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No shoving your tongue down your wife’s throat.
After the second day, the second rule was created.
No grabbing your wife’s ass at a dinner to celebrate your nuptials with your best friend.
It went kind of like that until we got a list of about ten rules.
Kip enjoyed this process. I knew because he did not hide his enjoyment. Not even a little. He got off on it.
Which infuriated the absolute fuck out of me.
So yes, the first month of marriage was pretty much me lying to my best friends, trying to avoid any and all topics about ‘newlywed bliss,’ trying not to kill Kip, and constantly questioning what the fuck I’d done with my life.
A plus side was my best friend wasactuallyliving in bliss and impregnated by a man she loved dearly.
And luckily Kip was done fucking with me after the first week, and we settled into somewhat of a routine.
Sure, we had to act vaguely affectionate when we were out in public or around our friends, but I’d forced myself to become weirdly desensitized to it. I convinced myself I was playing a role, outside of my body and outside of reality.
It was easier than I thought to slip into that mindset. That of a lie.
Yes, sometimes I woke up in the middle of the night covered in sweat, feeling guilty and absolutely panicked about what I was doing, but other than that, I was fine.
Totally fine.
kip
My day was shit from the start. I didn’t sleep. Not that that was unusual. I didn’t sleep much. But usually when the voices got loud and I couldn’t get my shit together, that’s when I went to the bar, picked up a woman, and fucked her until I could think again.
I couldn’t fuck. My hand did nothing. Especially when it was Fiona’s face, her tits, the fucking wrinkle between her brows that came to my mind when I was jerking it.
Then all I’d think about was that she was in a bedroom, in this house. And that kept me up all night long.
How in the fuck I was going to live here for upward of a year was beyond me.
But I’d figure it out. The attraction would wear off.
Except I’d gotten up this morning, grumpy as fuck, to see Fiona stumbling around the kitchen in some sheer robe, PJ pants, and a camisole that showed the shape and the pink of her nipples.
Fiona grunted to acknowledge me. She was not a morning person. She walked around with her eyes half open, muttering to herself and glaring at me if I tried to talk to her or get in her way.
It was, unfortunately, cute as hell.
And I couldn’t get a damn coffee because I didn’t trust myself to be in her small kitchen, that close to her and her pert nipples, without doing something really stupid. So, I’d started my day without caffeine today. Then, since I didn’t want to do the whole song and dance of being newlyweds at the bakery this morning, I’d gotten coffee from the gas station, which was dogshit in comparison.
The day only got worse from there. Clients changing their minds about fixtures after they were installed. Shipments being delayed. Invoices not being paid.
Usually, all this kind of shit was water off a duck’s back for me. Rowan was the guy who got all grumpy about it.
But fuck if I gave him a run for his money today. Plus, that fucker had been grinning from ear to ear since he found out his wife was pregnant.
By the time I made it back to Fiona’s house, I could only think of a cold beer and a plate of food.
Until I saw the car in the driveway parked beside Fiona’s.
My fucking mother’s car.
I seriously considered driving off. Hitting the nearest bar and not coming home for the night. The problem was I lived in a town where everyone knew me. Before, that didn’t matter much. I didn’t care if the old ladies at the bridge club knew I fucked half the single women in this town. Didn’t care who said what about my bar tab.
