Page 42 of Trust Me With Forever

Me:I’m not like that bastard who broke her heart. He’s on my shitlist, and I’m going to find him and teach him a lesson in fucking manners.

West:Wait, what?

Me:I’ll tell you about it later. For now, let’s just call a truce? For Abby’s sake?

West:I guess. But don’t expect me to smile and hug you anytime soon. I’m still pissed you hurt Emmy.

Me (typed but deleted):You can’t punish me for that more than I’m punishing myself.

Me (actual reply instead):

It was three days after the dinner when I finally moved the last of Abby’s boxes from my truck into the garage and went looking for my wife.

Earlier, she’d looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes, and I hadn’t liked it. So I’d offered to finish with the boxes while she rested.

But as I went upstairs, I heard singing. Once I reached the landing, it was louder and coming from the hallway bathroom.

The bathroom with a mostly open door.

The shower was on, mingled with the singing, and the urge to peek inside and listen to Abby was strong.

No.She wasn’t really my wife, wasn’t mine to claim. No matter how much I’d like to shuck my clothes and climb into the hot water with her.

Just as I reached the door to shut it, the singing stopped, and Abby screamed.

Without thinking, I raced inside and drew back the shower curtain. “What’s wrong?”

“Spider! There! Kill it!”

Normally spiders and I had a rule—stay away from me and I left them alone.

But a big-ass spider crawled along the side of the tub, and Abby backed away and slipped.

I caught her, and her wet, naked ass pressed against my groin. She was so warm and soft and so very, very wet.

Before my gaze could look down, she shouted, “Rafe! Please, I’m terrified of spiders. Get rid of it.”

Her words broke the spell and snapped me back to the present. I helped her out of the shower, tossed a towel at her, and found the eight-legged creature chilling in the corner. It wasn’t a poisonous type, so I maneuvered it into my hands and cupped them together.

I turned, and Abby moved away. “You’re crazy.”

Unable to help myself, I thrust my cupped hands toward her. She screamed and promptly kicked me—right in the balls.

Grunting, I barely managed to keep the spider in my hands and crouched down, trying to breathe through the throbbing pain. “What the fuck, Abigail?”

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to kick you there. But what did you expect when you put that spider in my face? It was a reflex.”

I bit out, “Who the hell kicks spiders to get rid of them?”

“Usually it’s not because of spiders. It’s just a reflex from dealing with unwanted male attention.”

The pain in my balls eased a little as I registered her words. “Who the fuck have you been kicking away?”

She bit her lip, debating whether to answer me.

Cursing, I rose—slowly—and muttered, “I’ll be right back.”

Maybe some would think I was crazy, but I didn’t like killing spiders if I could help it. So I rushed to the balcony attached to my bedroom, put it down, and turned back around, only to find a towel-clad Abby standing in the doorway. “Why didn’t you just squish it?”

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