Tapping Her (Bad Boy Billionaires #1.5)(15)

Unfortunately, Thatch was a lot quicker than he looked, crouching down, and giving the remote nowhere else to go but straight at my window. It cracked and shattered with an impressive screech, glass flying onto the hardwood floor like confetti.

Well, f*ck.

He straightened from his crouched position and assessed the damage. His fingers running along the broken glass and noting the giant hole in the center.

Thatch turned around, facing me. “I’ll take the blame for breaking the news to you about Dad’s death, but this—” he gestured a thumb over his shoulder “—this one’s on you, crazy.”

I sighed. “Son. Of. A. Bitch.”

And that was how I had managed to get Thatcher Kelly shirtless and sweaty, hammering nails into a piece of plywood that covered my broken window.

“Honestly, Cass, if you wanted a striptease, all you had to do was ask. I would’ve obliged, and you wouldn’t have to replace a window.” He glanced over his shoulder, smirking.

I was lying on my belly, chin resting in my hands, and enjoying the show from the comfort of my bed. A few rogue droplets of sweat slid down his back, bumping over the beautiful dips and valleys of his muscular form. Damn, this man had to put some serious hours in at the gym to look that good.

“Did you hear me?” he asked, lining up another nail against the wood. “Next time, let’s avoid all of the menial labor and focus both of our energies on something more entertaining. Something that involves your tits and me in a deep, mouth-to-nipple conversation.”

“Why are you still talking?” I took a sip from the straw inside my can of Coke. “You’re supposed to be standing there, hammering your wood, and looking pretty. I’m not paying you for small talk.”

“Pretty sure you’re not paying me at all,” he pointed out. “Your crazy ass broke the window, and now I’m stuck putting up a temporary solution until you can get someone in here to replace it.”

“Meh, those are just minor details at this point.”

“Okay. Here’s the deal,” he said, lining up another nail. “Wrap those gorgeous lips of yours around my cock, and we’ll call it even.”

“Slut,” I responded through a cough.

“I never said dirty talk was a requirement, but if that’s what gets you off, I guess I can roll with it.” He glanced over his shoulder and waggled his eyebrows in my direction.

“You know,” I responded, tapping my chin. “Considering I’m a fan of sucking cock, I probably would’ve gone for it. But since you lost Walter, and we’ve yet to find Satan himself, I’m gonna have to pass.”

“Shit. I almost forgot about that goddamn cat,” Thatch muttered.

“Yeah, I kind of did too,” I said, eyes still fixated on his biceps as he hammered in the last nail. I was starting to think we were terrible friends to Kline and Georgie. I probably should have been out searching for Walnuts rather than lounging around, watching Thatch’s big muscles at work.

It was definitely time to resume our search. No way in hell could I let Georgia come home to her cat missing.

I got up from my bed and headed for the hallway. “Move those f*cking clown feet into my bathroom and get cleaned up. Time’s a wastin’ on finding The Asshole.” I called over my shoulder.

A few feet into the hallway, I heard Thatch mutter, “Jesus Christ. That little cocksucker. Not even my cat, and he’s ruining everything.”





“Don’t you think we should actually search the apartment building in which he vanished before the rest of Manhattan?” I asked for the second time today.

Crazy Cassie had been convinced immediately after Walter’s disappearing act that he’d up and, I don’t know, f*cking teleported himself to the other side of Central Park. She’d dragged me out onto the sidewalk, and led by the helpful direction of her tits, I’d followed right along on a roller coaster ride straight into hell. Up and down the sidewalks of the park, from one side to the other and back again, a Twilight Zone cab ride, and a little light manual labor at her apartment later, and here I was, about to follow her into the depths of Manhattan fitness and fornication again.



I guess that makes me the crazy one.



“Would you stop contradicting every f*cking thing I say? Use that beanstalk body of yours and search the surrounding area.”

Fed up, I pulled her to a stop with the hand she was dragging me by. “I’m going back to search the building, and if I don’t find him, I’m calling Kline.”

“Thatcher—”

“No, Cass. Stay out here and search if you want, but you’ll never find Walnuts in the bevy of strays combing Central Park. God, for all we know, the little prick has a key to their apartment and is halfway through his afternoon bath in the middle of their goddamn bed.”

“Shit!” she yelled, her face falling as she started running in the direction we had come, shoving people out of the way as she went.

“What?” I asked, breaking into a jog to keep up.

“The door!” she shrieked. “We left the door to their apartment open!”

Oh, f*ck.

Yeah, safe bet they weren’t going to be asking us to watch their apartment or their cat again.

My legs were twice the length of hers, so I passed her easily, sprinting through the crowded sidewalk. I slammed through the door, nodding at the doorman as I went, and thanking f*ck their building had one.