And it wasn’t even The Billionaire Book Club’s fault—yeah, our little book club even had a fucking name.
It all started out as some ploy by Cap, but quickly turned into insanity.
Cap and Thatch—the most outrageous of the group in personality—were relentless during that time, taking attendance with an iron fist and threatening bodily harm to any of us who didn’t manage to read the book. I’m all for upping readership, but we lead busy lives. The pressure was starting to get to me, and I don’t even have a wife and kids to add to the madness.
I snort to myself, and Kline raises an eyebrow. I pay little attention to it as I get lost in my own thoughts.
You’re also going to have a kid now…
I’ve been in a blind haze since I heard the news about the baby earlier this week. I thought once I took action, I’d come up with a plan. A toolbox to put myself back together, so to speak.
But much to my chagrin, despite all my efforts, I haven’t been able to resolve anything.
Frankly, I haven’t even achieved the first step—talking to Rocky.
Contact, it seems, with Hollywood’s most infamous good girl, is next to impossible.
I’ve called agencies and talent offices. I’ve reached out to old friends from elementary school and left a message for the school principal. I’ve sent emails to her publicity contact and scoured the internet for a trace of her life before fame, but all I’ve found is a whole world of shit I had no fucking clue about.
As it turns out, Rocky’s been in the business a hell of a lot longer than I first would have assumed. She’s been starring in shit since a year and a half after I left California at ten years old, for fuck’s sake.
She’s been in show business longer than I’ve been in any business, and the reality of my ignorance is almost impossible to swallow.
How in the fuck could I have had no clue about this shit?
How in the fuck didn’t we garner more attention in that bar?
I can barely even keep my eyes open and steady for all the questions I have, and it’s eating me alive from the inside out.
“Okay, enough is enough. Who the fuck keeps playing footsie with me under the table?” Wes asks, and the rest of us glance around the room at one another in search of the culprit. “I know you guys enjoy my company, but none of us is on the market except for Harrison.” He jerks his head toward me, and Cap laughs.
“What’s wrong, Whore-i-son? Feeling lonely?”
“Of course,” I say, my mind almost numb to the normally amusing charade. “I thought maybe one of you wanted something on the side.”
Thatch chortles, a gulp of spit and whiskey shooting out and spraying the table. Trent wipes at his shirt before picking up a napkin and handing it to Kline.
“As amusing as I find it to be covered in your spit, why don’t you share what has you so tickled with the class, Thatcher?”
He shrugs. “It’s my Roomba.”
“Roomba?” Milo asks. “Is that some kind of slang I’m unaware of?”
“No,” I say with a laugh, but Cap chimes in before I can continue.
“You should, however, be concerned that you’re turning into a fucking old man if you have to ask about ‘today’s slang.’”
“What? It’s not like I have a teenager in my house.”
Wes snorts. “I do. Slang is much worse than a Roomba.”
“Then what the hell is it?”
“It’s a vacuum,” Thatch supplies. “Certified expert in suction.”
Cap laughs. “So, it could be slang.”
“It’s Cassie’s new solution to spring cleaning.”
“I’ve got a solution—a housekeeper,” Quince suggests.
“We have one,” Thatch says with a roll of his eyes. “Harriet. But she’s getting older, so Cassie keeps insisting we find things to do her work for her.”
Wes snorts. “Why don’t you give her a retirement package and hire someone else?”
“I suggested that!” he explodes. “Cassie nearly took my head off. She doesn’t want her to leave.”
“So, you’re basically just paying her to hang around?” I ask.
Thatch nods. “That and eat my food. The only good thing is having someone to blame my mistakes on.”
“That’s terrible,” Theo remarks.
“Are you kidding? She’s the ultimate scapegoat. She can literally do no wrong in Cassie’s eyes.”
“Yeah, but you have to have at least given the woman a fake porn addiction at this point,” Trent says with a chuckle.
Thatch scoffs. “I don’t watch porn, son. If I want an adult film, I sweet-talk my wife and make one. Without actual film,” he stipulates. “That’s an explicit boundary.”
“And where is Harriet tonight?” Milo asks. “Should I be thanking her for the snacks?”
Thatch snorts derisively. “Are you kidding me? This shit is all me. Harriet’s at the movies with Cassie and Georgia.”
“I’m officially confused by this dynamic,” Cap remarks. “Harriet’s gotta be giving your woman something you’re not.”