Banking the Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires Book 2)(71)

“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 f*cking 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 f*ck 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 f*cking 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 f*cking 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 f*cking 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 f*ck’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 f*cking done. Why do people do this? This is so f*cking 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.”