Tapping Her (Bad Boy Billionaires #1.5)(14)

“What was his name?”

“Dad.”

His eyebrows scrunched together. “Dad?”

“Yeah, his name was Dad. Dad, the mini-pig. He was white with—” I started to respond, but Thatch held his hand up, laughter spilling from his lips.

“Hold up. Your pig’s name was Dad?”

“Uh, yeah.” My right eyebrow rose on my forehead, high and annoyed. “How many times do I have to tell you my pig’s name?”

“Who named him?”

“Me. I named him. He was my pig.” I stared at him, frustrated by his interrogation. “English is your first language, right?”

He chuckled at that. “You realize how f*cking absurd and downright hilarious it is that you, little toothless, pigtail-wearing-Cassie, named her pig Dad, right?”

“He looked like a Dad. And I was never innocent enough to pull off pigtails.”

“Fuck, you’re fantastic.” A giant grin consumed his face. “What happened to Dad?”

“My mom got tired of him constantly tearing up the house, so they sent him to a farm.”

“A farm, farm? Or like ‘a farm’?” he asked, gesturing quotation marks with his fingers.

I squinted. “I don’t understand the difference. I thought a farm was a f*cking farm.”

He slowly tilted his head to the side, assessing my incredulous expression. After a few seconds, he merely smiled and got off my bed, walking around my bedroom and getting all up in my personal shit.

I followed his big-ass feet across the room, yanking a picture frame from his hands. “Not so fast, Thatcher. What other kind of farm are you talking about?”

For a fraction of a second, I watched his eyes go wide before he schooled his expression into one that was irritatingly neutral.

And then, it clicked. The bastard was insinuating that my mom had Dad offed. He hadn’t been—I’d checked, and had even made my mother get pictures of Dad with his new farm family. Well, two could play that game. I’d make Thatch rethink opening his big f*cking mouth before I was through with him. Good thing I’d always been a fantastic actress.

“Oh, my God!” My hand went to my mouth. “You don’t think my—”

“No,” he backtracked, eyes wide and head shaking adamantly.

I almost wanted to drop the act when I saw the distressed look on his face. Almost.

“That’s not what I said. I’m sure your parents sent Dad to a real farm. A really nice farm. I bet Dad had the time of his life at that farm. I bet he was a wild man, doing crazy pig shit and frolicking in the fields. Maybe you ate a lot of ham that month, but I’m sure it was a coincidence.”

Ham. It took a whole lot of willpower not to burst out into laughter. Even when he was trying to be serious, he couldn’t help himself. The man was sarcastic to his core, and it gave me a very odd sense of déjà vu.

“Oh. My. God!” I shoved his shoulder hard, forcing him to take a step back. “You think my mom had Dad killed?!”

His eyes transformed from playful to panicked.

“No. No. That’s not what I think. I think he grew old on that happy, beautiful farm. I bet Dad died doing what he loved, rolling around in shit and pulling some serious piggy tail.”

“I can’t believe this,” I said, staring off into space and putting on my best distraught look. “I can’t believe my mom killed Dad. I feel like my entire childhood is a lie. My whole life is one big f*cking lie. Thanks a lot, Thatch!” I stabbed him in the chest with my index finger. “You have ruined everything.”

“Fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sure Dad is still alive. I bet that f*cker’s gonna live to be a hundred!”

“Shut up. Just. Shut. Up.” I turned away from him, fighting the smile threatening to cover my entire face, and threw myself onto my mattress. “This whole time I thought Dad was happy with another family on a farm, when in reality, he was dead.” My voice was muffled in my pillows. “Dad was dead, and no one even f*cking knew about it. My mom f*cking had Dad offed because, apparently, he was too much of a hassle.”

A soft chuckle hit my ears, and I turned onto my back, finding Thatch vibrating with silent laughter. The expression on his face—a fine mix of hilarity and constipation—almost made me break.

“Are you laughing?” My lips burned as I tried to hide my amusement with feigned disgust.

“Definitely not. That’d be a real * thing to do,” he muttered, trying like hell to fight a smile. He assessed my face and started to grin. “Wait a minute…” He paused, pointing a finger at my face. “Are you f*cking with me?”

“Are you insinuating I’m not upset about Dad?”

He nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. And by the look of that smile trying to swallow your face, I’d say I’m right. You look like the f*cking Joker.” He laughed, shaking his head. “It actually scares me how good you are at acting. I feel bad for every motherf*cker that’s fallen inside your trap. You should come with a warning label, honey.”

Even though he was one-hundred-percent correct, I still grabbed my TV remote from the nightstand and chucked it at him for having the audacity to accuse me of being a lot to handle. I was, but only I got to say I was high-maintenance.