Mother Fluffer - Max Monroe(ang.)

Mother Fluffer A Billionaire Bad Boys Bonus Novella Published by Max Monroe LLC © 2017, Max Monroe All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. Editing by Silently Correcting Your Grammar Formatting by Champagne Formats Cover Design by Perfect Pear Creative

Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Dedication Disclaimer Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Acknowledgments

To our hilarious and enthusiastic readers who were determined as fuck in their insistence that Thatch was worth reading about again. This one is for you guys. We love you and your persistence, and we hope this is the exact kind of crazy you wanted. To our beautiful mothers, Hot Mom & Bee, you’re the wind beneath our little writing wings. Thanks for always being there. We consider ourselves the luckiest because of you. We love you to the moon and back. To Thatch: please leave us alone for a little while.

Disclaimer Max and Monroe do not condone the use of this type of prank in real life. Seriously, don’t try this prank at home. Oh, and did we mention not to attempt this prank, or any prank like this one for that matter? Don’t do it. Like, not ever. Not once in your whole life.

Disclaimer for the disclaimer While Max and Monroe do not condone the use of this prank in real life, they strongly urge you to grab some popcorn, maybe a glass of wine, and be prepared to laugh your little ass off. But, please, use caution while drinking and/or eating while reading the hilarity that is about to take shape before your very eyes. Enjoy!

Weren’t Sundays supposed to be a day off, a day of rest, a day of family…a day of motherfluffing fucking? A day of God, actually, you say? Yeah, well, close enough. I thought so. But as I was coming to find out, I was often wrong—even when I was right. It was like an appendix to Murphy’s Law—Murphy’s Law of Marriage. As a man, whenever you could possibly ever, ever be wrong…you were. “Do you really have to go to work?” I whined. And yes, it was just as obnoxious in real life as it sounded in your head, but it worked because I’m lovable. Cassie frowned slightly with pity and then reached down and twisted my nipple, and I let out a shriek. Okay, so it only partially worked because, in addition to being lovable, I’m also a pain in the ass. According to my wife, and pretty much all of

my friends, a big one. But honestly, it was just the size of my personality. You can’t be this charming without an equally balanced vat of faults. Though, I contended that some of the things other people saw as negatives were, in fact, positives. “Yes,” she said with a sigh and followed it up with my favorite eye roll. My wife could pull off attitude like no one else, and hell if it didn’t drive me crazy. “Yes, you’re going to stay home and let me hold your tits all day?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer. “Yes, I have to go to work. What, do you expect me to just hang out barefoot in the kitchen all day because I’m pregnant?” I scoffed right into a chortle, but the venomous arch of Cassie’s eyebrow made me regret it nearly immediately. She was seven months along with our second child—another boy according to the ultrasound—and no less of a challenge. Hell on wheels was too soft a description for the woman I’d married, and all the hormones involved with cooking a human only enhanced her natural traits. She wouldn’t be who she was if she didn’t bust my balls and make society at large a little uncomfortable. But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t push past the boundaries to poke the already agitated bear, so to speak.

Oh, by the way… don’t tell her I compared her to a bear. I’m quite attached to my balls, and I’d really love to live past the age of forty. Thanks. “Come on, Crazy. You spend approximately zero minutes of your day in the kitchen.” She scoffed. “Like you’re a saint.” I laughed at her complete non sequitur. My rap sheet had absolutely nothing to do with the amount of time she did or didn’t—didn’t—spend in the kitchen. “I didn’t say anything about being a saint.” “That’s right! You’re fluffing not. You’re also a fluffing idiot for bringing up anything other than my tits and my pussy right now. Do you even remember that your dick is inside me?” I did, in fact, remember, the pseudo-argument between us making the Supercock harder by the minute. “I’m not the one who forgets she’s having sex and falls asleep.” “Take that back! It happened one time!” I shook my head with a laugh, the vibration of it stimulating my dick and shooting pleasure up my spine. I fucking loved when we had battles in the middle of sex. Something about the combination of the two reminded me just how much I loved right where I was—how suited we were for one another. “Nooo,” I corrected. “It didn’t. It happened at

least twice. And after that, I’m not convinced you didn’t just figure out how to fake alertness in a sleep state.” Chagrined, she did her best impression of an apology. “Shut up, and fuck me.” Notoriously, her apologies tended to look a little different in the wild than someone else might be used to in the societal zoo. “I am,” I reminded her with a laugh. “Can’t you tell?” “Oh, whoops. I guess I couldn’t feel your tiny dick.” I guffawed, nearly shouting each bark of laughter. She covered my mouth with her hand. “Shut up! Ace is sleeping.” “Okay,” I agreed through a hand-muffled mumble. “But come on…a tiny dick? You’re losing your coital-quarrel sharpness.” I jolted my hips up under hers for emphasis, and she moaned. “Yeah,” I taunted. She licked her lips with a smile, and her huge, fucking shrine-worthy tits bounced before settling back on top of her pregnant swell. “Thank God your stomach gets bigger when you’re pregnant,” I cooed, rubbing my hands all over her rounded belly. She looked perfect up there, sitting astride me with my cock nestled deep

inside. “What?” she shrieked and smacked me on the shoulder. “Why would you say that?” “Because, Crazy. How else would you support these beautiful, big, succulent, motherfluffing perfect titties of yours?” “Thatch!” “Your milk jugs need a shelf, honey.” I skimmed my thumbs along the seam where tit met stomach to emphasize my point. “But right now, I’m about to pour myself a glass.” “Don’t you fucking dare make my milk come!” “Ooh,” I teased. “A real curse. You must mean business.” “I will dick-punch you.” I smirked. “Gonna be kinda hard while it’s wrapped up nice and safe inside the sweet heat of your pussy.” She moved immediately to pull up, so I gripped her hips with a flex of my fingertips and slammed her back down. Leaning up and forward, I flicked her nipple with my tongue. “What’s the matter? You want to play rough?” She grabbed my hand and moved it to the connection between us, using her finger on top of mine to make me rub her clit. “I want you to hurry, motherfluffer. I’ve got to be out of the house in

twenty minutes, and Ace is going to wake up any second.” “Perfection can’t be rushed, honey.” Though, she was right. Our little demon was waking up earlier and earlier these days, and if we didn’t take this tussle to a satisfying conclusion, no one was going to be happy with me. Not her and certainly not the Supercock. Time to hurry this along. “I swear to God, I’m going to strangle you— ahh!” She squealed, effectively cut off from her new line of arguing, as I sat up and bucked my hips at once, forcing her to her back and spreading her knees wide. I put the tip of my finger to her clit and swirled. “Still want to strangle me?” I taunted with a wink as she moved her hips greedily in time with my finger. She nodded. “Yeah, actually. I want to fluffing choke your perfect neck.” I smirked at her use of a fake curse word, even in the throes of sex, but I didn’t call attention to it. Unlike the ribbing of before, she wouldn’t take kindly to any form of real criticism—especially since I’d been the one to point out her need for language reform in the first place. Word to the wise, fellas: Call as little attention as possible to any past actions that could be construed as mistakes. You’ll make more than

enough in the present and future, and there’s only so much a man can deal with. We’re not multitaskers by nature. “Later,” I told her, using an arm on her upper back and a hand behind her knees to safely flip her to all fours, and I surged back inside. She threw her head back, her chocolate hair flying up and over in an arc as she did, and pushed her weight back toward me. Every inch of her slightly-curvier-than-normal ass called to me. Slap me, Thatcher. Sting me with the bite of your huge, manly hands. Geez. Not even her ass was immune to complimenting me. I brought my hand down sharply, the clap of my skin against her perfect ass ringing out into the room. “Again,” she pushed as she slammed her hips back toward mine. Good God. Yep, this was why I loved this woman. She matched me effortlessly in everything —and even outdid me on occasion. When it came to me, Thatcher Kelly, that was a feat not often achieved. “That’s it,” I encouraged, bringing my hand down to connect with her already pink skin once more. “Use me, baby. Make my cock your bitch.” “Thatcher!” she yelled out as I slapped her ass

once more, and she rammed her hips back harder. “Hey!” I heard from outside the door, my fouryear-old son’s tiny but gangster voice pulling both me and my wife to an abrupt and panicked stop. “Stop that!” Three angry knocks shook the door, and Cassie’s flustered eyes shot over her shoulder to meet mine. “Mommy! Daddio! I am trying to sleep! You guys are too loud!” Oh, thank Jesus. He didn’t know what we were doing, just that we were doing it too loudly. I leaned forward and put my lips to Cassie’s ear. “I guess it’s time to be really quick, huh?” Immediately, she dissolved into a fit of tears and curled her body into an accompanying ball. Great. Neither one of us is going to finish now. Like it was the body’s natural will, a certain supercocky part of me started to shrink at the sound of her hysteria, too. Her crying picked up in intensity as if she sensed it. Ah, fuck. Pulling out and turning her in my arms, I did my best to envelop her in comfort. “What’s wrong, Crazy?” “Pretty soon we’re going to have two of them. Two little, miniature yous. What did I do to deserve this? I’m a nice person!” she wailed. I didn’t know if I’d call her nice…but, yeah. Me and my little clones weren’t exactly easy to

deal with, so I understood at least partially where she was coming from. “It’s going to be fine. You have me. And who knows how to deal with someone like me better than me?” Her tears stopped, and a small smile formed a crease between her eyebrows. “Well…that’s true. I guess I’m used to you too.” “Exactly!” I encouraged. Her face turned determined. “If they get out of line, I’ll just threaten to punch them in their little peckers.” The smile slid off my face, and my dick throbbed in sympathy. “What? No. No, no, no. That could…I don’t know…stunt their growth or something. Do you really want to be the reason our sons have nothing more than a roll of quarters to offer?” “What? Then they’d be just like their father,” she taunted shamelessly. “Whoa. You just hurt the Supercock’s feelings, honey. He knows you’re a dirty, rotten liar, but still…he was just inside you doing some of his best work, and that’s the way you thank him?” She started to smile and move toward me again, a sensuously predatory gleam in her eye, but then she caught a glimpse of the clock and did a double take. “Shi—neakers!” she yelled. “It’s already eight?”

I had no clue what time it was—it was a Sunday—but when someone asks what time it is, you look at the clock. I should have known that would be when she attacked. With my head turned and my defenses down, she shoved me back so hard that I lost my balance and teetered until I fell off the edge of the bed, ass first, cock out, and abandoned. “I have to go!” she shouted over her shoulder, a blur of her disappearing into the bathroom attached to our bedroom. As always, I was prepared to argue, but before I could say anything, another pounding knock came at the door. “Yo!” Ace yelled. “I want juice!” Fucking hell. Now I didn’t even have time to jerk it. Today was going to be a long fucking day. I’d planned to give Cassie her Mother’s Day surprise this morning, but I wouldn’t have time now. Immediately, I started rearranging my plans in my head. Four hours, carry the two, switch it with six, eliminate the one… Yeah, I’m fucking with you. But it’s a surprise. I can’t give you all the details now, for shit’s sake. “Hold on, son!” Apologizing profusely to the Supercock and balls for their sore mistreatment and swearing to

see that it didn’t happen again, I tucked them back into my boxer briefs, walked to my closet to grab some shorts and a tee, and pulled them on. I did a quick sweep of the surfaces of our bedroom to ensure no vibrators or cock rings or condoms or lube were out in plain sight and headed for the door to let our son in. He flew in like a tornado as soon as I cracked it. In and around the bed, he ran and squealed, climbing up onto our comforter to do a log roll before ascending to his feet to jump. His toothy grin was half mine, half Cassie, and every time I saw it, a warm, jellylike happiness spread from one end of my big body to the other. Even with him being the little cockblocker he was, I wouldn’t change a fucking thing. I strolled to the bed in a few quick steps and tucked him under my arm like a newspaper. He was a lot squirmier and giggled a hell of a lot more than the news, though. “Gooooood morning, Acehole.” Yeah, I know. Cassie doesn’t like that nickname for him either. “Crazy,” I called out to get her attention. When she didn’t answer, I tucked a hand under my toddler package to secure it and moved us both to the bathroom. Cassie was just pulling a loose-fitting T-shirt over her uncontained tits. Reason #570,000

I’d married her. Though, if I were going in priority order, her motherfluffing perfect chest would be a lot closer to the top. “Are you going to be home before we head to dinner at Wes and Winnie’s, or are you meeting us there?” I asked. “I’ll be home in plenty of time for us to go together.” Smiling, she moved to us, kissing Ace’s forehead before pushing up on her toes to touch her lips to mine. The tip of her tongue touched mine, and my whole fucking body, all six foot five inches of it, started to tingle. I’d never tire of her. Not fucking ever. With my free hand, I reached up to stop her retreat, encasing her tiny jaw in my palm. “I love you. Happy Mother’s Day, honey.” “I love you too,” she responded immediately, her face softening in a way that it only ever did for me. My woman was hard and fast, but her heart— the part I’d claimed as my own—was all warm and squishy through and through. She was everything. And I couldn’t imagine a time when I’d ever feel differently. The moment was so special, so poignant for the two of us smartasses, it was almost unbelievable. But the four-year-old little asshole we’d created didn’t have any trouble ruining it, and that wasn’t a surprise at all. In one smooth motion, Ace’s arm

shot forward and connected with my already abused balls. All of the air in my lungs left in a rush. “Oh, fuu—fluff. Christ in a tourniquet, mother —” Ace fell safely to his feet as I released him, and he shot out of the room. And of course, right on cue, Cassie smiled. As always, it was part evil, part irresistible. “Don’t worry, T-bag. I’ll do my best to make the little guy feel better tonight.” “Hey,” I coughed past the pain as she skirted around me and out the bathroom door to leave. “Fluffing little guy, my as—” God, some of these mock curse words were hard to come up with in the moment. She turned back at the door to our room and waved, mischief and love swirling in her eyes like the perfect cocktail. “See you later, T.” “You bet your sweet titties, you will.” You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.

One hour into this photo shoot in Manhattan with seven hunky versions of Snow White’s dwarfs and my lower back screamed for relief. Taking pictures of half-naked muscly men wasn’t all it was cracked up to be when you were seven months pregnant and crabby from missing your daily orgasm quota. “Cristiano, move a little to the left,” I instructed as I simultaneously moved myself—and my giant belly housing a fetus—a little to the right. He took three steps, but his million-dollar model smirk never faltered. “Like this?” he asked once the perfect amount of sunlight started to beam across the smooth and firm muscles of his shoulder blades. “Perfect.” Well, he was perfect. I was just uncomfortable trying to navigate around my stomach and modify my normal shot positions. Before I got knocked up, it wasn’t abnormal for me to be lying on the ground and using my camera to snap amazing photos from below. But now, if I lay on the ground, there was a

chance I’d need one of those Life Alert bracelets. Help me, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up. Pregnancy was a motherfluffing bitch. Well, I wouldn’t say it was always a bitch, but when you were seven months pregnant with the Jolly Green Giant’s baby and you had to run around on a set for a last-minute, but very important photo shoot, it really was a motherfluffing bitch. I already know what you’re thinking. You’re having another baby? Another baby with Thatcher? Yes, I’m aware that procreating with a man that size is pushing the limit, and procreating with him more than once is downright crazy. More crazy than me, to be honest. Don’t worry, I’ve been forcing Georgia and Winnie to have prayer circles for my vagina every Tuesday night at eight p.m. Seriously. Keep her in your thoughts and prayers? Both of us would really appreciate it. Did I mention I was a little crabby today? No orgasms make Cassie an annoyed girl. I adjusted my position on the ground, pulling my legs forward and up so that I could rest my camera on the tops of my knees. Instantly, I groaned, and my lower back screamed its disdain.

The pain was sharp enough to steal the breath from my lungs, and I decided it would be better to take a quick break to regroup before I started getting bitchy with Cristiano. “Let’s take five, guys,” I announced to the set and slowly—and with a lot of determination—I got myself off the ground and headed toward the snack table. If there was one thing that could help ease my frustration, it was a motherfluffing donut. Plus, it wasn’t like anyone on this set would be eating the glazed and gooey goodness besides me. The majority of these models were on diets that had more don’ts than dos. No processed sugar, no simple carbs, no gluten, no dairy… I often wondered what it was they actually ate. Chia seeds, I decided. They must survive on nothing more than chia seeds. With a donut in my hand and my back against the exposed brick wall of our quiet alleyway in Midtown, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and sent Thatch a quick text. If there was one person on the planet who could pull me out of this funk, it was my husband. The man knew when to push my buttons, but he also knew when I needed something soft and sweet around the edges. He was my rock in all things. Plus, considering how the morning went, I figured he’d be in a mood too. Misery loves company and

all that. Me: How’s your day going? Thatcher: Fantastic. How’s yours? Fantastic? He was home alone on a Sunday with our four-year-old son, and his day hadn’t started off with the Supercock getting his normal, orgasmic release. Surely, he was joking, right? Me: Fantastic? That’s honestly a little hard to believe… Are you okay? Is the Supercock okay??? Check to make sure he’s still there. Thatcher: LOL. Everyone is fine, missing you like crazy, but fine. How’s the photo shoot going? Me: Fine. I wish this guy’s dick wouldn’t be as soft as fluffing cotton candy, though. I mean, I don’t need a full-on erection, but Jesus, a half-chub, something. The women who read this mag don’t want to look at pictures of hot, muscular man meat without a hint of sausage. Thatcher: Sometimes, I wonder if I should be concerned that my wife is texting me about

other dudes’ dicks… Fishing for compliments… Jesus. Didn’t he know I was busy working? I didn’t have all the time in the world to fluff his ego with comments about the gloriousness of his cock. Obviously, I had time for this donut, but I didn’t have time for that. But it was a certainty of life that my husband had a glorious cock. Long, thick, almost always hard, and subtle curves in all the right places. If I was being honest, if I hadn’t fallen in love with a giant ogre, I might’ve married him just for his penis. Me: Awww, don’t be sad. You know your dick is my favorite dick in all the land! His response buzzed my phone thirty seconds later. Thatch: Keep going… Me: What do I get in return for stroking your ego? Thatch: Tonight, after we get home from Wes & Winnie’s, I’ll eat your sweet pussy until you’re begging for my cock.

Usually, I had principles and I didn’t give in to my husband’s demands, especially when it came to things I knew he wanted just for the ego stroke. But I was a fan of Thatch’s version of pussy pleasure. A big, big, big fan. Me: I LOVE YOUR HUGE COCK. IT IS MY FAVORITE COCK. NO OTHER COCK HAS EVER/COULD EVER COMPARE. YOU’VE RUINED ME FOR ALL OTHER COCKS. I hit send and added one more quick message to our chat box. Me: Better? Thatch: Just make sure that little cunt is wet and swollen for me tonight. Me: Deal, Daddy. For some reason, Thatch had a thing for me calling him Daddy. And when I say “a thing,” I mean he fudging loved it. It only took one Daddy and insta-boner for the Supercock. And, well, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy giving him boners in the middle of the day without any hope for relief. I was a bit sadistic, I guess. But I knew Thatcher secretly loved it.

Thatch: Fuck, you know it makes me horny when you call me that… Me: Sorry, Daddy… :( Thatch: Fucking hell, Cass. Don’t switch to the innocent routine. You know that makes it worse. Me: Okay, Daddy. I forced my face to go soft and made big doe eyes as I took a selfie—making sure the top swells of my tits were nice and visible—and attached it to the message. Thatch: Jesus Christ. “Cassie!” my assistant, Amanda, called, and I looked up from my phone to meet her eyes. “Should I get the guys ready for the group shot?” “Yeah, let’s start with only four, though. I don’t think the entire group is going to work at this location,” I said and then typed a quick message to Thatch. Me: I gotta go, Daddy. See you tonight?

Thatch: I can’t fucking wait. Me: Ditto, Daddy. Thatch: You’re evil. Me: I know, right? :) Thatch: Tell Ace Daddio says hi. I hope he’s being good for you at work. Wait…what? Ace wasn’t with me. Ace was supposed to be with Thatch. I glanced down at my rounded, pregnant belly. Yep. That one is still there. Where in the ever-loving marshmallow fluff was our other kid? Me: WHAT? Ace isn’t with me! Thatch: He’s not? Oh. My. God. Where is my child! My heart started to pound in my chest, and my breathing proceeded to come out in tight, short pants. I was literally five seconds away from hyperventilating.

Me: Call the pol— Jesus. Why am I texting him? I thought to myself and switched to emergency response tactics and called his phone instead. I mean, how in the motherfluffer did this happen? How had we lost our child? I knew I hadn’t left the house with him. But where in the hell was he? Thatch answered on the second ring. “What in the fuck, T? Where is Ace? We need to call 9-1-1! When was the last time you saw him? Do you remember what he was wearing? I don’t—” “Calm down, Cass,” Thatch said with a soft chuckle, and then I heard, “Hi, Mommy!” in the background. The sound of that little, perfect voice brought so much relief a sagging exhale released from my lungs and nearly took me to the ground. “Are you fucking with me right now, Thatcher?” I questioned through gritted teeth. “It was just a joke, Cass,” he attempted to explain, but in my mind, there was no explanation for being a total asshole. “Just a fucking joke?” I shouted, and everyone on set looked in my direction. “Cass, calm down,” he reassured, and I wanted to reach into the phone and strangle him. “It was a joke. I honestly didn’t think it would get you that

worked up. I thought you knew he was with me. I thought you would just laugh it off.” “I’m seven months pregnant, Thatch!” I exclaimed. “My hormones force me to get worked up over every-fluffing-thing! I was two seconds away from sending out an Amber Alert on our child.” “I’m sorry, Cass,” he said, but his voice still held a hint of amusement. Fudging bastard. “Fluff you, T!” I shouted and hung up the call. My husband had just pranked me. I was seven months pregnant, and we had agreed on no pranks during pregnancy. The last time, when I was pregnant with Ace, one simple prank by Thatch, and I had gone a little off the deep end and given his Range Rover to a homeless man. Yes, I got the idea from an episode of The O.C. By the way, was anyone really sad when Marissa died? Honestly? Needless to say, he hadn’t been too happy about it, and that was when the “No pranks during pregnancy” rule had been created. But, in my defense, I was already ten shades of crazy without the pregnancy hormones. The addition of the hormones to my chemistry rocketed

my level of crazy straight to the moon. As I headed toward the four models waiting to be photographed, my phone buzzed in my hand. I stopped midstep and glanced down to find a text message from my idiot husband. Thatch: Don’t be mad at Daddy? Please? I thought long and hard about my response, and me being the good person that I am, decided to take the high road. Me: Extra pussy pleasure and I’ll forgive you. Thatch: Deal. I love you, Cass. Me: Love you, too. Give Ace a kiss for me. Should I mention here that the high road also included scheming for a revenge prank? Get ready, Thatcher, the HCG is coming for you. Convenient how close pregnancy hormones sound to the Russian Security Agency (KGB), huh? I think so too.

Two hours into Cassie’s absence, and the day was already rolling. We’d had a quick cereal breakfast, played a game of You Jump, I Jump—which is exactly as it sounds, Ace doing something and me having to repeat it—watched what felt like every goddamn annoying episode of that little bastard Caillou, and were at the tail end of a mad dash to the bathroom. Ace was just getting ready to show me how good he was at pointing his penis at the toilet—a highly advanced skill for a four-year-old boy— when the doorbell rang. “Who the fluff is that?” I muttered to myself, peeking out of the bathroom to look toward the front door. It was barely ten. “What the fluff?” Ace exclaimed, and I winced. Cassie was going to put my balls in a vise if I didn’t figure out a way to bribe Ace into cleaning up his language. Substitute cursing or not, a kid screaming out “Motherfluffer!” in the middle of the grocery store had a way of garnering some negative attention. Which Cass didn’t actually give

a fuck about. But if one more person came up to her with unsolicited advice because of it, I knew I’d be bailing her out of jail to await her arraignment on assault charges. And I didn’t think they offered conjugal visits in County. “Language, son.” “Hmph,” he scoffed. “Biscuits be trippin’.” “Ace,” I warned. “Just finish up in here while I go get the door.” Pulling the bathroom door closed behind me, I headed down the hall to our big, solid wood door and peeked out the window on the side of it. Kline stood impatiently, one daughter on each hip, a diaper bag slung over his shoulder, a huge motherfucker of a dog sitting next to him on his leash, and a demonic cat—I knew from experience —clinging to the dog—his lover’s—back. Holy hell. The gang’s all here, huh? With one quick twist of the knob, I pulled the door open and greeted him with a smile. He rolled his eyes, a preemptive move. “I’m assuming you need child care?” I asked. Begrudgingly, he nodded. “Aren’t you glad we moved just down the road now?” It’d taken us a couple of years to follow in the Brookses’ footsteps, but a few months ago, we’d finally made the decision to vacate our residence in the city and give suburbia a try. The locale wasn’t

exactly hopping, but with Kline and Georgia just a few houses down—and their propensity to pretend to very much hate this fact—Cassie and I were in all our glory. We pranked them often, and they bitched when we did. It was just like old times. Not to mention our “mini” pig, Phil, was now an astounding thirty-three pounds, and life with a monster inside of our apartment with no way to escape had been starting to get old. Did I mention the life-span on these things can be up to thirty years? Yeah. We are more committed to this pig than we are to our children. “No,” Kline denied, putting Julia, his threeyear-old, down so that she could take off in search of my son. The two of them were nearly inseparable, a fact that Kline lamented fervently. “But I have to go into the office. All the servers are down, and it’s a fucking nightmare. Georgia, Wes, and Winnie had some work to do at the office this morning, Will’s on call, and Melody is busy at the clinic.” “So I’m your last choice?” “Yes.” “Ah,” I teased. “But you did choose me.” “Can you watch them or not, Thatch?” “Of course, son. I just need you to do me one little favor.”

“Thatch.” “What? Is a skywriter scrolling Thatch is my king really too much to ask?” “Yes.” “Okay. Just tell me verbally then.” “No,” Kline refused. Not that I expected him to do anything else. He was the least prone to bullshit out of our group of friends, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t try to expose him to it all the time, just for fun. “Well, at least tell me what the deal is with the animals,” I bartered. He rolled his eyes. “I can’t leave Stan alone in the house without Evie—” “And you obviously can’t leave Evie alone in the house for at least a couple more months,” I teased, pinching the cheek of his cherub-like ninemonth-old until she giggled. “Right,” he agreed, but also dismissed. Obviously, he wasn’t in the mood to sit around and shoot the shit with me. “He’s so fucking attached to her, he tears the place apart.” “And the demon cat?” “He has a similar attachment to the dog.” “Jesus fluffing Christ. You’re just as idyllic as the Waltons.” “Ace has a penis!” I heard Julia yell from somewhere inside the house, and I swear, Kline’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

“I’m on it,” I promised. “I’m so screwed. My daughters are both going to marry your sons, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life crying.” “Hey! We’ll be officially related.” “Did I mention the crying?” I shook my head and laughed before reaching out for the baby. “Come on, Evie. Daddy’s leaving you with fun Uncle T today. It’s a good thing, too. You have so much to learn.” An angry finger shot out to point at me from Kline’s free hand as he tossed the diaper bag inside the door with the other. “Don’t teach her anything.” “It’s almost like you don’t trust me, Klinehole.” “I don’t.” I lifted his baby up to blow a raspberry on her stomach and smiled into her skin. “Considering you’re leaving your little girls and pets with me for the day, you’ve got a funny way of showing it.” He sighed. “What’s the deal? How long are you going to be gone?” “I’m really not sure, and I’m not sure when Georgie will be done either.” “No worries,” I reassured. “I’ll just bring them with me to dinner tonight at Wes and Winnie’s place.” Apparently, all of our women had teamed up to

bring about their Mother’s Day wish: spending the night together, getting drunk—except for my pregnant wife, of course—while the rest of us were there to corral the kids. All of the extra people threw another little hitch into my big reveal, but Cassie would be home before we left for Wes and Winnie’s and I’d be able to execute it then. All was still on track. “Are you sure?” My best friend pretended to be put out with me, but I ribbed him enough to warrant it. Right then, though, I was worried about how anxious he looked. “Yeah, dude. You okay? You look stressed.” “What?” he asked, looking beyond me with an expression of pure horror on his face. The repulsion in his eyes encouraged me to do the same. Ace and Julia shot by from one side of the hall to the other, both completely naked. “Oh, shit. Seriously, I’m on it. Go to work. We’ll see you tonight.” He looked torn, but finally, he gave in. “All right. Everything you need for Evie is in the diaper bag. She usually naps—” “When she’s sleepy. I got it, man. No worries. This is good practice since I’m about to be dealing in multiples around here.” “Okay. Call me if you need anything.” He winced. “Shit. I might have to turn my phone off

when I go to the—” “It’s fine, K. Leave. Let me go get our kids dressed again before my son decides to show Julia the helicopter.” The helicopter dick swing was a favorite move of mine to make Cassie laugh, and well…I couldn’t be sure Ace hadn’t ever seen me. And my son tended to learn by example. “I’m going to regret this so much.” “Bye!” I said with a wave before picking up Evie’s little baby hand. “Wave bye to Daddy.” Stan, and Walter riding bitch, shot through the door as soon as I took a step farther in with Evie, nearly jerking Kline’s shoulder out of the socket with the leash until he let go. Good God, that dog is a fucking horse. I didn’t give my friend any more time to protest, instead, kicking the door closed with my foot and moving immediately down the hall to deal with the live nudes situation. And by deal with, I obviously mean get out the neon sign and start advertising. Relax. I’m joking. Jesus, you make one joke about naked toddlers, and everyone freaks the fluff out. Three kids under five, one pig, a Great Dane,

and an evil cat. Come on, Thatcher. Time to parent the fuck out of this thing.

“Just move a little to the left, Mario,” I instructed toward the group of half-naked men standing in black briefs. The New York City skyline stood loud and proud behind them, while their muscles and white-toothed grins were bound to give women, and most gay men, all the horny feels. After three more adjustments and another fifty shots, I pulled my camera away from my face and slowly got to my feet. Normally, I’d be buzzing around the shoot like a kid hopped up on pixie sticks and Red Bull, but I hadn’t seen days like that in over two months. Ace had been a big baby, but I had a feeling this baby was going to be even bigger. Hell, I’d been having recurrent nightmares about the baby’s head coming out Thatch-size. Talk about a terrifying thought. My husband was a beast of a man—tall, muscular, and size fourteen shoes. It was safe to say he was big everywhere. “Want to take a look at these, Cass?” Amanda called from her perch near the laptop wirelessly

connected to my camera. “Yep,” I said with a nod and moved toward her side. My eyes scanned through the various photos in the hope we’d gotten enough amazing shots so we could put this baby to bed. Hot guys? Check. Big muscles? Check. Tight asses? Check. Cotton candy dick hidden in the background? Check. Check. “I think we got it,” she added with a smirk once I’d finished scrolling through the photos. “You bet your sweet ass, we do,” I agreed and turned toward the group of supermodel Adonises waiting for my next instructions. “I think that’s a wrap, guys!” I called out with a grin. “Great job, everyone. Let’s call it a day,” I added and received several happy hoots and hollers in response. Instantly, I was hit with nostalgic thoughts of when I was in my late twenties, not pregnant, and one of the models would lift me up onto his muscular shoulders and trot around the set. Sigh. The good old days. No way in Hades that’d happen today unless one of these models was on PCP or had an actual crane parked around the corner to lift my preggo ass. Obviously, I love my life. I don’t want to be

anywhere else but with Thatch and our little family. But sometimes, a girl just needs to reminisce a little. Especially, when she’s seven months pregnant with her second child and her lower back feels like it’s about to snap in half and she didn’t get her morning orgasm and she can only drink decaf coffee and…did I mention the no morning orgasm? I’m pregnant and horny, and my handsome ogre of a husband better make it up to me tonight. I glanced at the time on my phone and smiled when I realized we’d managed to finish up four hours ahead of schedule. All in all, it was a great fluffing day. Well, besides this morning when Thatch decided to scare the ever-loving sneakers off of me by acting like our son was missing. Fluffing bastard. He should’ve known that now wasn’t the time to pull pranks on his amazing and beautiful and very pregnant wife. For one, we had a deal. And two, I was a little pissed that I hadn’t thought of pranking him out of the blue myself. And as a bonus reason, I was the miracle of life, for fudging’s sake. He should be treating me like a crystal fluffing princess. Me: How’s the day going?

Thatch: Fantastic, Sweet Tits. I’ve got 2 crazy kids running around the house and a pretty little baby sound asleep in the crib in our new son’s nursery. Plus, a pig that’s sound asleep on his bed and a horse with a cat attached to his back sleeping in the nursery. Me: That’s three kids and three pets, Thatcher. Last time I checked, we only had one of each. Thatch: Technically, two kids. ;) Me: Yeah, but that one is still physically inside of me. You don’t have to do anything right now. You have the easiest fluffing job ever. I’m the one who has to carry our giant child around. Thatch: He’s not going to be bigger than Ace. And his head isn’t going to be “Thatch-size.” My manliness is like Maybelline; you’re not born with it. Me: Pffffffft. How would you know? You’re just the giver of the sperm. I’m the one actually growing the baby. Literally, growing life inside of me. I should get a medal.

Thatch: I’ll give you a medal in the form of pussy pleasure. Me: Add it to your IOU list. And please explain the two extra children and pets in our home. Thatch: They’re just two little girls I adopted for us. Beautiful girls. You might have to breastfeed the one, but we know your perfect tits can handle anything. ;) He was so full of sneakers. No doubt, the two children he was referring to had been birthed by my best friend, Georgia. Their nanny had recently left for college, and they were still trying to find the perfect match for the girls when both Kline and Georgia had to work. So, us being the best fluffing friends in the whole world, and the fact that we now conveniently lived just down the street from them, stepped up and helped them out when we could. Me: When did Kline drop off Julia and Evie? Thatch: About two hours ago.

Me: Why are Stan and Walter there, too? God, I hate that fluffing cat. Jesus. I really did hate that cat. The disdain had started way back when—before Thatch and I got together—while Georgia and Kline were on their honeymoon. We were put in charge of demon cat sitting, and…well, Thatch had lost Satan. And that very fact only showed how desperate Georgia and Kline must’ve been to put Thatch in charge of not only their kids, but their pets, too. Thatch: Apparently, Stan is attached to Evie, and well, you know how Walter is. He can’t be away from his canine lover. Remember when you lost Walter? Me: I didn’t lose him, numbnuts. YOU did. And are we just bringing them to dinner tonight at Winnie and Wes’s? Thatch: Uh-huh…pretty sure you did, honey. And yes, that’s the plan. What time do you think you’ll be done? I typed out I’m already done, but I didn’t hit send. As I stared down at the text and blinking cursor, a lightbulb of devious prankster motivations filled

my brain, and I knew I couldn’t pass up this brilliant plan. Payback for more than one trespass against me and all in one day’s work. Get ready, Thatcher. The prank wars are officially on. Again. I tapped my finger on the back button and deleted the text, then replaced it with the perfect lie. Me: Not sure yet. Probably a few more hours. I’ll text you when I’m getting ready to head out. Thatch: Sounds good. Don’t be too hard on those guys. They can’t help it that they’re not half the man I am. His ego was off the charts. I smiled to myself over the mere idea of how huge Thatch’s ego and other delicious parts were. God, I fluffing love him… But I’m totally going to prank his cocky ass. Me: Love you, Daddy. Thatch: Fucking hell, Cass. Stop calling me that when your luscious tits aren’t in my presence. You know once my engine is running I like to motorboat.

Me: ;) I grinned and slid my phone into my pocket and started to head for my car. It was officially half past pranking time. Game on, motherfluffer.

Forty-five minutes of commute time later, I stood outside of our house with my ear pressed up against the door. The entryway was completely quiet, and I had a feeling Thatch was entertaining Julia and Ace in the playroom while Evie napped in the nursery. That little lady meant business with nap time. Like clockwork, every day around noon, she’d rub her eyes and demand a bed. I prayed to everything my second child would take after her sleeping habits. One quick glance through the sidelights around the door, and I saw that our entryway was a noman’s-land. It’s go time. Slowly, I slid my key into the lock and opened it up with quiet, ninja-like movements. Once the door was shut and my back was pressed against it, I held my breath and listened for any sign that someone heard my entrance.

My high-alert ears buzzed from the silence. Fantastic. The first floor of our house was quiet as a mouse, and there were no signs of little—or giant— feet running around in the kitchen or living room. I gripped my pregnant belly and slowly—in total badass stealth mode—tiptoed through the entryway, past the living room, down the hallway, and up the stairs, until I reached the nursery where I figured Thatch had laid Evie down for a nap. And since Stan had become Evie’s bodyguard, it was exactly where I needed to be. Farther down the hall, I could hear the rumble of Thatch’s deep voice and the sounds of giggles. They were in the playroom. Which meant I needed to haul some serious ass to pull this off. I glanced inside the crib to savor the adorable vision of the little beauty that was Kline and Georgia’s youngest daughter. She was sound asleep and holding her favorite little pink bunny close to her chest. Between Evie’s cute little dimples and big blue eyes, there was no denying that my best friend and Big-dick made gorgeous babies. Below the crib sat Stan with his big brown eyes staring up at me in curiosity. Behind him, lay Walter —aka Satan—curled into a little ball and sawing logs. I glanced at Evie and then back down at Stan.

Okay, I have to be honest here. Initially, I thought I’d just sneak into the house and scare the everloving marshmallow fluff out of Thatch, but pregnancy has stolen a bit of my quickness. Then, I’d thought maybe I’d sneak Evie out of the house for a little bit—like ten minutes max—just to make Thatch feel what I’d felt when he acted like he didn’t have Ace. But I’d realized pretty quickly that I couldn’t be that evil. Not even pregnant and hopped up on hormones could I put my husband through even a second of that. Plus, there’s that whole CP&P thing. Yeah, that’s no bueno. So, that leaves Stan or Walter. Which, obviously, means Stan. I grabbed Stan’s leash out of Evie’s diaper bag and clipped it to his collar. “Walk?” I whispered to him. “Would you like to go for a walk, big guy?” He tilted his head to the side and stared at me for a quiet moment. “Come on, buddy.” I tugged on his leash and continued to whisper in hopes I wouldn’t wake up the baby or the demon cat. “Evie’s sound asleep. She’ll be just fine. Let’s go outside and play for a little bit.” Stan still wasn’t convinced, and I knew I had to

move quickly before his evil feline boyfriend woke up and started giving his best impression of a satanic possession. It would only take ten seconds of that cat hissing and freaking the fluff out before Thatch would hear a commotion coming from the nursery. I moved toward the diaper bag again and found his third favorite thing—a neon yellow tennis ball. I gripped it in my hand and held it up for him to see. Instantly, he lumbered to his feet, and that’s when I realized that old Stan really was the size of a horse. Jesus. How am I going to get this giant dog out of the house without Thatch noticing? I also kind of have to pee, which I obviously can’t do here, and having ole Stan along for the ride is going to make going inside the gas station a whole lot harder too. But that doesn’t matter right now, I told myself. I can, like, give him a bag of Doritos or something while I’m performing the dreaded gas station pit stop on the way into the city. But now, I had to execute the hardest part of the prank: the getaway. Luckily, Stan appeared to be on the same page, slowly trotting his giant ass beside me as I walked toward the door of the nursery. “Daddio!” Ace’s voice echoed down the hallway, and I startled, stopping midstep. Stan looked up at me, and I just held my index finger to my lips and whispered, “Shh.” He tilted his doggie

head but obliged. Maybe he spoke human. “Catch me, Daddio!” Ace shouted, Julia’s giggles trailing closely behind. “Catch us, Uncle T!” Julia’s little voice screamed in excitement. Uh-oh… “I’m coming for you little monsters!” Thatch boomed. “You better find the perfect hiding spots!” The giggles kept moving toward me, and moments later, Ace stood in the doorway of the nursery. His eyes went big, wide, and excited when he spotted me. “Shh,” I whispered toward him with my finger still pressed to my lips. “Don’t tell Daddio that Mommy is here, okay?” He tilted his head to the side and furrowed his little brow. “Funny trick on Daddio?” “Exactly.” I nodded and grinned. “Mommy is going to trick Daddio.” He grinned in a way that, quite frankly, scared me a little for the future and giggled. “After Mommy leaves, you still don’t tell Daddio that I was here, okay?” “Okay,” he whispered back, and then like a little genius, he ran back the way he came and called out, “Come on, Lia! Follow me!” Moments later, their giggles and Thatch’s voice were back in the playroom, and I officially had the green light for the getaway.

God, my kid was the fluffing best. Obviously, he gets his pranking abilities from me.

“Okay, guys. What do you want for lunch today?” I asked, edging on exhausted from chasing two little track stars around the house. These kids had endless energy, and as much as I hated to admit it, I was going to be closing in on forty soon. Thankfully, much like it did for me, food worked fairly effectively as a distraction. “What’ve ya got?” Ace asked, climbing up onto the stool in front of the counter and assisting Julia as she did the same. See? I’m not raising a complete animal. He’s just got a few wild tendencies, which, considering his parents, is to be expected. But he’s also a gentleman. Kline’s girls could do worse. Evie had been sleeping beautifully for the last hour and a half even as we yelled and caroused, the little angel. I made a mental note to check on her just as soon as I rustled up some food for the older hellions. “Well, sir, today we’ve got a fine selection of

turkey and cheese sandwiches, mac and cheese, chicken nuggets, and one of the most popular items on our menu this season, the cheese quesadilla,” I listed playfully, merely a servant to my young masters. “Queso-deea!” Julia shouted enthusiastically. “All right!” I cheered. “We’ve got a winner for the lady. And for you, sir?” I asked Ace. “Make mine with extra cheese.” “Ahh, yes. A fine choice, sir.” Julia giggled at my theatrics, her little blond curls bouncing as she did. I grinned as Ace looked at her with wonder. Ah, young love. My son, the romantic. “Lia, let’s go get naked again!” he yelled suddenly. Oh Christ! “No. No, no, no,” I repeated. “What did Daddio say about showing each other your special parts?” “Not to do it,” the two of them muttered dejectedly at once. “That’s right. Don’t do it.” After that, though, I couldn’t come up with anything else to say. Fuck, maybe I really wasn’t the best person for this kind of shit. I loved special parts, and coming up with reasons not to look at them wasn’t exactly my forte. The two of them got over it pretty quickly,

though, thanks to the short rebound time with which three- and four-year-olds were equipped, so I listened intently with a smile on my face as I sprinkled heaps of cheese on top of a couple of tortillas and then pressed a second one on the tops. I smashed them together and then popped them into the microwave to heat them up. I took out my phone as they did their thing and shot Cassie a quick text. Thatch: How’s work? She answered quickly but succinctly. Cassie: Good. How are the kids? Thatch: Good. Cassie: Good. Okay, that was weird. The timer on the microwave dinged its song and dance, so I tossed my phone back on the counter and pulled out the plate with their entrees. “Ma’am,” I said as I set Julia’s down in front of her. She smiled, bending her ear to her shoulder and giggling up at me. “Kind sir,” I offered as I set Ace’s down in front of him.

They dove in nearly immediately. “You guys okay while I go check on Evie?” I asked. Julia nodded. Ace glanced to her first with wide eyes before looking back at me and nodding. “Okay. Be right back.” I strolled down the hall at a brisk pace until I neared the nursery, where I slowed down and tiptoed so that I wouldn’t disturb her if she was still sleeping. She’d yet to make a peep on the monitor, but from what I remembered Kline saying, she wasn’t known for napping for much more than an hour or two at a clip. Ever so slowly, I pushed the door open, a sliver of light cutting its way through the otherwise dark room, and stepped inside until the plush carpet pushed up through my bare toes. Each step was calculated and painstaking as I gave my eyes time to adjust to the change in lighting and got close to the bed. Only, when I finally got there, a cat jumped out and hissed, scaring the ever-loving fuck out of me. “Oh my God!” I shouted before forcing my voice back to a passionate whisper. “Jesus fluffing Christ, you are the devil,” I told Walter as he paced a line in front of the crib to hold me back. This fluffing cat was a lunatic. “I’m just trying to check on her. You and your bang buddy can rela—”

Oh, fuck. Back and forth, my eyes searched the room like ping-pong balls. Where the fuck was the dog? “What happened to he doesn’t leave her goddamn side?” I whispered desperately, scanning the room once more. “Oh, sweet Jesus. Not another missing pet,” I cried softly, continuing to keep my voice low for two reasons. One, the baby was still sleeping through this mania, and two, Walter was on the fucking rails, and he seemed to raise his hackles more when I raised my voice. At least you didn’t lose his kid, I comforted myself. Still. Stan was practically Kline’s only ally in that house. Dropping to my knees, I pulled up the unnecessary ruffle on the bottom of the crib and searched the rug underneath for evidence of a motherfucking horse. Nothing looked different from before, but to be honest, I didn’t spend a whole hell of a lot of time on my knees in the nursery of our unborn child, and there wasn’t much fluffing chance Stan would have been able to contort his limbs to get under there anyway. Quick as a cat, I jumped back to my feet and moved from side to side, peeking around furniture and pulling it away from the wall carefully until I’d

checked every piece. No Stan. Think, think, think, I coached myself. Remain fucking calm. Spotting some stuffed animals in the corner, I charged forward and dove to my knees to pluck through them one animal at a time. Elephant. Lion. Tiger. Gazelle. Fucking shit. Where are we? Africa? One by one, I tossed the safari haphazardly over my shoulder until the corner was completely empty. No fucking dog. Not even a stuffed one! “Ohhh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” “FUCK!” Ace yelled immediately, taking pride in following in his father’s footsteps, as per usual, and alerting me to their presence. Julia giggled. I, however, put my hands to my face to catch the tears I knew were coming. Forget about the missing dog, Cassie was going to kill me for teaching Ace the real F word. Of course, don’t actually forget about the missing dog. That’s pretty fucking important. “Ace, buddy, don’t say that word.” “FUCK!”

Okay. Fine. I had much more immediate problems. Cassie killing me wouldn’t happen for at least another four or five hours, but the longer Stan was missing, the harder it would be for me to find him. I’ve watched 48 Hours. I knew how crucial these first moments were. “Listen, guys. I need you to help me. Stan’s playing hide-and-seek, and I know the two of you are the best seekers out there.” Truthfully, Ace sucked fucking donkey balls at hide-and-seek. But I was hoping he’d improved exponentially overnight. Either that, or Julia was a hell of a lot better at playground games than my son and she would lead him around by the dick like only a woman could. “Yay!” Julia cheered. “I love hide-and-seek!” “Good.” Fucking fantastic. “Okay, I need you guys to fan out and start looking for Stan.” “But we didn’t count, Dude,” Ace pointed out soundly. Dude, we don’t have time to fucking count! I nearly came out of my skin. “Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten, GO!” I shouted on a rush. They both bolted, running through the house like little maniacs. I searched the nursery once more, but when I came up empty, I went straight to the front door, the back door, the side door, and the windows. Locked. Every last one of them. And the

last time I checked, dogs didn’t have opposable thumbs. He had to be in the goddamn house. “Okay, Thatch,” I coached myself. “Just calm down. He probably just went for a little stroll, but he’s in this house.” Probably pissing all over everything you hold dear. “You’ve been here the whole time, and all of the doors are locked. Just relax and think like a huge motherfluffer of a dog. Where would you go?” Fuck. “Okay, don’t think like an actual dog because their reasoning isn’t fully developed to human cognition, but think like a thirty-eight-year-old thinking of where a dog would be.” Yeah, that was better. Immediately, I dropped to my knees, closer to his level, and set out to scour this place inch by inch. I would not be the one to lose Kline and Georgia’s dog and Walter’s only barrier against straight-out devil worship. Not today, Satan, not today.

One interesting drive, a pit stop at a gas station to find bladder relief, and three sticks of beef jerky for Stan later, we found ourselves sitting outside of a little coffee shop just on the outer rim of Chelsea. Unloading and loading a huge motherfluffer of a dog into a vehicle wasn’t something I was used to, and I could still taste a tinge of his testicles on my tongue. And no, I’m not referring to any kind of kinky, bestiality situation. It was more, I turned my face one inch too far to the right during removal of a horse from my vehicle and found myself officially teabagged by a canine. Lord Almighty, hopefully, the coffee would wash the taste of dog balls away. By the way, can dogs have beef jerky? I probably should have looked into that before I let Stan nip into five hundred calories of Slim Jim, but I blame my child’s giant head that is always pressing on my bladder. Beef jerky was the only thing that distracted Stan long enough that I could avoid pissing all over

myself. Pregnancy is beautiful, isn’t it? Stan lay by my feet, content and intrigued by everything I said, while I tried to figure out what the two of us were going to do for the rest of the day. New York City wasn’t exactly fit for a pregnant woman and a horse. Although, homeboy was as cool as a motherfluffing cucumber, and I had a feeling, after I had the baby, Stan and I might dabble in a few more pranking bits together. He handled it like it was old hat. This dog had nerves of steel and a poker face like you wouldn’t believe. He was a hell of a lot better than the amateur accomplices I normally rolled with. “What shall we do today, big guy?” I asked. He just stared up at me with his big brown eyes and let out a little doggy groan. “Do you think we should call Mommy and see if she wants to meet us for lunch?” He appeared happy with that idea, his ears perking up and his head tilting to the side in what I assumed was a canine smile. “I think that’s a good plan too, Stanley,” I said and patted the top of his head. As his head sank back down to rest comfortably on my feet, I pulled my phone out of my purse and FaceTimed Georgia. It only took two rings before

the call started to connect. “Hey, Cass,” she greeted as her face came into view on the screen of my phone. The large window of her office framed her smiling face. “What are you—” She paused once her gaze caught sight of her dog. “Wait…why in the hell do you have my dog with you? I thought he was at your house with Thatch and the girls?” Well, technically, he was, but she didn’t need to know that right now. If there was one thing that was a certainty with Georgia, it was that she couldn’t keep a damn secret if her life depended on it. Literally and figuratively, the world’s worst liar. “I happened to get done early today and decided to spend some one-on-one time with this handsome man,” I lied blatantly. “Want to join us?” She quirked a skeptical brow. “You wanted to spend time with my dog?” “Fine,” I said on a sigh. “I’m using Stan for motivation to get my ass moving. Otherwise, I would’ve ended up gorging on cookies for lunch, taking a nap, and adding an extra five pounds to my already expanding ass.” “Shut up.” She smiled. “Even seven months pregnant, your ass is still fantastic.” Obviously, I already knew that, but I needed a fluffing reason for dragging a horse around the city for the afternoon. “Well…” She paused and shuffled through a

few papers on her desk. “I guess I could probably take a little break for some lunch.” I quirked a brow. “How about a long break with lunch and shopping?” “I don’t know, Cass,” she hesitated. “I’ve got a lot to catch up on.” Facking hell. I wanted to go shopping. Plus, I really needed her to take the leash. Stan was a pretty good dog, but holy guacamole, he had the strength of ten men. And the combination of his big ass, my pregnancy tits, and the baby inside of my belly, and my lower back was starting to feel the extra weight. “And it’s not like I’m not going to see you today,” she added. “We’ll be at Wes and Winnie’s tonight.” I needed to think quickly. My best friend was notorious for always going the extra mile in her career. She was the opposite of someone who left work before the clock struck five p.m., but considering it was a Sunday and Mother’s Day, I felt like the odds were in my favor. Vintage, I thought to myself. She can’t say no to vintage… “You know what today is, right?” Her face scrunched up in confusion. “Uh… Sunday?” “Thanks, Captain Obvious.” I smirked. “But what happens on Sundays?”

“I usually don’t have to wake up before seven because Kline always lets me sleep in on the weekends.” “Kline lets you sleep in on Sundays?” “Yep.” A soft smile kissed her lips. “Saturdays, too.” What the fluff? I needed to have a conversation with Thatcher about that. I wanted to sleep in on the weekends. Hell, I wanted to sleep in every day. “The only reason Thatch doesn’t let you sleep in is because you keep him up all hours of the night,” she said with amusement brightening her eyes. “The man needs to rest at some point, Casshead.” She had a point. In the Kelly household, Friday nights after Ace was in bed, it was a ritual to give Cassie as many orgasms as she could handle. Most Fridays, Thatch and the Supercock didn’t get rest until well after three in the morning. And Saturday nights, well, were pretty much the exact same routine—more orgasms. God, I love the weekends… “Meh,” I muttered. “He should still let me sleep in on the weekends, too.” “Maybe you should actually let him sleep at night,” she teased with a smirk. “Anyway, what happens on Sundays, Cass?” “Oh, come on, Wheorgie,” I said on a

disappointed sigh. “It’s delivery day for our favorite little shop. Brand-new—slightly used— vintage duds.” Her brows shot up in surprise. “Bella’s? In Chelsea?” I nodded. “Yep.” “God, we haven’t been there in ages.” “Well…that’s mostly because I fluffing hate Chelsea, but—” “Chelsea isn’t that bad,” she interrupted on a laugh. “It’s actually an amazing little neighborhood. And it was our home for years.” She was right. Before marriage and kids, Georgia and I had been roomies, and our little apartment in Chelsea had been the place we’d called home. It definitely had its high points— eclectic shops, delicious restaurants, and gorgeous little parks to spend sunny days. Okay, I guess Chelsea wasn’t that bad once you got past the constant construction and the bitter smell of piss during the hot summer months. “It’s Sunday and Mother’s Day, Georgie,” I said, and she sighed. “Don’t you think today would be the perfect day for us to take a trip down Memory Lane to our old stomping grounds?” “I have to work, Cass. I can’t just skip out for the rest of the day,” she responded in annoyance. But it was the tiny little glimmer of temptation in her eyes that let me know I had finally reached my

opening. Now, it’s time to go in for the kill… I looked down at Stan, and his big brown eyes met mine. “Wouldn’t it be so awesome if Mommy showed you around Chelsea, Stanley?” I asked, and his ears perked up. I moved the screen of my phone closer to his face so that he would eventually spot Georgia. “Plus, Mommy can leave work early, and she’ll get some time to herself because Uncle T is watching the girls…” He looked at the screen, and once he saw his human mommy, he let out three barks and his tail started wagging. “Aw,” I said. “I think someone misses his mommy…” “Hi, big boy,” Georgia cooed, all the love in the world filling her eyes. My best friend loved this dog. He was literally like a child to her. “Are you being a good boy for Aunt Cass?” Stan barked again, and his tail wagged even faster. Georgia’s eyes met mine. “You play so dirty, you know that?” “Uh-huh.” I smirked. “I mean…can you really say no to this adorable fluffing horse of a dog?” My best friend looked down at Stan before her gaze met mine again. “Fine,” she sighed. “Give me forty minutes, and I’ll meet you guys at Fran’s Diner. We can eat outside on the terrace.”

“Perfect.” She flashed a pointed look in my direction. “But if Wes starts calling me, you get to take his calls.” “Deal,” I said without hesitation. “If your boss calls, I’ll handle it.” “God, you’re a terrible influence,” she muttered. “I’ll see you guys in a few.” “Oh, Georgia!” I called out before she could hang up the phone. “Yeah?” “Maybe bring some Pepcid for ol’ Stan here. I don’t think his stomach is tolerating the beef jerky he ate earlier too well.” “What the hell, Cass?” she questioned with wide eyes. “Why did you give my dog beef jerky?” Note to self: Beef jerky is bad for dogs. “Uh-oh… I’m starting to lose the call…” I lied and put my hand over the camera. “Are you still there?” I questioned and ignored her response. “I’m gonna hang up, Georgie. See you in a little bit! Loveyoubye!” I said in a rush and ended the call before she could start lecturing me on the dos and don’ts of pet care. Obviously, I knew a little about pets because of Philmore, but that pig’s steel stomach wasn’t a good comparison. He could eat anything and everything—grass, socks, chicken nuggets, ice cream. Come to think of it, Philmore’s don’t list

mostly just consisted of bacon. And that was more for moral reasons than anything else.

Thirty minutes of searching my house from top to bottom, and I was starting to panic. Where the fuck was this dog? Like, did he have superpowers I didn’t know about or something? I’d be having a detailed talk with Kline and Georgia about his abilities once I found him. Of course, I’d never actually mention any of this hellish time when he was missing to them. I’d just have to bring it up real casual-like. But now, in the present, after looking through all of the fluffing kitchen cabinets, I was starting to run out of ideas. The only thing keeping me from losing my shit was that I knew he couldn’t turn the lock on the door, pull it open, close it behind himself, and relock it with a key. It just wasn’t possible. Right? “Hello?” Oh, thank fuck. Wes answered. He wouldn’t know what to do—he was just as much of a screwup as I was on most days—but he knew someone who would. Someone whose intelligence far exceeded that of all of those around her. Lexi

Winslow, his ten-year-old stepdaughter. Act natural, my frantic mind coached. Say something insulting. “Hey, Prissy Bitch—” Oh God. Too far, too far. “I mean…hey, Whitney. What’s up?” “You called me, Thatch.” “Right, yeah, of course. Is…uh…Lexi there by any chance?” She didn’t always go to work with him, but on a Sunday, with Winnie having to work too, I had a fair fucking shot. “Yeah…right next to me. Why?” Suspicion dripped like sticky syrup from his voice, but I pushed forward. This was too important to spend time dealing with Wes’s silly suspicions. I mean, what did he think? That I’d done something stupid? Always jumping to conclusions, that fucker. You did lose a hundred-and-fifty-pound dog in a completely contained house, my mind reminded me. Shit. Shut up. “Can I speak with her?” “Thatch, why do you want to talk to my daughter?” “I just have a question for her. You know how fucking smart she is. I’m sure she’ll know the answer.” It was mostly the truth. That was the reason I was calling. The problem was just a little different than some form of advanced calculus

dilemma. Begrudgingly, he agreed. But I could tell he was questioning why the fuck we were friends in the first place. “Okay, fine. Here she is.” “Hello?” “Hey, Lex. How’s it hanging?” “How’s what hanging?” Lexi, one of the coolest people I’d ever met in my life, was considered high-functioning on the autism spectrum. She saw life in facts and figures, and she did it better than anyone I’d ever encountered. Still, opening with slang wasn’t going to help our communication. “Right, sorry…I mean, how are you?” “I’m fine. What’s your question?” Right. In other words, enough bullshit. And she was probably right. I did have a goddamn dog to find. Kline’s statement rang loud in my head. He tears apart the house if I leave him alone without Evie. But, fuck. I really didn’t want them to know that Stan was missing, so I’d have to skirt the subject. “Hypothetically and statistically speaking, do you know where, say, a missing baby would most likely be in a house?” “Statistically, most missing babies are with kidnappers. Whose baby is with a kidnapper?” “Shh. Jesus. No. It’s not a—”

No. NO. God. Not a baby. I still had the baby. It’d be really fucking awful if I’d lost the baby. On impulse, I ran toward the nursery with the phone pressed to my hot ear just to double-check. “Jesus’s baby is with a kidnapper?” she interrupted before I could clarify. “No, fuu—dge. God. Shi—sh.” “Jesus himself is with a kidnapper? That’s impossible.” “No, Lexi, listen—” “You’ve got Wes. What the fuck is going on?” Fuuuuck. “Nothing.” “Thatcher Kelly. What in the fuck is going on?” “Goddamn. You’ve gotten good at being a father, you know that?” “Thatch!” “Okay, Jesus. I kind of, sort of lost Stan.” “You what?” “Ow, fuck. You just burst my eardrum!” “You lost Kline’s child! I think that’s worse!” “I didn’t lose his kid! I lost his dog.” “Oh…shit. Sorry, I heard baby. But the dog thing is bad too. Georgia’s gonna flip her shit. Remember when you lost Walter while they were on their honeymoon?” “I didn’t lose Walter,” I protested, plucking a now awake Evie from her crib, holding her tight to my chest, and making a conscious effort to soften

my voice. “Crazy Cassie did.” “Same thing,” he hedged. “It’s not!” “Whatever. It’s definitely you who lost the dog.” “The house is locked, man. Nothing’s been touched. He’s gotta be in here somewhere. I just can’t find him. We’ve gotta be just missing each other or something.” “Missing each other? Like he’s just in constant motion?” he asked with a laugh, and I imagined choking him. “I don’t know! But he’s got to be in here.” “Did you call Kline?” “No,” I rejected. “He’s busy. I don’t think I should bother him until I have to.” “Well…I guess you better start making flyers.” “To post inside my house? Julia and Ace already know he’s missing, thank you very much. They’re on the hunt.” “Julia and Ace.” He laughed. “I guess at least you didn’t lose them.” The line clicked dead, and I pulled the phone away from my ear slowly. Good Christ, thanks for nothing, asshole.

Ten

minutes into our lunch and Stan appeared content by his dog mommy’s side. His giant head rested on Georgia’s lap while his eyes never lost focus of our food. Beef jerky or not, I had a feeling Stan the Man was probably getting a little hungry. “Here, buddy,” I whispered and held out a piece of my chicken salad croissant. Stan lifted his head off of Georgia’s thigh and opened wide, smacking his jowls together in absolute delight once the creamy goodness touched his giant tongue. “Stop. Feeding. My. Dog,” Georgia admonished, and I just smiled. “I think he’s hungry.” “He’s always hungry.” “You think we should get him a cheeseburger or something?” I asked and glanced around the terrace for our waiter. “For the love of God, no. He didn’t need beef jerky earlier, and he definitely doesn’t need a cheeseburger now.” “He’s not a fan of burgers?” Georgia snorted. “Uh…he’s never had one.”

“Really?” I asked in surprise. Philmore ate cheeseburgers all the time. Hell, he was even really fluffing picky about it. If we’d tried to hand him one without pickles and ketchup, he’d outright squeal his refusal. Don’t worry, we’ve never given him bacon cheeseburgers. Morals, remember? “What exactly do you feed your pig?” I shrugged. “He usually eats whatever we’re eating.” “Pigs, and most animals for that matter, aren’t supposed to eat people food, Cass.” I scoffed. “Says who?” “Uh…Veterinarians.” “Meh.” I waved her off with my free hand. “Half the time we just take Philmore to The Little Clinic up the street for his checkups.” “Isn’t that a pediatric urgent care?” “Yep.” I took a bite of my food and nodded. “Talk about convenient if Ace needs a checkup, too.” “Good Lord, isn’t that illegal?” “No,” I refuted. “I’m pretty sure Nancy would have told us that.” “Who the fluff is Nancy?” “Philmore’s nurse practitioner.”

Georgia sighed. “Sometimes, I wonder how you and Thatch manage to talk people into doing sh— stuff like that.” “It’s all Thatcher.” I grinned. “He’s very lovable. Like a giant toddler inside of a sexy-asfluff body.” She laughed and shook her head. “One day, I swear to God, I won’t be surprised by some of the things that come out of your mouth.” Before I could offer a retort, her phone buzzed across the table. We both glanced down to find Wes calling flashing across the screen. “Jesus.” She looked up at me with annoyance in her eyes. “Just play it cool,” I instructed and took a quick sip of water. “He’s probably not even calling about work.” When the third ring vibrated her phone, signaling she wouldn’t be able to put off answering the call much longer, she groaned audibly. “Fine, but I’m putting it on speaker just in case you need to take over and tell him you made me leave work early,” she said and finally accepted the call. “Hey, Wes,” Georgia greeted with nervousness more than apparent in her voice. Her sweet innocence just wasn’t built for subterfuge. “Listen, Georgia, I tried to call Kline, but it went straight to voice mail. I just got off the phone

with Thatch, and I don’t want you to panic, but it’s very possible that Stan is missing…” Wes paused, and Georgia’s eyes went wide in confusion. And then she looked at me. Uh-oh… “What?” she questioned. “Stan is…Stan’s missing?” “Yeah,” he answered with uncertainty in his voice. “I’m so sorry, Georgia. But don’t worry, we’ll find him. Lexi and I are getting ready to head over to Thatch’s house now to help search.” “No…it’s just…” Georgia stopped, her eyes hardening as she scanned my beautiful face. “Wes, Stan is with me. I took a break from the office to grab some lunch.” “What?” he questioned in disbelief. “Stan is with you?” “Yeah. He’s right here. Eating the rest of a chicken salad sandwich as we speak,” she updated through gritted teeth and gestured dramatically for me to stop feeding her horse. “So, everything is okay?” He let out a huge breath of air. “Wow. That’s a relief. God, I felt real fucking bad that I was going to be the one to break the news to you,” he said, but she didn’t really hear him. She was too busy staring daggers into my soul. I think it’s safe to say the cat is out of the bag…or the horse is out of the barn? Sneakers. I didn’t have time to come up with

quippy sayings, I had to think quick. Just play it cool, Cass, and remember, you are the prankster queen of cool. “Yep,” I chimed in quickly before Georgia could start asking questions. “Everything is great.” “Cassie?” Wes asked in confusion. “Hey, Wes,” I greeted. “How’s it hanging?” “What is going on?” he questioned. “Why are you with Georgia? I thought you were working.” “Yeah,” Georgia said, and her eyes narrowed. “What is going on, Cassie?” I shrugged. “Oh, you know, not too much… Just eating lunch with Georgia and Stan the Man.” I tried to play it off, but the steam seeping out of Georgia’s eyes told me I wouldn’t be winning any awards for my performance. Goddamn these pregnancy hormones. They were stealing the brain cells I needed to execute pranks. Georgia quirked a perfectly plucked brow in my direction. “Why does Thatch think my dog is missing?” “Hmm.” I feigned confusion. “Maybe I forgot to tell him I took him with me?” “Cassie,” she spat out in irritation. Uh-oh, Wheorgie is using the mom tone. This might not end well. “Yeah?” “Why didn’t you tell Thatch you took Stan?” I shrugged again. “I guess it just slipped my

mind.” “It just slipped your mind to tell your husband that you left the house with my giant dog? Did he see you take him?” “I’m not sure,” I lied. “I was in and out, you know. Plus, I think he was busy with Julia and Ace.” “Did he even know you were there?” “I’m not sure.” “Cass, for the love of God, tell me you’re not using my dog to prank Thatch.” “Well…I can definitely tell you that if you’re okay with it being a teensy bit of a lie.” Her jaw dropped open wide enough to catch flies. “Oh my God.” “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Wes muttered from the phone. Georgia slapped her hands down onto the table with a thud. “Cassie Kelly! You kidnapped my dog?” “Geez Louise, Wheorgie, calm down,” I whispered in an attempt to avoid a scene in the restaurant. I mean, the last thing we needed was the cops to be called over a pretend canine kidnapping. Well, borrowing. Because let’s face it, Stan wasn’t locked inside of a padded cell at the moment. No, he was currently finishing the last of my potato chips. The man was living the life right now if you asked me. No babies to worry about. No possessive

demon cat following him around everywhere. If anything, I’d done Stan a solid. “Calm down?” she questioned, and her voice grew louder. “Calm down? Are you out of your mind?” “Yeah…” Wes chimed in. “I think I’m gonna go now. I literally want no part of this. I’m just glad Stan isn’t actually missing. Take the rest of the day off, Georgia. I’ll see you ladies tonight,” he added and quickly ended the call. She pointed an accusing finger in my direction. “Cassie, start explaining before I lose my shit.” “Well… I mean, you’re on the right track with the whole prank idea…” “Jesus Christ in a cherry tree,” she muttered. “But,” I continued, “in my defense, he deserved it.” “Deserved it?” Her eyes looked ten seconds away from shooting laser beams straight into my skull. “He deserved you executing a fake kidnapping…with my dog?” “He acted like he lost Ace this morning, Georgia,” I defended. “I mean, I nearly had a heart attack over it.” “You need to see a doctor,” she said with absolute shock in her voice. “Seriously, Cass, I think you have too many pregnancy hormones. This is completely and totally f-u-c-k-e-d.” She had a bit of a point about too many

pregnancy hormones, but I was surprised she wasn’t seeing the situation from both sides of the coin. “If I were you, I’d probably be more focused on the fact that Thatch hasn’t called you to tell you that your dog is missing.” Georgia stopped. And then she stared. She stayed like that for a few quiet moments until she muttered, “That motherfluffer.” “I know, right?” I questioned, even though I didn’t necessarily think Thatch needed Georgia’s wrath. I just kind of needed her on my team for the rest of the day. A pregnant lady could only handle navigating a horse through the city sidewalks for so long, and my husband was just going to have to take one for the team. The marriage team, not the prank team. On that, we were clearly on opposing sides. Luckily, Georgia reeked of determination. The smell was so potent, I knew I’d just forced a crossover. “He thinks my dog is missing, but he doesn’t call me to tell me my dog is missing… Is this a joke right now?” “Yeah,” I agreed. “I mean, I’d be a little pissed if I were you…” That’s it, Cass. Stoke the fire. She snagged her phone from the table and tapped her fingers against the screen in rapid succession. Once she set it back down on the table, the sent text message shone like a beacon.

Don’t tell Thatch we have Stan. I’m handling it. Wes’s response came a minute later. Wes: Jesus Christ, Georgia. Don’t tell me she pulled you over to the dark side… Mwa-ha-ha. Welcome to Team Cassie, Wheorgie.

Like a fresh beat in a club, “Thong Song” started to play on my phone. Okay, so the last time “Thong Song” was fresh was in 1999. But I think I mentioned that I’m coming up on forty. I wasn’t sure how I was going to handle that birthday, to be honest. I reached for it quickly, hoping to see Wes’s name on the screen, calling with a plan. I’d finally resigned myself to the fact that I’d lost Kline and Georgia’s sweet, precious monster dog, and I vowed to kill the person responsible with my bare hands. As long as that person wasn’t, you know, me. Because I still hadn’t figured out the logistics of how this was possible. My door lock company would be receiving a strongly worded phone call when this whole ordeal was over, hopefully with a safe and sound Stan back in Walter’s arms. He was straight up losing his shit. Hissing and clawing and making bold moves toward me to threaten attack. I’d ended up locking him inside of the nursery after Evie and I just barely escaped with our skin intact.

But God, as I saw the name on the screen—not Wes—big, manly bouts of hyperventilation wracked my body. And they were masculine because, come on, it was me, but I smothered them quickly as Ace and Julia came running. I didn’t want to alarm them. “Hey, Thatch!” “Uh…hey, Georgia girl.” I tried to keep my voice as even as possible. She deserved to know what was going on, but I was a little scared of her. Not really her directly, but her husband and the life algorithms he would recalculate in his wife’s name. I wasn’t sure how it all worked, he was too smart for me, but I was certain he could destroy me with just one click of a mouse. “How’s work?” “Oh, I finished up a few minutes ago. I could be there in a half hour or so if you want me to come pick up the four-ring circus before dinner. With three kids and just as many animals, you must have your hands full.” A fresh wave of panic overwhelmed me as I pictured Georgia arriving to the news that her dog, the one she’d fought valiantly to adopt and raised to monster-size—the one that was the only antidote to the possessed nature of their cat—was missing. I wasn’t proud of it, but on instinct, the totally fucked version of me jumped back into action and straight into a lie. “Actually, why don’t you go do something for

yourself? You’ve got two kids now, the feline spawn of Satan himself, Stan, and a deadbeat husband, so you could probably use the me time.” Kline’s not a deadbeat, my mind said on a panicked whisper. You’ve got to play the game, hater, I silently shouted back. “Really? You don’t mind keeping them?” Tears threatened. I want to keep all of them forever. STAAANN. “No, no. Not at all. And take your time. I’ll bring them to dinner with me, no problem.” “Wow. Thanks, Thatch!” She didn’t know what I knew, but in reality, she was thanking me for losing man’s best friend. Fuck me sideways, I was an asshole. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” I nearly choked on the words. “But I kind of miss their sweet faces. Do you think you could let me FaceTime with them real quick?” “FaceTime?” I asked, trying to tamp down the panic. “Yeah. I’ll call you back right now.” “Wait! Uh…Georgia?” “Yeah?” “I’ve actually got my hands full. Maybe you can just hop on the phone and say hello? Evie’s right here.”

“Evie can’t actually speak, Thatch.” “Really?” I teased. “Then who have I been having an in-depth conversation with about The Carbonaro Effect?” “I’m guessing yourself.” “Oh, well. I guess she can’t say hi then. Julia’s here, though. You want to say hi to her while I’ve got you on the phone?” “Yes!” “Okay, hold on a sec.” I covered the microphone and got down close to Julia. “Hey, sweetie. Your mommy wants to talk to you.” “Yay!” she squeaked, reaching for the phone. I pulled it away slightly. “But let’s not say anything about playing hideand-seek for Stan, okay?” I whispered. Her tiny eyebrows squished together, but Ace nodded his support, saying, “Yeah, we don’t say anything to Daddio or your mommy.” “Don’t say anything to Daddio?” I muttered as Julia snagged the phone from my hand. “Ace, what did you say?” His eyes widened. “Nothing.” “Ace, if you know something about where Stan is, you have to tell me,” I whispered so my voice wouldn’t carry over the phone. He shook his head, but his eyes did the crazy crossing thing they did when he was lying. He’d

mastered the game pretty well, but when faced with a direct question, he almost always broke. “Ace, tell Daddy what you know. This is very serious.” “Mommy! Can we get another dog?” Julia asked. “Cause Stan’s—” I reached out and snagged the phone, putting it back to my ear while I covered Julia’s mouth. “Oh, shoot, G. She took off. You know kids, running away mid-sentence.” “Lia!” Ace yelled. “Fuck!” Oh, shit. “Did he just say fuck?” I heard in the background, in what I could have sworn was my wife’s voice. My wife, who was supposedly still at work. Something was smelling fishier and fishier by the motherfluffing minute. “Is Cassie there?” I asked outright. “Uh…no,” Georgia mumbled. So, basically, yes. Mm-hmm. Just as I suspected. “Did she get off of work early?” Georgia giggled nervously. “She’s not here, Thatch.” Cassie not at work, Georgia calling and asking prying questions—also not at work—and a fucking tractor-trailer-size dog vanishing, from the bedside of the baby he loves, without a trace. My eyes narrowed. I had a feeling I wasn’t the

villain I thought I was in this scenario, but I wouldn’t rest until I was sure. “Okay. I must be imagining her,” I excused. “I just miss her when she works on weekends.” “Aww,” Georgia mooned. “That’s…God, that’s so sweet.” There. She was sufficiently buttered and ready to motherfluffing crack. Now I just had to leave her hanging. “It is, isn’t it? Anyway, tell my wife I love her.” “Thatch, Cassie isn’t—” “Talk soon, Georgie. Buh-bye now.”

“Do

you think he knows?” Georgia asked, and I shrugged. “Probably not.” Honestly, I wasn’t sure. My husband had a knack for sniffing out a prank. It was a skill he’d honed after years of setting up his own entertaining schemes—a mutual interest that actually brought us together in the first place. And if I were him, yeah, I’d probably know something was up. A dog that was bigger than most teenage boys didn’t just up and disappear. Plus, my best friend, although I love her dearly, sucked goat cheese at lying. She’d basically given Thatch all of the clues in a few simple words. “This is starting to stress me out.” She scrubbed a hand down her panicked face. “How in the hell do you guys manage to keep these going for more than a day?” “Just relax,” I reassured. “Enjoy our day of shopping, and I’ll give Thatch a quick call to get the lay of the land.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket and hit Call on Thatch’s name. As I held my phone up to my ear

and listened to the first unanswered ring, I glanced outside the store window of Bella’s to make sure Georgia’s horse hadn’t moved from his spot just outside the entrance. “Is he answering?” she asked while she perused a rack of vintage dresses. “I’m starting to feel a little bad. I mean—” “No,” I cut her off as the third unanswered ring filled my ear. “Put those sad little doe eyes away, Bambi. This is just a simple little prank. Not homicide.” She flashed a pointed look in my direction. “Technically, it’s dognapping.” “Borrowing,” I corrected. “Stealing,” she retorted. “A dog. My dog, for that matter.” “Meh. Tomayto tomahto.” She shook her head on a laugh. “It’s kind of an evil prank, Cass.” “It’s not that evil,” I scoffed and nodded toward Stan outside the window. “Stan is having the time of his life. It’s not like I’ve got him locked up inside a kennel. If anything, we did your horse a favor, Georgie. He’s enjoying some alone time without his feline lover demanding every second of his attention.” Georgia looked at Stan and then back at me. “I bet Walter is losing his shit right now.” I laughed.

“Poor Thatch,” she added. “No,” I retorted. “Not poor Thatch. Have you forgotten the fact that he thinks your dog is missing and he didn’t even call you? Nor did he tell you when you called him?” “Ugh. True. He’s definitely blacklisted from all future pet sitting opportunities.” Her voice dropped to a level of self-reflection. “Though, I will say he sounded pretty sweet with the kids.” “Jesus. He’s not answering.” I hit End on the call before it went to voice mail and fired off a quick text to my husband, who I assumed, was currently looking for Stan, and quite possibly, trying to avoid the wrath of Satan’s claws. Me: Call me back, T-bag. I want to chat with Ace. Thatch: I’m a little busy here, Cass. Me: Oh c’mon. You’re not that busy. Three kids and two pets isn’t that hard to manage. Thatch: What do you mean, two pets? Oh, fuck. How did I fudge that up? I might as well have let Georgia send these texts. God, it was safe to say that I officially had

pregnancy brain. Me: Philmore doesn’t count. When he’s not getting fed, he’s usually sleeping on his bed. And since it’s not meal time, I know it’s his nap time. And from the looks of, it was also Stan the Man’s nap time. The proof lay outside the store with his leash hooked to a pole and his big, sleepy doggy face resting on his paws. Thatch: Of course he’s sleeping. But still, I feel like I’m running a day care over here. It’s hard work, Cass. Pfffft. Yeah. Hard work to find a missing dog… Me: Can I talk to Ace? Thatch: Nope. He’s busy. Me: Busy? He’s 4. What in the hello is he busy with? Thatch: You know how he is. He’s a busy guy. Places to run. Shit to destroy. His schedule is jam-packed, honey. I’ll let him know you

called, though. Before I could respond, he followed that up with another text message. Thatch: Will you ask Georgia if Julia can have chocolate milk? Just play it off, Cass. Me: Are you wanting me to call her? Why can’t you just call her? Holy sneakers. No. Unless I wanted to blow the lid off this Popsicle stand, I couldn’t allow any more phone conversations with Wheorgie. Me: Jesus. Hold on. I’ll call her. It should be noted here that I’m actually working, and you’re just sitting at home playing with kids and pets all day. Thatch: Thanks, honey. I’m sure you’ll have no issues getting ahold of her. Fuck, he knows. I needed to play this off at an expert level or else the prank would be dunzo. Me: She’s not answering. I sent her a text. I’ll

let you know if she gets back to me. Quick, send me a Bambi pose before I have to get back on set. Thatch: I’m watching kids and pets, Crazy. I don’t have time to Bambi pose for you. Me: Liar. I know you have at least 4 new ones saved on your phone. Thatch: If I get through this day, I’ll pose for you while you take live shots tonight. Me: With the Supercock out. Thatch: Deal. “Can Julia have chocolate milk?” I asked, and Georgia looked at me over the vintage black leather Prada purse in her hands. “Uh, yeah, why?” “Thatch wanted to know.” “Oh. My. God. He knows!” she exclaimed, and I gestured for her to calm down before we got kicked out of Bella’s. “Chill out, Wheorgie,” I demanded and held up my phone for her to read the text conversation. “I handled it.” Her eyes scanned the messages, and eventually,

her shoulders relaxed and she asked, “All right, I am probably going to regret asking this, but what in the hell is a Bambi pose?” I grinned. “You haven’t seen it yet? It’s the new Instagram craze,” I explained. “And God, I love when Thatch Bambi poses for me. It probably shouldn’t turn me on, but fluffing hello, it does.” Honestly, it did. Seeing that big, muscular body of his in the Bambi pose was like crack to my pussy. She was addicted and probably needed rehab at this point. “A bigger craze than duck face?” “Uh-huh. It’s amazing,” I added and scrolled through a few photos on my phone. “Here, let me show you one.” Once I found the perfect one, I held the screen for her eyes, and she immediately freaked out and covered the top of my phone with her hand. “Jesus, Cass! My eyes!” “What?” I questioned and glanced down at my gorgeous and sexy husband all posed out for me. “My husband is a sexy motherfluffer.” Her jaw dropped. “You literally just showed me a picture of Thatch’s penis…with Thatch’s penis… God, there was a penis.” Yeah, so maybe I should’ve chosen a picture where my husband had pants on, but I couldn’t deny that embarrassing Georgia had always been one of my favorite pastimes.

“I love the Supercock.” I grinned and waggled my eyebrows. “And I love that you still say the word penis like a little schoolmarm. God, I bet Bigdick gets so horny over your innocent and shy routine.” “Shut. Up.” “Do you even do that when he’s sliding through your back door?” “Oh. My. God,” she exclaimed, and immediately, Stan perked up outside and started barking through the window. “Shit,” Georgia muttered while Stan continued to power loud, deep barks from his lungs. The young store clerk looked at us with annoyance, and my best friend glared at me. “Thanks a lot,” Georgia said and headed outside. “I didn’t even get to hit the back racks yet.” I followed her out and watched her untie a barking Stan’s leash from the pole. “You were the one who was yelling, not me.” She huffed out her frustration in three quick breaths before lowering her voice to a near whisper. “Because you were forcing me to look at Thatch’s penis and talking about anal sex.” I smirked. “You know, people only get defensive when they’re trying to lie about something, Wheorgie.” “I’m not talking about this with you,” she

muttered and then held out Stan’s leash toward me. “Did you bring some food for him? I’m pretty sure it’s time for him to eat.” “Uh, no. I’m not toting around dog food in my purse, Wheorgie. Why do you think I gave him beef jerky and half of my chicken salad sandwich earlier?” “You’re literally the world’s worst dognapper.” She sighed in annoyance and took Stan’s leash from my hand. Once she spotted an empty bench outside of the store, she walked toward it and sat down. “I wonder if there are any pet stores close by,” she muttered, and Stan sat down in front of her, his giant doggy face nudging her thigh and whining his hunger. “Just breastfeed him,” I teased, and she choked on a laugh. “You’re fluffing ridiculous. I’m not breastfeeding my dog.” “What?” I feigned confusion and sat down beside her. “I’m sure you’ve got enough milk in those tits for that big horse.” I smiled, but a lady passing by us with one of the worst looks of disgust I’ve ever witnessed ruined my high. She scoffed and stared at Georgia and then the dog like an actual gang bang was occurring right before her very eyes. “What are you looking at?” I questioned, and the lady’s eyes met mine.

“Stop it, Cass,” Georgia muttered, but I ignored her. Not because I didn’t value my best friend’s opinion, but because I was all hopped up on pregnancy hormones and this judgmental woman deserved a piece of my mind. She stopped right in front of us. “People like you shouldn’t even be allowed in public. If she starts breastfeeding that mutt, I’m calling the cops.” “It was a joke, lady.” I stood up and pointed in her direction. “And you shouldn’t be in public with your asshole attitude. You’re what’s wrong with society today.” “No, you are,” she retorted. “Just talking about something like that is absolutely repulsive.” “Stop it, Cass,” Georgia whispered beside me through gritted teeth. Fluff this woman. “What offended you so much while you were listening to our conversation? The idea of breastfeeding or just boobs in general?” I asked, and she scoffed. “Is it boobs that offend you that much?” I questioned and pulled down the top of my blouse to expose mine. “How about now? Are you even more offended?” “Oh. My. God. Put your boobs away,” Georgia exclaimed. “You’re disgusting!” the woman shouted in my direction before quickly walking away from us. “The only thing disgusting right now is your

judgy attitude!” I shouted toward her back while I tucked my tits back into my bra, but all she did was stomp her feet in the opposite direction and hot glue her phone to her ear to bitch about her experience with me. Served her right. I mean, maybe flashing her was a little over the top, but I blamed the pregnancy mood swings. Plus, New York was starting to get a little warm, and my blood was filled with enough hormones that hot flashes were a constant. My tits needed a little air. “Seriously, Cass. I think you’ve reached your day’s limit of illegal activities.” I shook my head. “That wasn’t illegal.” “Uh…yeah, indecent exposure ring a bell?” “Meh.” I waved it off with my hand. “I’d just tell the cop we were breastfeeding.” “There’s no baby here, Cass.” I glanced down at my belly, and she laughed. “No baby that can actually breastfeed, ya freak!” Her phone started to ring inside of her purse, and I pulled it out and handed it to her, announcing, “It’s Will.” With her the free hand that wasn’t keeping hungry Stan calm with soft caresses to the top of his head, she hit Accept and greeted, “Hey, what’s up?” Georgia’s eyes went wide with whatever her

brother was saying on the other line. “What do you mean Thatch called you?” she questioned. Uh-oh… “Uhh…well…yeah…Julia and Evie are with Thatch,” she fumbled over her words. “And Walter and Stan? Well…” Before she could ruin the whole plan, I snagged the phone from her hand and put it up to my ear. “Hey, William, it’s Cass.” “What’s going on? I’m about to go into a delivery, and your husband is calling and asking me if there’s a way to put out Amber Alerts for dogs.” Call me evil, but I laughed at that. Unfortunately, it was loud enough to startle a halfasleep Stan. He lifted his head off of Georgia’s lap and started barking. Fluffing hell. I think it was safe to say I was too pregnant for this shit. It was like I was completely off my game now. These pregnancy hormones were ruining everything for fluffer nutter’s sake. “Whose dog is that?” Will questioned suspiciously. “Uhh…no one’s,” I muttered. “So, how’s the baby business, William?” I tried to redirect the conversation, but he wasn’t having it. “No one’s dog? I can hear a dog barking, Cass.” “It’s okay, buddy,” Georgia whispered toward

her horse and rubbed behind his ears with her fingers. “And I can now hear my sister talking to a dog,” Will added and I sighed. “Is Stan with you guys?” “Uhh… What exactly do you mean by with you guys?” “Seriously?” Will snapped, audibly out of patience for the day. I guessed pregnancy was making everyone crazy today. “What is going on?” “Well…it’s a possibility that Thatch might think he lost Stan.” A shocked laugh left his lips. “Might think?” “It’s just a little prank, Will,” I reassured. “This is kind of a fucked-up prank, Cass. Like, even for you, it’s a bit over the top,” he stated in disbelief. But before he could get another word out, someone in the background called toward him, “Dr. Cummings. We need you in room four right now!” “Shit. I gotta go,” he muttered and immediately ended the call. Relief filled my veins until Georgia’s and my phone buzzed with a text. It was from Will. With Kline included in the group message. Oh, holy sneakers. Will: Thatch thinks he lost one of your pets.

Kline: Which one? Please tell me Walter… Will: Stan, actually. Kline: Shit. Will: But Cass and Georgia (who are in this group text) have him right now in the name of a prank. I have to run into a delivery now, but I thought you should know. “Goddammit, Cass,” Georgia muttered. “Kline is going to be so pissed at me.” “Hot makeup sex later?” I suggested, and she flashed an irritated glare in my direction. Geez. Tough crowd.

Kline: Georgia, everything okay?

what’s

going

on?

Is

Georgia: Everything is fine. No need to worry, baby. Kline: Do you have Stan? Georgia: Maybe…

Kline: Georgia. Georgia: Yes. Kline: Does Thatch know? Georgia: Uhh… I’m not sure? Kline: Georgia… Georgia: Ugh. No. He doesn’t know. But in my defense, he didn’t even call me or you in the first place when he found out that our dog was gone. Kline: Jesus Christ. Are you two fucking with me right now? “Uh-oh,” Georgia muttered and looked at me with wide eyes. “I think the cat might be out of the bag.” More like horse out of the barn. I quickly sent Kline a text. Me: Come on, Big-dick. You know it’s a little bit funny.

Kline: A fake kidnapping? Why did everyone keep acting like I’d kidnapped an actual human being? I mean, I wasn’t a sociopath. I just borrowed a dog for a little bit, right? Me: Not exactly kidnapping. I just borrowed him for a little bit. Honestly, I think he needed the break from Walter. Kline: This is crazy. You know that, right? Me: I think my scale o’ crazy and your scale o’ crazy are a little different, Big-dick. Kline: Ya think? Me: So… does this mean you’re going to tell Thatch? Kline: What do you think? Me: That you want to be in on the prank, too? Kline: I think you need to keep thinking. “I think Big-dick is a little irritated,” I said and

glanced at Georgia. “Yep,” she answered with a little pop of her p. “I think that’s a fair assessment.” Son. Of. A. Biscuit.

Standing on the other side of the nursery door with my ear pressed forcefully to the surface, I listened for signs that it was safe to check on Walter. He’d been raising all holy hell in there for nearly an hour, and after the conversations with Georgia and my wife that all but confirmed my prank suspicions, I wasn’t sure this was going to end the way Cassie thought it would. She’d never get the months she’d spent getting the nursery just right back, and it would be a minor miracle if anything in that room came out unscathed. And so far, she’d fairly efficiently screwed herself out of having one of her biggest dreams realized. Fuck, I’ve got to come up with a Plan C…or is it D? Hell, I don’t even know what letter I’m on at this point. All was quiet, and even though I was scared, I knew there wouldn’t be a better time to go in than now. Hopefully, he’s fucking sleeping off his breakdown. I barely had the door cracked, a line of light

cutting into the dark room, when my phone started to ring in my pocket. “Oh, shit!” I yelled, struggling to reach into my pants like they were on fire. Shit, shit, shit. “Reowwww,” I heard Walter cry, the noise of a fluffing cat warrior, as his body slammed into the door and forced it back closed. Jesus, that was a close one. Finally, with my phone in hand but none of the joy inside that my ringtone normally brought, I got a look at the caller ID. Kline calling. Oh, fuck me. Sometimes I truly regretted the advances in technology that allowed someone to contact you whenever the fuck they wanted. Like, why couldn’t he be in the car, without access to a phone, while I could say I was in the yard and missed the call as a backup? I mean, what was this world coming to that he had a cell phone and I had a cell phone, and if I didn’t answer it, people assumed something was up? Gah. Okay, I’m stalling. But Kline is the one guy who will always intimidate me. He’s just so fucking clever it’s sneaky. Like he’s reading my thoughts and shit. I don’t like it.

At nearly the end of my “Thong Song” ringtone, when I knew he had to be moments away from getting sent to voice mail, I swiped my finger across the screen. I might as well be signing my death warrant. “Hello?” “What’s going on?” Shit. Fuck. “What do you mean? Nothing is going on. Just hanging out with the kids.” Trying not to die at the paws of your cat because I lost his lover. Man, I didn’t do a very good impression of innocent. I’d have to rely solely on my ability to lie. “Are you still at work?” “Yes. Why are you talking so fast? What’s wrong with your voice?” “What?” I squeaked. Forcing my voice back down to its normal timbre, I went on. “Why do you think something is wrong?” “You’re breathing hard.” “I was chasing the kids.” Searching my damn house like I am on an episode of CSI for clues and trying to crack the code to confirm my wife’s fluffing scheme. “Right.” God. Maybe I should just tell him. Why was I so reluctant to tell him in the first place? Because you fucking love him and his wife, and you don’t want to face the fact that they may actually tire of

your irresponsibility. “Kline…I…” “Yeah?” “What time do you think you’ll be at Wes and Winnie’s for dinner?” He sighed deep and long, and I wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. I could have sworn it sounded like disappointment, but I’d chickened out. I hadn’t actually told him the thing I’d done that would make him sound like that. I just wished I’d lost Walter. He would have been cheering me on. But he actually fucking liked Stan. Of course. “You know, I should come over there and make you explain everything right now, but I won’t.” “You won’t?” I asked, completely confused by the turn of conversation and cautiously hoping Kline’s intelligence was so honed that he’d come to the conclusion that I’d lost his dog without my even saying it. Don’t ask me why, but I felt like it might be easier that way. It’s pretty fucking hard to break the news to your best friend that you’ve lost one of his pets. His favorite pet, actually. “No. Because you’re all fucking crazy, every last one of you, and somehow, I signed on to live in the middle of it forever.” “What are you—” “I’ll see you at six.” The line clicked, and the call went dead before I could say another word.

Dread lined my stomach at the thought of our friendship changing. We’d been a trio for fucking years, and I didn’t want to see myself become the extra. Everyone knew the extra was Wes right now, but one more move and I’d be even lower than him on Kline’s shit list. Speaking of the shittiest of us all…where the fuck was Wes with the flyers? Thatch: Where the fuck are you, dude? I thought you’d come help me look. And make the fucking flyers you kept going on about. When several minutes passed, I decided I couldn’t wait anymore. Sure, I thought Georgia and Cassie sounded a little weird, but I didn’t want to leave the dog unattended if he really was here. Plus, I was going to need to find a way to calm Walter down. I couldn’t transport him into the city as he was. Three clicks into my recent calls to call Georgia back—I knew I could break her—a text message popped up onto my screen. Will. What did he want? I clicked out of the keypad and into the messages quickly. Will: Georgia and Cassie have Stan. This is a

prank that I wasn’t supposed to tell you about. Consider my debt for your contribution to Mel’s clinic paid. Of course it’s a prank. I should have known Cassie would be out for blood after I’d harmlessly joked about losing Ace this morning. I’d just joked. What kind of a sick person really executes stealing a living thing? My wife. That was who. And truthfully, under different circumstances, probably me. But, fuck, that was different. I’d be on the other side of that. Thatch: Thanks, Will. God, I was panicked. Will: Good. Now you can call them, and this whole thing can be over. Thatch: Call them? Are you kidding me? I’m not making it that easy on my wife. Dialing Kline again, I waited the two short rings before he answered. “What? Did you lose my kid now?” “You knew?” “Of course I fucking knew, asshole. I know everything. Next time, lose the fucking cat for shit’s sake.”

“Right. Of course, K.” I winced before deciding I wasn’t completely in the wrong here. “Though, if you really analyze this, this is more our wives’ fault. I’m mostly a victim.” “Good Christ, I hate when you say things that are true.” I nodded to myself. “You aren’t alone. A lot of people feel that way about me.” “So what are you doing now?” I was going to make this motherfluffing day my bitch, that’s what. Time for Thatcher’s plans to come to heel. “I’m gonna go fucking stalk them.” I knew I’d downloaded an app to GPS track my wife for a reason. Kline let out a deep sigh. “Oh,” I added, before I forgot. “Are there extra car seats for Julia and Evie at your house? I forgot to get one earlier. And a crate for the devil.” “In the garage.” Kline didn’t even sound annoyed anymore. Just resigned. “I’ll see you at dinner?” “Yep.” But Georgia and Crazy Cassie would be seeing me a little fucking sooner. Game on. “Fantastic. But before you go…” “Yeah?” “I just need to ask you one little favor.”

He sighed. “Jesus, save us all.”

“Oh my God. Do you think Kline called Thatch?” Georgia asked with panic in her eyes. “Stop freaking out,” I said and continued to run my fingers through one last rack of my second favorite vintage boutique. Bella’s had always been my favorite, but fluffing hell, Stan’s barking episode made it impossible for us to go back. And I was pretty sure the store clerk saw me flash that lady on the sidewalk, so, yeah, Bella’s was a no-go for at least another few months. “He called him,” she rambled. “I know he did. God, how did I let you talk me into this? I’m the world’s worst dog mommy.” “Seriously, Georgia, calm down,” I encouraged with my eyes fixated on the gorgeous silk blouse in my hands. “And tell me if this shirt would make my boobs look too big?” “I can’t calm down!” She looked out the window to check on Stan for what felt like the millionth time. “And what kind of ridiculous question is that? Everything makes your boobs look big! Especially now! One of your boobs is the size

of my head!” Lord almighty, she was amped up. But she was definitely right about the shirt. And, I had a feeling I’d need it to get Thatch to forgive me later. You know, once I’d called it quits on the whole pranking bit and he found out that I’d been the one to remove Stan from the nursery this afternoon. A rush of anxiety filled my veins at the thought of telling my husband what I’d managed to pull off. Had I taken the prank too far? I mean, Thatch wouldn’t be too mad about it…right? “What if Thatch called the cops? What if I get arrested for kidnapping my own dog? Oh my God! I’m going to go to jail!” Georgia exclaimed. “For kidnapping my own dog! The only way I’ll be able to have another baby is during conjugal visits in the slammer! Oh my goat cheese, she’s a horrible accomplice. Note to self: Stan and I can’t invite Georgia along for the ride for any future pranks. “Just relax,” I encouraged, even though I knew it probably wouldn’t do a bit of good. Sane Georgia had officially left the building, and only panicked, losing her ever-loving sneakers Georgia was left. “We’ll give it another ten minutes—enough time to finish browsing this rack and buy this shirt—and then I’ll call Thatch.”

“Ugh,” she groaned. “I hate you. I honestly think I hate you right now.” I smirked. “No, you don’t. Plus, I’m going to buy you this—” I started to say but paused when a rush of discomfort filled my stomach. Something felt out of place or off or just not right. I didn’t know what, but something was different. I almost felt like I was being watched. Immediately, I looked out the front window and found Stan resting comfortably on the sidewalk. Thank God. It would’ve been horrible if I’d actually managed to lose Stan while trying to make Thatch think he’d lost Stan. But after a few paranoid glances around the store, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Well, besides the back and shoulders of a beast of a woman wearing a pink shirt and a giant frilly white hat. God, she’s big. And honestly, making me kind of horny… That was weird. I’d never thought of myself as into women, but holy hello, pregnancy had been wreaking havoc on my normal pranking skills. I guessed it was possible it had the power to change my tune to the same sex. “Hello? Cass? Are you listening to me?” Thankfully, Georgia called my attention before I could wander toward thoughts of bisexual curiosity. Not that I was opposed to being bisexual, I’d just

never considered it. But there was something about that woman… “Cass!” Georgia whisper yelled. “What?” “Make the call.” “It’s only been like two minutes,” I said with a wave of my hand. “Chill out, and let me buy this shirt.” But she wasn’t going to let up. “Make. The. Call. Now. I can’t handle it anymore.” I groaned. “Ugh. Fine.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket and hit Thatch’s number before holding it against my cheek. The boring rings on my side of the call filled one ear while the “Thong Song” filled the other. Wait a second. I know that ringtone… I started to look around the store again, but before I could process what was happening, I felt a tap to my back. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck as the hot air of someone close buzzed it. “Game. Over.” Slowly, I turned around to find my husband undercover in a giant white frilly hat paired with his favorite pink I love Cassie’s tits T-shirt, and jeans. Not to mention the two adorable toddlers standing on either side of him and little Evie sitting happily in her stroller. “Uh-oh,” I muttered.

“Yeah.” Thatch stared down at me. “Uh. Oh.” “Fu—” I started to curse, but I quickly stopped myself before the word flew past my lips and into our kids’ ears. “Fuck!” Ace finished for me on a shout, and then Julia started to giggle. My eyes went wide, and I stared at my husband in disbelief with what had just come out of our son’s mouth. I knew I’d heard him say it on the phone! “Thatch—” “Don’t even think about it, Crazy.” He held up his index finger. “The F word is the very last thing you should be worried about right now,” he stated in a far too calm voice. It was his “I’m more than angry” voice. Looks like Daddy’s mad… Motherfluffer. Just act natural. Act like you’re supposed to be here and you’re supposed to have Stan and… fluffing hell. Is there even a way out of this one? “I kept the secret so good, Mommy! I didn’t tell Daddio anything!” Ace exclaimed. “Didn’t tell Daddio anything.” Thatch quirked a brow in my direction. “Hmmm, that’s interesting… and it’s not the first time I’ve heard it today either.” “I didn’t tell either!” Julia chimed in, and I knew what little hope was left, had vanished into thin air. “What didn’t you tell Daddio, little man?”

Thatch asked, and Ace grinned. “I saw Mommy today,” he answered, and a little part inside of me died that my son had just thrown me to the proverbial wolves. “Oh, really,” my husband said, far too amused with the way the tables had turned. “And where did you see Mommy today?” “In the nursery with Lia’s big dog.” Thatch smirked. And it wasn’t his sexy smirk. It was his “I so have your ass” smirk. “Wow. That’s crazy, isn’t it?” he questioned and glanced between Georgia and me. “And here I’d been searching the whole house, thinking Stan had gone missing, but he’s been with you ladies the whole time.” He glanced out the window. “And just look at him. Kicked back and hanging out. It’s definitely a lot better than the awful scenarios I’d conjured up in my head—and a whole lot different than his demon lover.” “Cassie made me do it,” Georgia blurted out. “She made me do it and I didn’t want to and I’m sorry.” “Georgie!” I glared at her and she shrugged. “Are you ready to go, honey?” Thatch asked with far too much sweetness in his voice. “Let’s go and have a nice little chat just me and you.” “You know, since it’s Mother’s Day and all, I think I’m going to shop for a little while longer before we go to Wes and Winnie’s. I mean, we’re

already in the city, and—” He shook his head and nodded toward the door. “Let’s go, Crazy.” My normal reaction would’ve been to tell him to fluff right off, but I figured I needed to accept the punishment. Everyone, please say a prayer that this turns into something more interesting than a firm lecture. Spankings, the Supercock, orgasms, you know, some of my favorite things…

“But…” Cassie hedged as I pushed her toward the door. “Where are we going? What about the animals? And the kids? And Georgia? You don’t want to leave Georgia all by herself, do you?” “Oh, I’m fine,” Georgia assured. “You can leave Stan, Walter, and the kids with me. Kline just texted me that he’s done with work and nearby. We’ll bring them to dinner.” Cassie’s eyes turned smoky with the essence of betrayal. Way to go, Georgie. So far so good. So you’re probably thinking you’re missing something, huh? Well, as it turns out, all that technology I was lamenting earlier can also be a boon. It’s amazing how detailed a plan you can formulate via text message. I wasn’t fully confident in Georgia’s ability to tow the lying line, but so far, she’s been smashing. “Perfect,” I agreed easily. “Thanks so much.” “No problem at all,” Georgia said. “You had

them all day.” Cassie glared daggers at her best friend as I pushed her out the door, and the kids went willingly into Georgia’s care. I could tell the exact moment she resigned herself to the fact that we were going to be leaving alone, when the direct sunlight flushed her tan skin and made her reach up to shield her eyes as we stepped outside. Of course, those weren’t the actions that told her tale, but rather, it was the way she tugged at the hem of her shirt until the top swells of her perfect tits came out to play. She was out for blood—and she wanted it all to pool straight in my dick so she could regain control. I shook my head with a smile from behind her. Man, she’s something else. Straight past regret and right on to damage control. She looked around awkwardly in search of one of our cars but came up empty. I pointed to the blacked-out Suburban I’d hired, waiting doubleparked a few cars down with its four-ways on. “You didn’t drive yourself?” she asked suspiciously. “No. I thought this would be easier. Especially since you already have a car in the city, and I was going to need to leave the feline demon in the car long enough to stalk you. Where’d you park, by the way?”

Her chest rose and fell noticeably as she expelled a deep sigh—another action of design, no doubt. “In the garage at your office.” “Fantastic. I’ll take that home tomorrow.” “Thatcher—” “Not yet, Crazy. I know it’s absolutely killing you not to be giving me excuses right now, but not yet.” Her brow creased with concern, and for the first time since she’d been busted, she looked worried she might have taken it too far. I walked her to the back passenger side door and opened it for her, waiting until she settled in the seat to close it and walk to the back hatch. With a push of a button, the latch released, and the door lifted in a slow, steady motion with low, successive beeps. Cassie turned in her seat to look over her shoulder. “Be right back,” I told her. “Just have to see to a little reunion first.” She watched avidly as I grabbed Walter’s crate, and he attempted to swat at me through the grated front. “Take a chill pill, dude. You’ll be all set to cuddle soon.” Stan stood up on the sidewalk and started to bark, like he could smell the little shitstain in my arms. It was incredible really, the bond the two of them had. I had a feeling their deaths were going to

be perfectly timed and romantic like Noah and Allie in The Notebook. I didn’t know the logistics of how they’d hold hands, but I didn’t know the logistics of a lot of things they did. I was just setting a wildly gyrating Walter’s crate on the sidewalk in front of Stan when Kline pulled up in his Dad-mobile—a Suburban. It was a slight upgrade from his previous ride, but I knew it didn’t have anything to do with status. It was purely a square footage game. The only other option for transporting Stan was a trailer. “You couldn’t have lost the cat on the way here?” Kline asked as he hopped out from behind the wheel. Unfortunately for him, it was perfectly timed with Georgia’s exit from the store. “Kline Brooks!” He didn’t even falter, easing his face into a warm smile and shrugging. “Sorry, baby. I can’t change how I feel.” “So…” I segued as Georgia hustled the kids, Walter, and Stan into the car one by one. “Is it all set up?” “Yes. I ran by there after the office, and Lexi and Wes helped me do the dirty work,” Kline affirmed. “Though, I’m not really sure why you want to do this tonight of all nights. A reward system like this only reinforces today’s behavior.” I smiled. “Yeah. I know who I married.” Georgia walked back to the front of the car to

rejoin our circle. “Honestly, are either of you actually surprised by today? Because if you are, I’m disappointed in you.” Georgia smiled and Kline sighed, crossing his arms over his chest and sinking his hips into the front bumper of his car. “Just try to leave us out of it in the future.” “Are you kidding?” Georgia disputed. “I’m finally getting good at lying! I think it’s all the practice.” “My wife’s goals, people,” Kline muttered. “Successful deception.” I had to laugh. But I also had to get moving. The sun was setting, and the whole thing was really more effective in the light of day. “We’ll see you at Wes and Winnie’s place.” Kline saluted, but Georgia broke down in bodywracking tears. What in hell’s kitchen? “Georgie?” Kline questioned, stepping forward to put an arm around her. “I…want…her…to…think…I’m…in… trouble,” she forced out in between fake heaves. Color me impressed, Georgie girl is getting good at lying… I raised my eyebrows in delight. “Hot damn, son. Looks like Georgia’s in the game after all.” Kline was less optimistic. “Jesus Christ. I don’t know if I like this turn of events.”

“Aw, baby,” she cooed, turning in his arms to shove her face into his neck. “You’ll get used to it.” A smart move on her part, giving him all of that body contact. His face melted immediately into visible pleasure. I took that as my cue to exit. After all, my hot babe was waiting for me in the car. My long legs ate up the distance between our circle and the car in no time, and Cassie lashed out as soon as I climbed in. “Crying? Really, Thatcher? You made Georgia fluffing cry? None of this was even her fault! She was more of a victim than an accomplice!” “You can go,” I told the driver, using all of my willpower to keep myself from smiling at my wife’s righteous indignation. One of the things I loved most about her was the endless depth of her heart. If you were in with Cassie Kelly, you were motherfluffing in. As the car started to roll on my command, she shifted her attack. “He can go? Go where? Where the hell are we going? I didn’t even say goodbye to my son!” I turned toward her and raised my eyebrows. She broke pretty quickly, which wasn’t characteristic of her. She must have been more upset about being in trouble than she was letting on. “Okay, fine. I’m not really all that crushed that I didn’t get to say goodbye. He tends to punch me in the tit when I do. But, still.”

The image of my little son abusing her perfect chest was enough to crease the skin between my eyebrows. “Yeah, I’ve got to have a serious talk with him about that. That goes against every single one of our house rules.” “House rules?” she questioned, because, yeah, we didn’t have any house rules. “Yes. It’s really only one rule, and it’s that your tits are religious. He’s practically assaulting a member of the clergy.” “You still love my tits?” she asked hopefully, and finally, I cracked. Into a smile, out of the ruse, and into my absolute favorite slot in her heart. Leaning forward, I quickly touched my lips to hers before settling my eyes back on the road. “If there ever comes a day that your tits aren’t on top for me, Crazy, you might as well put me in the ground.” “They’re going to sag one day,” she hedged. “The better to drape over myself,” I argued, and she laughed. “So…you’re not mad at me?” I shook my head and settled back into my seat. “I’m a little sad. I mean, you were off your game a little, honey.” “Ugh!” she huffed. “It’s the pregnancy hormones.” Just as she finished the sentence, we pulled up

in front of Wes and Winnie’s place, and her gaze turned to the window. “Thatch?” she questioned immediately, but her gaze stayed fixated on the bright color of each bouquet of roses that sat on the front porch of the house and glowed beneath the fading daylight. “Twenty dozen,” I told her. “Every single one from my unbelievably talented dick. But I’m sure you’re not surprised, huh? This isn’t the first time he’s managed to send his favorite woman flowers.” Her sobs were a mixture of laughter and tears as she pushed open the door and climbed down to the sidewalk. I jumped out of my side and rounded the car, and with my hand pressed gently against my wife’s lower back, we moved closer to Wes and Winnie’s front porch. She gasped once she spotted the real surprise. “Is that…” She paused, and her jaw damn near hit the sidewalk as she took in the most important part of the surprise. It sat inside a giant basket, and an even bigger pink bow was wrapped around it. “Yep,” I touted. “That, right there, is—” “A prototype of the Mother Fluffer,” she whispered. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, and a gorgeous smile kissed her perfect mouth. My crazy woman had a dream, folks. A vibrator dream of epic proportions. The kind of

vibrator that stimulated the clit, the pussy, the yeah, everything, and gave women the absolute most intense orgasm of their lives while making almost zero noise in the process. And since she’s my wife, and my life’s mission is to make all of her dreams come true, the Mother Fluffer is now a reality. Although, it needs to be noted that I can still and always will be able to work Cassie’s body better than any vibrator, even the Mother Fluffer. “That’s no prototype, honey,” I corrected with a smirk. “That’s post-production. All set to debut in Sextopia and Sure Romance next week.” “But…why?” Why today? was what she was really asking. Why would I reward her with a gift of boning proportions on the day she’d attempted to make my life a living hell? Well, for one, nothing my wife had done today was any kind of surprise. “Because this vibrator is your dream, and I couldn’t think of any better time to debut it than Mother’s Day. She’s just as quiet and every bit as intense as you wanted.” And two, I’d been planning a Mother’s Day reveal from the beginning. Granted, the original execution was altogether different and within the privacy of our own home, but quite frankly, this was better.

“And she sparkles,” she said in awe. I laughed. “Yep. I remembered that request too.” My woman wanted her to sparkle, so fuck yes, she sparkled. Pink and white sparkles, to be specific. The door cracked open, and Wes popped his head out. “Can we get the giant dick off my doorstep now?”

Later that night, after we’d enjoyed a nice night with the gang, and I’d watched Georgia and Winnie get hammered off of all the wine I couldn’t drink, I was more than ready to cuddle up—and have sex— with my husband. Thatch walked into the bedroom and started shrugging out of his clothes while I watched from my cozy spot under the fluffy white comforter in our bed. Closely, I watched his facial expression for any signs of my favorite kind of trouble in the form of an arousing midnight spanking that turned into some good old-fashioned Thatch-style fucking. A girl could dream, right? But, sadly, my handsome husband appeared relaxed as he removed his pants and shirt and tossed them haphazardly toward the laundry basket.

I know, I know, I shouldn’t be complaining, huh? I mean, Thatch not only forgave me, but he made my vibrator dreams come true. But sheesh, there is something about hot make-up sex… Is it bad that I kind of want him to be a little mad right now? “Did Ace fall asleep pretty quickly after you got him into bed?” I asked and he smirked. “Little man was out before his head hit the pillow,” he said and slid into bed beside me. “It shouldn’t be a surprise, though,” he added and pulled me toward his bared chest and tucked me into his side. “He and Julia have been running around like little banshees all day. I swear to God, Cass, those two kids have a secret stash of pixie sticks and Red Bull or something. They literally never stop.” “Dad life,” I teased and he smirked. “Best fucking life on the planet,” he said through a yawn, and I ran my hand over his chest. “Tired?” “Well…” he said and hugged me closer to his body. “Between chasing after the kids, the fake dognapping, making your vibrator dreams come true, and then dinner and drinks at Wes’s, yeah, I think it’s safe to say I’m ready to call it a night.”

Wait…what? Call it a night? Like, without sex? “Good night, Cass,” he whispered and kissed me on the forehead. “Sweet dreams, honey.” It took all of my willpower not to knee him in the dick. I mean, generally speaking, bedtime equaled sex time in the Kelly house. And when I say generally speaking, I mean every motherfluffing night of the week. What. The. Fluff? I mean, he’d given me the Mother Fluffer today! Shouldn’t we at least be putting it to use or something? When a few soft snores and heavy breaths started to fall from his lips, I knew my hopes of getting pussy pleasure had flown out the goddamn window. Son of a Popsicle stick, this was not my day for orgasms. Like, not at all. Eventually, I gave in to my no-climax reality and turned away from my husband and onto my side. I adjusted my giant pregnant belly in the process and huffed out a breath of frustration as I punched my fist into my pillow and settled myself in for a long night of sexual frustration. “A little frustrated, Crazy?” Thatch whispered, and my eyes popped open. “Is that greedy little cunt of yours a little ticked off that Daddy isn’t giving her what she wants?” “You’re such a bastard,” I muttered. “You’ve been awake the whole time, haven’t you?”

He chuckled softly, and next thing I knew, Thatch was moving down the bed until his big, muscular body was lying between my opened thighs. “How frustrated is she, Cass?” he asked and slid my panties to the side with one long index finger. His gaze locked on to my bared skin, and he licked his lips in approval. “She looks so greedy right now. God, she’s practically begging for my mouth, and I haven’t even done anything yet.” “Ugh,” I groaned in annoyance. “How frustrated, Cass?” he asked again. “So frustrated,” I admitted. Giving in wasn’t my usual MO, but tonight, I was making an exception to my normal rules. I needed an orgasm. Hell, I probably needed two before I’d even consider calling it a night and getting some shuteye. He looked up at me from underneath his dark lashes, and his eyes shone with that familiar glimmer that generally said all good things were coming. Literally, coming. And without any warning, he gently licked one smooth line down my pussy and then back up again before pulling his mouth away and moaning his approval. “I fucking love the way you taste.” I whimpered in frustration. “More?” he asked and I nodded. “Yes, please.” “Think maybe you owe me an apology first?”

“Apology?” I asked in confusion. I mean, what in the flipping Hello Kitty was he talking about? “Yeah,” he said with a smirk. “An apology for the dognapping today.” Oh, that… “I’m sorry I kidnapped Stan when you weren’t looking. But…” I added because let’s face it, I had a reason for the prank. In hindsight, I wouldn’t exactly say it was the best reason, but still, it was a reason nonetheless. I might’ve been crazy, but I didn’t make a point to just go around kidnapping people’s pets for the hell of it. “In my defense, you pranked me earlier today.” He quirked a brow. “When did I prank you?” “Uh…when you acted like Ace wasn’t with you this morning…” Once everything clicked into place, he started chuckling in amusement. “That’s what made you sneak into the house this afternoon to steal Stan? Because of a two-minute phone conversation when I pretended not to have our son?” “Exactly,” I stated. “You know the rules, T. Tit for tat. And, besides that, you should know better than to prank your pregnant wife.” Thatch stared up at me with a giant grin etched across his face. “You’re literally the craziest woman I’ve ever known.” I grinned. “And you’re literally the craziest man I’ve ever known.”

“God, I love you,” he said, and his voice turned tender. “Even when you’re trying to kill me with heart attacks before I’ve reached the age of forty by stealing animals from our home, I love the fucking hell out of you.” “I love you, too,” I whispered. “Especially when you’re stalking me. I think I love you the most when you do romantic things like that.” Between the prank, spending the afternoon in Chelsea with my best friend, and Thatcher tracking me down after he’d found out I’d taken the dog, today had felt like old times. It had been a good day. And hot damn, my husband—especially his stalker tendencies—was so fluffing swoony. “I wouldn’t say today’s stalking was motivated by romance, honey,” he said through a soft chuckle. “It had more to do with the fact that you’d, you know, kidnapped a dog and, thanks to that, I had a plan to alter.” I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t kidnap a dog.” “Then what exactly would you call it?” “I just happened to need to borrow a dog for the day.” “Jesus,” he said with a laugh. “Promise me you’ll never include kidnapping in any future pranks.” “I’ll only take that deal if you promise not to prank me while I’m pregnant.”

“Deal,” he agreed, and then his gaze moved back to the bared—and extremely horny—skin between my thighs. “Thank you for the flowers and the Mother Fluffer,” I added, and his eyes met mine. “I still don’t know how you pulled that off, but God, it’s amazing. I’m still speechless, to be honest.” “Anything for you, Crazy,” he whispered and I smiled. “You’re the best, Daddy.” “Fuck, it drives me crazy when you call me that,” he groaned and moved his gaze back to the apex of my thighs. “Is it time for a little mouth-topussy?” I nodded. “It’s so time for that right now.” “You’re so beautiful, Cass,” he whispered with his lips mere inches away from where I ached and throbbed the most. “That’s really sweet of you and all, but I’m seven months pregnant, Thatch,” I said in slight disbelief. “There is no way that my pussy, or any place on my body for that matter, is looking anything remotely close to beautiful.” He looked up at me and locked his gaze with mine. “You’re beautiful, Cassie,” he said, and I couldn’t deny that my husband’s heart was definitely in his eyes. “Pregnant, not pregnant, it doesn’t fucking matter. You are my everything. My best friend. My partner in crime. My lover. My

wife. The mother of my children. You will always be the most beautiful woman in my eyes.” God, I’m so in love with this man. Every day, it felt like I only fell in love with him more. Thatch was the only man who had my heart. The only man who would ever have my heart. “Even when I’m ninety and I can tuck my tits into my shoes?” I teased as I blinked past the tears filling my eyes. “Especially then,” he said with a wink. “And I call dibs on helping you tie your shoes. I gotta make sure my favorite girls don’t get injured.” I laughed at that. “I love you, Crazy,” he said and I smiled. “I love you, too.” “Pussy pleasure time?” he asked and I nodded. Hell, I think my vagina even nodded. She’d been painfully sitting through chitchat, while all she wanted was Thatch’s attention. “Yes, please.” “Yes, please?” He quirked a brow and I smiled. “Yes, please, Daddy.” “Good girl.” As it turned out, there was more than one Mother Fluffer this Mother’s Day. But as exciting as the synthetic one was, this one—Thatcher Kelly, the man of my dreams—was indisputably my favorite.

THE END

Love Thatch, Cassie, and the Billionaire Bad Boys gang? Well, get excited because now you can get to know Georgia’s brother, Will! Dr. OB is live everywhere now! And you can bet your sweet ass you’re going to love hot and sexy Dr. Will. Dr. OB is a standalone romantic comedy and Book One in the St. Luke’s Docuseries. Make your appointment with Dr. Will today! Stay up to date with our crazy characters and us by signing up for our newsletter.

You may live to regret much, but we promise it won’t be this. Seriously. We’ll make it fun. If you’re already signed up, consider sending us a message to tell us how much you love us. We really like that. ;) You don’t want to miss Dr. Scott Shepard, do you?

Dr. ER is standalone Book Two in the St. Luke’s Docuseries and will release on June 27th, 2017! Preorder today! #DrER #DrERotic #LoveisContagious Follow us online: Website: www.authormaxmonroe.com Facebook group Camp Love Yourself Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads Bookbub

First of all, THANK YOU for reading. That goes for anyone who’s bought a copy, read an ARC, helped us beta, edit, or found time in their busy schedule just to make sure we didn’t completely drop the ball by being late. Yeah, that’s us—sliding in fifteen minutes behind schedule. Thank you for supporting us, for talking about our books, and for just being so unbelievably loving and supportive of our characters. You’ve made this our MOST favorite adventure thus far. THANK YOU to each other. Monroe is thanking Max. Max is thanking Monroe. This shouldn’t surprise you since we’ve done this in every book we’ve published together so far. Or maybe it does surprise you because you don’t ever read the acknowledgments. If that’s the case, joke’s on you. We happen to be hilarious, even in our acknowledgments. But you’ll still have a chance to find out next time because we’ll probably do this forever. THANK YOU, Lisa, for being the editing wind beneath our writing wings. Can you believe we kind

of sort of hit our editing date this time? ;) THANK YOU, Amy, our awesome agent and rock, we couldn’t do any of this without you. THANK YOU, JoAnna & Sandra, for being superior Counselor Feathers. You ladies amaze us on a daily basis, and you are the reason Camp Love Yourself is the coolest place to be. Seriously, you do a better job of running it than we do. THANK YOU, Sommer, for creating THE hottest covers we’ve ever seen. You and your covers are so pretty. THANK YOU, Stacey, for always making the innards of our books look so pretty! Putting makeup on organs is tricky. We couldn’t survive without you. THANK YOU to every blogger who has read, reviewed, posted, shared, and supported us. Your enthusiasm, support, and hard work do not go unnoticed. We’d offer to get you a night on the town with Thatch as thanks, but Cassie would kill us. Pregnancy hormones really are a motherfluffer. THANK YOU to the people who love us. You support us, motivate us, and most importantly,

tolerate us. Sometimes we’re not the easiest people to live with, especially when we’re deadline crunching—which yeah, that’s pretty much all the time. :) We love you so much. Like, ALL the love. THANK YOU to our Camp members! You guys make us smile every day! Especially when we pop into camp when we’re supposed to be doing something else, and we’re really easy to please. It’s like being really hungry—everything tastes good. HAHA! J/k. J/k. You’d taste good even if we were overfull. As always, all our love. XOXO, Max Monroe