Page 21 of Forced Knocked-Up Mate

“What?” she asks, blinking innocently. “I can think of a number of times this worked wonderfully. One situation was very recent, in fact.”

Fiona rolls her eyes and pokes Jen playfully in the ribs.

“Okay,” Lucy says firmly. “Thank you, everyone, for trying to help. I really appreciate it. I have to go… I need to rest. This has all been too much. I might be able to find help somewhere else, maybe with my old coven. Until then, we’ll just have to deal with it.”

We say our goodbyes to the group. It seems to drag out a little. My anxiety rises steadily as I think about being trapped in Lucy’s house with her all night.

She’s right. It’s a big house. We don’t have to be stuck together the whole time.

Maybe that’s the problem.

I could handle getting stuck to her if we don’t have to talk.

Even right now, I can’t help noticing how beautiful she is. Part of me, deep down, is singing with giddy triumph that I married this woman and now she’s mine.

Neither of us says a word as we leave the bar. We stay silent all the way home. Every second, the tension rises until it feels like a tightly pulled bowstring.

Any second now, there’s going to be an explosion.

We go inside, and after Lucy shuts the front door, she turns to me and takes my hand. “Maybe we should talk,” she says nervously.

“About what?” I keep my voice flat, even though my emotions are churning.

“Well, we’re married now. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Her words barely register. I’m too caught up looking at her. We’re facing each other just inside the front door. Both of us are in shadow, except for a beam of light from a high window that traces her in silver, making her look ethereal.

“No,” I mutter. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Her face is very close to mine now. I don’t know if she stepped forward or I did. The pale blue of her eyes has darkened like a deep ocean whirlpool dragging me under. I can feel the heat of her body and her soft breath on my cheek.

I want to grab her and kiss her so hard, I’ll bruise us both.

“Peter,” she whispers.

The tension in the air reaches an impossible pitch. I stumble backwards, shoving her away.

“For fuck’s sake, woman!” I shout. “What is there to talk about? We’re stuck together in a sham marriage. It sucks. What else is there to say?”

Her bottom lip trembles, but her words come out steady. “I meant we should talk about house rules. Like sharing the bathroom, kitchen, and TV. Do you know how to clean and do laundry? I’m not doing all your work for you, even if we are married.”

I laugh so hard, I’m almost doubled over. “I don’t have any clothes! What the fuck are you talking about, laundry? Are you suggesting I wash your undergarments?”

She blushes, two red spots appearing on her cheeks. “No, you jerk! That was unnecessary!”

“It’s more than unnecessary for you to suddenly start telling me what to do. In fact, it’s downright rude!”

“Rude! I only wanted to establish some boundaries so we could both be more comfortable.”

“Comfortable!” I yell. “How is any of this comfortable? Besides, didn’t you just ask me if this marriage meant something?”

My heart leaps a little in my chest. I didn’t mean to take it that far, and now that I’m neck-deep in this, I realize I actually care about her answer.

She crosses her arms across her chest and glares at me. “I only meant that we should learn to compromise the way all married couples do. I wasn’t talking about lovey-dovey stuff.”

“Good,” I snap. “Because I’m not a romantic. I did want to double-check you weren’t talking about consummating, though.”

She blinks. “What?”

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