he responded without missing a beat.

She laughed. “Well, Thatch, who are you here with tonight, baby?”

“That crazy woman right there.” He pointed directly at me and smirked like the devil as he added, “My girlfriend, Cassie.”

Girlfriend? If I hadn’t been so f*cking mesmerized that Britney Spears was within touching distance, I probably would have had the foresight to flip him off.

Sure, that’s exactly why your not contesting that sentiment. Keep telling yourself that.

But seriously, was that him trying to one-up me?

Or was it him trying to tell me something?

I didn’t know what I was to him. Fuck, I didn’t even know what he was to me. But I was certain of two things: the lines of our relationship were starting to become more blurred and confusing by the second, and I didn’t want anything to change. I wanted him all up in my space.

I wanted his jokes and surprises and uncanny ability to raise the stakes.

Britney’s gaze met mine and she grinned. “Damn, girl, you’re gorgeous too! What’s with all of the beautiful people in Vegas tonight?”

The crowd shouted their approval.

“So, Thatch,” she said as her dancers moved around him and started sliding something over his neck. “Would Cassie say you’re a naughty boy?”

Where most guys would have been dying from embarrassment, standing up on stage while wearing a shirt with Britney’s face, Thatch did the complete opposite. He just chuckled and answered, “She sure as hell wouldn’t say I’m nice.”

I bit my lip as the crowd lost their f*cking minds, shouting proposals and innuendos so loud I had to cover my ears to dull the roar.

Britney laughed as Thatch met my eyes and shrugged at the attention.

“Let’s get freaky, Vegas!” Britney shouted as the beat of “Freakshow” pounded from the speakers.

My gaze followed the dancers as they crowded around the sexy ogre in the center of the stage. They rocked it out, dancing in sync with one another with gyrations and short flicks of their arms and hair to the sexy beat.

I slid my phone out of my back pocket and started to record every second of this perfect, blackmail-worthy moment.

A giant grin consumed my face as Thatcher Kelly became a prop at a Britney Spears concert. I wolf-whistled as the dancers led him by a harness-leash across the stage and he followed on his motherf*cking hands and knees, crawling across the stage until his leash was handed off to the pop diva herself. Britney led him down the center platform, and he followed without an ounce of shame or embarrassment on his face.