Pushing the Boundaries (Picking up the Pieces #3) (5 page)

All right, so my plan hadn’t quite worked out how I’d have liked. But that was okay. I was still breathing, and my balls were still attached to my body for the time being. At least there was that.

But I was pretty sure she didn’t take a wine glass upstairs with her, so that meant she was drinking straight from the bottle. And when it came to Lizzy, that was never a good sign.

I needed to think fast. I was determined to make this marriage work if it killed me. And with how her entire body turned red as she screamed and her voice got all high and scary, I was pretty sure death was a
strong
possibility.

So she didn’t want my stuff in her house. I could deal with that; her shit was nicer than mine anyway. In the future, I’d be sure to consult with her before making any more decorating decisions.

At that thought, something dawned on me. So this was what Jeremy and Luke felt like on a daily basis. Huh, I had to admit, handing your balls over to a chick wasn’t so bad after all.

The things we men would do for the women in our lives.

I spent the next half hour taking down my beloved beer sign, boxing it back up to go into storage, and moving the Barcalounger into the garage until I could figure out what to do with it. If that was what it took to get her to agree to my proposition, I’d gladly do it. Now I just needed to get her to talk to me.

Risking my physical wellbeing, I made my way up the stairs and stopped in front of the bathroom door. I sucked in a deep breath, reached between my legs and grabbed my junk to confirm I was still a real man, and knocked.

Seconds ticked by without an answer.
Oh, God, she better not have gotten drunk and drowned in the tub!
Married two days before your wife drowns herself to keep from having to live with you. That was
not
the kind of reputation I needed. I knocked again. “Lizzy, you alive in there? You didn’t drown, did you?”

“If I say yes, will you move out?”

“Well, considering you just answered, I’m feeling pretty good about the odds of you being alive right now.” She didn’t say anything else so I carried on. “How much of that wine you finish?”

She was quiet a breath before answering, “About half.”

Half was good. Half meant she was feeling a little looser and I had a better shot at getting her to agree to my proposal. I knew my girl. A quarter of a bottle and she started getting sleepy, and sleepy Lizzy wouldn’t work right now. Three-quarters to a full bottle and she just turned into a hot fucking mess. I was talking full-on, white-girl wasted. You know, the kind where their makeup turned into a runny mess and their face is white as a ghost, but they still think they look the shit and can shake their asses like a stripper? They were the ones who would run around the club squealing like rabid squirrels yelling about
OMG that’s soooo my song!
Every. Single. Time a new song played. That was my Lizzy, and seeing her white-girl wasted wasn’t a pretty sight. What could I say; the chick was it for me, so it was my cross to bear.

But half a bottle was
just right
. I needed to get her out of that bathroom ASAFP if I wanted this to work.

“You think you could come out of the bathroom and talk to me? Not a real big fan of hollering through doors,
cher
.”

I thought I heard her let out a sigh, but I couldn’t be certain, what with the inch-thick wood between us and all. “You moved all your stuff into my house without telling me.”

Trying to quell the urge to beat my head against the door, I sucked in another breath and calmed myself. Lizzy had to be the most stubborn woman on the face of the Earth. It was just one of the thousands of reasons I loved her.

“I moved the chair out and took down the sign.”

“I hate your stuff,” she called out, her words just slightly slurred. “It’s ugly and dirty and smells like something’s died on it.”

“Again, you think this is something we could discuss
without
a door between us?”

I waited for a few minutes and eventually the door swung open, revealing a somewhat-glassy-eyed Lizzy standing before me in nothing but a short, terrycloth robe. Her dark-red curls were weighed down from the water, and the freckles along her cheeks and nose were clear of the makeup she always used to cover them up. In other words, she was absolutely breathtaking. There was nothing I found more beautiful than my fresh-faced Lizzy. I hated that she felt the need to cover up her natural beauty under layers of makeup and a ton of hair products.

“There’s my girl,” I said, giving her the smile I knew was impossible to resist. She worked hard to appear unaffected, but I knew better. She wanted all of this; she just wasn’t willing to admit it yet. That was okay. I had time to convince her I was a changed man.

Rolling her eyes, she pushed past me and headed down the stairs, half-full bottle of wine still in her hand. When she got to the living room, I let her have a second to notice my beloved Barcalounger was gone. The relief on her face was plain as day. Plopping down on the couch, she took a healthy gulp of her wine before turning her attention back to me.

Not good. I needed to get that bottle from her before she turned into a drunken sorority chick at a frat party.

“If you give me the wine, I’ll get you a Ding Dong from the kitchen,” I bargained. “I bought a box special just for you.” There were few weaknesses I could use against Liz, but Ding Dongs were
definitely
one of them.

I could see her struggling with her decision. “The big box?”

“The big box,” I confirmed. “Two of them. Just for you,
cher
.”

She huffed a little and her bottom lip jutted out on a pout, but she eventually handed the bottle over. Being the kind, generous husband I was, I ran to the kitchen and grabbed her not one, but
two
Ding Dongs. That was just the kind of dude I was. I kicked ass at this husband shit!

Ripping the first package open, she took what I liked to call a Lizzy-sized bite, meaning half the damn thing was gone in one freaking bite. I’d experienced this with just about every meal we’d ever eaten together. She’d bitch about needing to lose weight—which was fucking stupid if you asked me, because my girl’s curves were mouth-watering—then ask for a bite of my burger or steak. Never failed; this happened every single time. And every time I shared, she somehow managed to unhinge her jaw and open her tiny mouth wider than I thought possible, causing visions of how much of my cock she could take in her mouth to play through my head.

Shit, don’t get hard, asshole!

“Whatchu wanna talk about?” she mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate cake, crumbs falling from her mouth onto her robe. She just brushed them off and kept on chewing. Good thing she was so damn cute, because sometimes she could be seriously gross.

“We need to talk about how this marriage is gonna work.”

“What do you mean ‘how this marriage is gonna work’? It’s
not
going to work. We’re getting an annulment!”

Holding my hands up, I tried to reason with her. “Now, hold on a second. Just hear me out before you jump off the deep end.”

She stood up and began pacing, her last Ding Dong all but forgotten. This was not going like I’d hoped. “I think you’re the one who’s gone off the deep end, Trev. We got drunk in Vegas and got married. Everyone does that nowadays. That doesn’t mean we should
stay
married.”

I was going to have to take a new route, change tactics a bit. Yeah, it would probably be easier to admit I married her intentionally; that I got her blitzed out of her mind and jumped at suggesting we get hitched all because I’m crazy about her. But, like I’ve said before, I know Lizzy, and she wasn’t ready to hear that I’ve been in love with her since laying eyes on her flaming-red hair, adorable freckles, and killer curves. She’d freak the hell out and I’d lose my best friend along with the girl of my dreams. Nope, not risking that.

“Come on,
cher
. You can’t tell me you haven’t given any thought to what it would be like if we stayed married.” She hesitated just slightly, like she was actually considering what I was saying, so I pushed a little harder. “You’re my best friend. We always have fun when we’re together, and we already know each other better than most married couples out there. This is the ideal situation if you really think about it.”

“Trevor, honey,” Oh, no, not good. She sat down next to me and took my hand in hers. She had her serious face on. “People don’t get married and stay married just because they have fun together. We have to be adults about this. We need to talk to Ben and get this annulled. Hell, we’d probably end up killing each other if you lived here long-term.”

Uh-oh. She wasn’t going to be happy about what I said next. “Uh, I kinda already gave up my apartment, Liz.”

She wanted to be difficult, fine. I still had a few tricks up my sleeve. This marriage was nowhere near over.

“He did
what
?”

The throbbing behind my eyeballs wasn’t getting any better. I’d woken up with a killer wine-induced headache I just couldn’t seem to shake. When I stumbled into my kitchen for some ibuprofen this morning, the last thing I expected to find was Trevor, in nothing but a pair of tight grey boxer briefs, making breakfast.

My jaw instantly dropped to the floor at the sight of all that naked, toned-as-hell flesh, and my mind went to a place it should never, ever go when it comes to Trevor Devareau.

Nope, there was no way my girly parts got all tingly at the sight of his bulging muscles and deliciously-inked arms and torso. And I most certainly did
not
imagine what it would feel like to wrap myself around all that perfection and climb him like a tree. Nuh uh, no way.

“He moved in,” I repeated my earlier statement to my girlfriends as we crowded around a table at Virgie May’s. After having some very inappropriate thoughts about my best friend, I quickly proceeded to freak out, thus leading to a mad dash to get dressed and a frantic text to all my girls for an impromptu meeting at the diner. I needed help getting my head straight. And fast.

“Without your permission?” Savannah clarified.

“Without me even knowing it was happening. I just got home from work and there he was.”

“Wow,” Emmy said with a chuckle. “Gotta hand it to the dude, he’s got some brass ones to pull off a stunt like that.”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” I told her before making eye contact with each of my girls, making sure Savannah, Emmy, Stacia, and Mickey all got that I was talking to each of them. “Your guys are the ones who helped move him!”

“Oh, hell no! I’m kicking Luke’s ass when he gets home tonight!” Emmy declared, and I saw the other girls’ eyes light with the same thought. Good, it would serve those assholes right for helping Trevor move his junk into my pretty house.

Leaning against the back of the chair, I dropped my head back and rubbed my eyes. The whole elopement was stressful enough without my new roommate/husband pushing me to stay married because we had “fun” together. The fact that I couldn’t get him standing practically naked in my kitchen out of my head was only adding to the heaping pile of tension I was currently carrying on my shoulders. Yes, I’d always been attracted to Trevor, especially when he first moved to Cloverleaf. But after becoming such close friends with him, I’d successfully managed to push all of those feelings to the back of my mind. Now they were bubbling back up to the surface, making my clusterfuck of a life that much more complicated.

This was not good. And the fact that I couldn’t confide in my friends about it made my already-throbbing head feel like it was going to pop. They’d been all for my and Trevor’s marriage. Knowing I was battling my attraction to him would just fuel their fire. I had no doubt they’d be picking out baby names for our kids if they caught on.

“So, what are you going to do?” Stacia asked.

Lifting my head with a tired groan, I shrugged in defeat. “I don’t have a damn clue. He already gave up his apartment, so it’s not like he has anywhere else to go. Unless,” I said, looking at Emmy with pleading eyes. “You’d be willing to let him crash with you and Luke. He
is
Luke’s best friend, after all.”