Tapping The Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires #1) (49 page)

I punched him hard enough in the shoulder that he stopped laughing abruptly.

“Ow! Fuck, Thatch! Christ.”

“It
is
nice,” I told him again, further delving into the teachings of his lesson. “Take fucking note from your most experienced of friends. Multiple flavors of pussy are great, but what our fucking goner of a friend found is better.”

He looked at me like he didn’t know what to make of me.

“The two of them stood up in front of God and us and committed to each other forever with enough trust in each other to speak one another’s words rather than their own.
That
, motherfucker, is love.”

Powerful speech performed, lesson conveyed, I felt content with my message until Wes went and fucking ruined it.

“Jesus, fuck, The Foundry must be some sort of
Twilight Zone.
I don’t even know who you guys are anymore,” he teased, chuckling into his bourbon.

“One day, Lancaster, when it happens to you, I will remember this moment.” I drained the rest of my drink and walked away.

Moving away from the bulk of the crowd, I sat down at a table that was mostly empty. My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I thought it might be the tattoo shop, checking in to see if I’d be there tonight, but instead, I found a number I didn’t recognize.

Unknown: She’s a lot older than you normally go for, but it looks like you’ve got a chance.

I looked around, wondering what the fuck whoever this was was talking about. Quickly, I typed out a message.

Me: Who is this?

A reply came almost immediately.

Unknown: Your mom.

I was no less confused, but hell if I didn’t fucking laugh.

Me: WTF. Who is this?

Unknown: The hot bitch at the head table.

I looked up across the dance floor as the crowd parted in front of me. Cassie, the craziest bitch I’d ever encountered and Georgia’s maid of honor, sat all by her lonesome at the wedding party’s table, one leg cocked and her bare foot in the chair beside her. She popped her eyebrows in a mischievous challenge.

This chick had balls, sitting there by herself, just kicked back and relaxed with zero fucks given about it. Fuck, Cassie’s balls might have been bigger than mine, and that was saying something.

Me: How’d you get my number?

Unknown: I have my ways.

Cryptic. Another message came right on its heels.

Unknown: But good luck with that pussy tonight.

I looked at her as she raised her glass in cheers and then looked at the area around me. Not even one prospective lay stood out in the nearest twenty-foot radius.

Me: What pussy?

Unknown: The silver-haired cutie beside you.

I looked to my left and then to my right, and what I saw had me smiling like a lunatic. Kline’s grandma, Marylynn, sat clapping along to the heavy beat of the music and swaying back and forth. She was cute, but she was no less than eighty-five years old. I looked down to my phone and typed as quickly as my big thumbs would allow.

Me: You should be ashamed of yourself. This is Kline’s grandma. But I’ll be sure to tell her you find her attractive.

I shifted my gaze from the phone to her table as soon as I was done, but when the dancing crowd finally moved out of the way, she was gone. Gone from sight and gone from my phone, but she’d found a home somewhere else—stuck in my head.

THE END

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First of all, THANK YOU for reading. That goes for anyone who’s bought a copy, read an ARC, helped us beta, edited, or found time in their busy schedule just to make sure we didn’t write a pile of drunken chicken scratch.

We also have to thank ourselves for being awesome. Not
ourselves
ourselves, but each other ourselves. Max thanks Monroe, and Monroe thanks Max. We’re not actually thanking
ourselves
like assholes. We both needed each other more than we probably ever could express, and we literally had the time of our lives doing this together.

Thank you, Lisa, for being funny and awesome and so freaking adaptable to our needs and requests. Your love for this book nourished it in a way that allowed it to grow into something better than the two of us could create without your input.

Thank you, Murphy, for whipping our shit into frosting. Or, you know, as close to it as possible. We love the finished product that we couldn’t have created without you.

Thank you, Sommer, for creating the perfect Kline Brooks packaging. Hours have been wasted ogling rather than trolling through Facebook. We’re happy with the change.

A special thank you to Colleen for being so gracious with both her time and sense of humor, laughing at our simple joke about not being her that we hadn’t planned on anyone really seeing and further messing with our minds. We’re still confused about how you wrote this book without us knowing it.

And last but not least, a HUGE thank you to our families, for allowing us the time and space and freedom from short-term household responsibilities that we needed to pull this off. They’re the reason for everything.

All our love.