Pushing the Boundaries (Picking up the Pieces #3) (10 page)

“It wouldn’t kill you to skip a meal or two, ya know?”

That earned me a look which screamed “I’m gonna cut a bitch if I don’t get my Fancy Feast ASAP.”

“Ugh, whatever.” Throwing Fatty off my chest, I climbed from the bed and started for the door to feed him before I ended up being clawed to shit. Mr. Bojangles was sweet and cuddly…until he got hungry. Then he was an asshole. I’d just reached the landing at the stairs when the events from the night before came back to me. How would Trevor act this morning? Would he forgive me? Would forgiveness require an immense amount of groveling? I was totally prepared to take whatever punishment he decided to dish out; it was the least I could do, after all. I was beyond nervous as I white-knuckled the banister and made my way down. But when I rounded the corner and walked into the living room, I saw that the couch was empty. The blanket had been refolded and placed over the back, and his boots weren’t on the floor where I’d left them after taking them off him last night.

My stomach did a little dip at the thought of not starting my morning out with our typical back-and-forth banter. Truth be told, I missed him. And it hadn’t even been twelve hours since I last saw him. I went about my morning routine, feeding Mr. Bojangles before I started getting ready for work. I found myself taking extra time doing my hair and makeup, wanting to look good when I got home that evening on the off-chance Trevor would be there.

By the time I was out the door and heading to the salon, I’d finally had enough. I needed to talk to him. If anything, he was my best friend and I couldn’t leave things between us in the holding pattern they were currently in. I needed to grow a pair of lady balls and apologize already. Pulling out my cell, I scrolled through my contacts until I got to his name and began typing.

Me: I’m sorry.

It was lame, but I’d hoped that if I started out up-front and honest, he’d be more receptive. When a minute went by without a response from him, I typed out another message.

Me: I’m a bitch. Do u forgive me?

Two more minutes went by with no response, but this time I could see the little indicator telling me he’d read my messages. He’d just decided not to respond.
Ouch,
that hurt.

Me: I’m totally not above groveling if that’s what it takes. How about bribery? If u forgive me I’ll get u a case of beer on my way home!

Just perfect, I was begging. I really couldn’t get any lower. Finally, that little bubble popped up showing he was typing a response. My breath hitched with a mixture of excitement and fear. I wanted him to respond, but I was still scared of what he’d say.

Trevor: U want forgiveness. I want something in return.

What could he want in return? Knowing Trevor, he’d be sure to make me apologize very publicly, adding in a healthy dose of humiliation.

Me: What do u want?

Trevor: Hmmm.

That was all he typed for about two minutes, and I grew impatient.

Me: Well?

Trevor: Don’t rush me, woman!

The little bubble icon showing he was typing kept popping up then disappearing again and again. The longer his response took, the more anxious I became that he wasn’t actually going to forgive me. Then his response finally came through. I shouldn’t have expected anything else from Trevor.

Trevor: Show me ur boobs.

Yeah, that was so not happening.

Me: Damn it, Trevor!

Trevor: Hey, u want forgiveness. I wanna see boobies. Seems like a fair trade 2 me.

Pfft.
Fair, my ass.

Me: I’m not sending a pic of my boobs.

Trevor: Then u must not want my forgiveness too badly.

He was an asshole. The entire drive to work I thought about what I could do—aside from a partially-nude photo—to show him how sorry I really was. Then a stroke of genius hit me.

“Kenzie!” I shouted when I walked through the door of Elegant Nails. “I need your help!”

Twenty minutes later, I’d hit ‘post’ on every social media site I could think of. “You think that’ll work?” I asked Kenzie from over my shoulder.

“Are you kidding? I’m pretty sure men love shit like this! It’s not often men are in the right when it comes to an argument, let alone have it publically acknowledged.”

That was true. I kept my fingers crossed that it would work and he’d forgive me without having to show him my boobs.

Throwing myself back into work helped to take my mind off Trevor. I had back-to-back clients and was able to keep myself entertained with the latest gossip rolling around through town. You wanted juicy information, all you had to do was work at a nail salon; I was always in the know.

I was cleaning up my station, getting ready for my next appointment, when the ladies sitting in the waiting area all started oohing and awwing. Their heads were down, staring at their phones as they all snickered about whatever they were looking at. Seconds later, Kenzie walked up to me with a big grin spread across her face before shoving her phone in my hand.

I couldn’t help but laugh at what I saw. Right beneath the picture I posted of me wearing a forlorn expression—complete with puppy-dog eyes and pouty lip—holding a sign that said “I owe Trevor Devareau an Apology. The Fight Was My Fault,” was a picture of Trevor, shit-eating grin and all, holding a sign that said “You Are Forgiven. Now Show Me Your Boobs”.

Grabbing my cell from my station, I shot off another text.

Me: Thank you.

This time he didn’t make me wait.

Trevor: Welcome, wifey. See u at home.

Deciding it was the least I could do, I grabbed a pencil and began sketching. Once I’d finished, I held the drawing up to my chest and had Kenzie snap another picture then posted it to Facebook. I wasn’t the best artist in the world, but I had no doubt Trevor would be able to tell they were boobs. Even if they looked like they’d been drawn by a second-grader.

And I felt like I could breathe again.

“What do you mean, you aren’t coming?” my mom asked through the phone. “You
have
to come! The damn dinner is for y’all!”

“I didn’t think Nana was serious about having a celebration dinner!”

“Well, now you know, so your perky little ass better be there tonight. You know what’ll happen if you’re a no-show.”

I couldn’t keep my eyes from rolling back in my head as I repeated the threat she’d been making since I was a teenager. “Yeah, Mom. You’ll hunt my ass down and make me wish I’d never been born.”

Imagine what my teen years had been like.

You sneak out of this house, I’ll hunt your ass down and make you wish you’d never been born.

You ever do drugs, and I’ll hunt your ass down and make you wish you’d never been born.

And my all-time favorite.

I swear to God, Lizzy, if you get pregnant before you graduate high school, I’ll hunt your ass down and make you wish you’d never been born.

Needless to say, I didn’t get to date all that much growing up. Having a boy come over just to be threatened by my mom while my dad stood in the background smiling and nodding in agreement like an idiot wasn’t the best way to start an evening. Second dates were nonexistent for me.

After pulling into my driveway, I climbed from my car and headed into the house. “All right, Mom. We’ll be there. Unbunch your panties, will ya?”

“Just for that comment, I’m smacking you when you get here.”

Smiling, I pushed the front door open and stepped into the house. Instantly, I was knocked into the wall by the force of something massive slamming into me. I let out a garbled scream as whatever took me to the ground started attacking my face with something wet.

“What’s going on?” My mom yelled through the phone as I yelped and fought against the humungous beast.

“Merle, no!” I heard Trevor scold from somewhere near the living room.

“Get it off! Get it off!” I screamed as the thing tangled my hair in its slobbery mouth. It was trying to eat my hair!

“Lizzy? Lizzy!” Mom continued to yell over the phone while I tried to prevent the monster from snatching me bald.

“Merle, down! Down, boy!” The heaping weight was pulled off me, allowing me to brush the matted, spit-covered strands of hair from my face.

Turning to look at Trevor from my spot on the floor of the entryway, I saw him holding the collar of the thing that’d just attacked me.

“What the fuck is that?!” I screeched.

“I got us a puppy,” he responded with a smile, like he’d just told me he’d stocked the fridge with my favorite ice cream and bought out all the chocolate at H.E.B.

“That’s not a puppy, Trevor! It’s the size of a goddamned pony. And it’s pissing on my floor!”

“Yeah, we gotta work on that, buddy,” Trevor told the dog and he patted it’s black and white spotted head as it finished emptying it’s obviously-enormous bladder on my hardwood floors. “He’s a Great Dane,” he added, like that made this whole situation better. Huge dog meant huge shits all over my soft, clean carpet. I was going to kill him!

I managed to get myself off the floor and hung up on my mother while she laughed hysterically across the line. I had more important things to deal with.

All the while I was planning creative and painful ways to end Trevor’s life, he stood there staring at me with an all-too-pleased grin, the monster dog beside him wagging its tail with a stupid-ass look on its face.

I didn’t need to think about getting an annulment. Turned out, I was going to be a widow after all.

“I don’t understand what you’re so upset about,” Trevor stated as we made our way to my Nana and Pop Pop’s house. After throwing a temper tantrum the size of Texas, I’d made Trevor clean up the dog pee and go out to buy a kennel we could keep the dog in when we were both away from the house.

“I’m pissed because you bought a dog the size of a horse without saying a word to me!”

“You mean just like you did with Mr. Bojangles?” he asked sarcastically as he made the turn into my grandparents’ neighborhood on the GPS’s instructions.

“That was different,” I snapped. “Mr. Bojangles is a sweet, tiny kitty that’s already litter box trained. Merle is freakishly huge and takes shits the size of soccer balls all over the house!” That was true. I’d discovered that lovely little tidbit while Trevor was out buying puppy supplies. “And what kind of name is Merle for a puppy?!” I added on a shout.

“First of all, don’t get all judgy with the name. You have a fucking cat named Mr. Bojangles, for Christ’s sake. And besides, you know how much I loved Merle.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. It was almost two seasons ago. He’s dead already. Get over it!”

“It should have been Glenn!” Trevor shot back, once again dragging us into the conversation about how ‘The Walking Dead’ should have never killed off his favorite character. It was still a very sensitive subject for him. Every Sunday, he made sure to wear his t-shirt declaring
Merle is my Homeboy.

“Secondly,” he continued, “Merle can be house-broken. Great Danes are smart dogs; it won’t take long at all.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I stared out the window and watched the houses passing by. “Well, I hope you’re prepared to do all of it, because house-breaking a dog is most definitely not on my list of to-dos.”

“Fine,” he grumbled.

“Fine,” I sniped back.

We stayed silent until Trevor turned into my grandparents’ driveway.

“Just so you know,” I threw over my shoulder as I headed for the front door. “If Merle eats Mr. Bojangles I’m gonna be
very
pissed.”

I couldn’t be certain, but it sounded like he muttered, “Fucking cat’s too fat for anything to eat it.”

“Lizzy-Lu!” my grandfather exclaimed when he answered the door.

“Hi, Pop Pop.” Standing on my tiptoes, I placed a kiss on his soft, wrinkled cheek as he wrapped me in a tight hug. My Pop Pop gave the best hugs.

“So this must be the young man you couldn’t live without,” he said as he looked over my shoulder at Trevor.

“Only ‘cuz murder’s not legal,” I muttered under my breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, Pop Pop,” I answered brightly. “Trevor, I’d like you to meet my grandfather, Harold.”

Trevor stepped up to shake Pop Pop’s hand, but not before giving me a hard-as-hell pinch right on my ass.