“C’mon, man, you can’t be—”
“I’m willing to compromise.”
“You truly are out of your fuckin’ mind, kid… woman’s whipped your ass black and blue,” Trent grumbled, thinking long and hard on Tiffany’s request; her demand. “You know what… Fuck it. Fine. Let’s do this. But you’re still gonna have to live with me until the new house is built.”
Tiffany stood with her arms crossed, glaring daggers at Trent in hopes that he’d buckle under the pressure and take back what he’dsaid, allowing her to still live with Dakota instead. When he didn’t, she stomped her feet like an angry toddler and met him halfway.
“…f-fine. But I want my own bed.” She hissed, and he turned smug at her response.
“Only got one room, sweet pea, and I can promise you that my bed is far comfier than the couch.”
“Better buy a new couch then, 'cause that's where you're sleeping.” With a huff, Tiffany turned on her heel and strutted out of the bar, not even bothering to check if my wife had moved to follow. I’d consider that a win-win in Trent’s case.
For now.
Chapter 31
Dakota
It’samazingwhatagood man would do for his wife.
Cook her a steak dinner.
Bring her a glass of wine.
Offer a foot rub after a long day of work.
Build a four-thousand-square-foot home right next door to yours just because you asked for it.
Yeah… they’d do anything for their wives.
Trent was still apprehensive about the big move, refusing to part with his luxury condo in the city. But rules were rules, and in the MUR, married couples were required to live under the same roof.
There was still no news about our test, but it was confirmed that Tiffany and I would be assigned the same target and be able to work together. As easy as it sounded, four against one, we were still responsible for making the kill. Our husbands could only assist up until that point.
“God, he’s fucking insufferable.” Tiffany barged in through the back patio door, sliding it with enough momentum that it slammed behind her as she crashed on the nearest couch.
“Said the same thing about you just the other day. Y’all gonna fuck or fight?” Rhylan had just finished putting away the dishes from dinner, drying the inside of a wine glass with a towel before placing it gently on the shelf, mumbling, “…breakin’ shit every other evening.”
“What happened now?” I scooched closer to my sister, sitting right next to where her face was planted in the seat cushion. We knew this would be an adjustment, but she wasn’t in the least bit ready to take on the role of someone’s wife.
Tiffany rubbed her face against the fabric before turning to the side, staring blankly at the wall across the room.
“He said he wouldn’t stuff me like a dirty little cum slut; fucking me in the ass and leaving a cream pie before licking up the mess… I even said he could spit it in my mouth after he was done. Share a snowball kiss…”
“Good fuckin’ lord…” Rhylan choked on his beer before snatching his hat off the island counter, putting it on after turning to retrieve two more bottles from the fridge and taking quick strides toward the patio door.
“And where are you going?” Hearing the shuffle of boots, I scowled in his direction, just as his hand had touched the handle.
“To check on our neighbor and offer him a beer. You don’t need me for this conversation, and I sure as hell don’t want any part ofit…”
With a tip of his hat, my husband left us in true cowboy fashion to check in on Trent while his wife sat next to me, crying about sex, or lack thereof.
“Are you serious? Is that really why you’re here?” I shifted one spot over to get a good look at her face and the tears that had begun soaking into the upholstery.
“Of course not.” Tiffany sat up with a chuckle, wiping her eyes and fixing her hair to look less disheveled than when she’d arrived. “I just knew that Rhylan would leave if I said that. I’ve been dying for some alone time with you since shit hit the fan. Movie night?”
“You really do enjoy pushing his buttons, don’t you?” All she had to do was call, text, or ask, and I would’ve kicked him out in a heartbeat to have a quiet girls' night at home.
