Page 17 of Method for Matrimony

Holyfuck, his abs.

Washboard.

Like I could literally scrub my laundry on those fucking things. If I scrubbed laundry. They were sculpted. Perfect. Or they might’ve been except for the long, jagged scar that ran diagonally across his torso. A couple of smaller ones surrounded it.

Of course, the scars only made him more attractive. Dangerous.

Shirtless and glistening with sweat, he did not look like the cheeky, cocky Kip I’d come to know and low-key despise.

No, he was a guy I’d fuck.

He grinned at me when he took out the headphones. “How’s the head? Did you wake up covered in your own vomit? I debated sleeping with you to ensure you didn’t actually choke on your own vomit, but I didn’t want you yakking on me, so I figured you’d survive.”

Ugh.

There was the asshole.

Definitelynot a guy I’d fuck.

Ever.

I made a mental note to etch that in stone somewhere.

I scowled at him, pointedly looking him up and down. “You’re really one of those guys who jogs without his shirt on?” I asked, leaning against the edge of the counter, cradling my coffee cup. “Women work out just as hard and get just as hot, and you don’t see us jogging down the street with our tits flopping about.”

Kip grinned. “Unfortunately.”

I sipped my coffee. “You’re a fucking perv,” I said. “And contrary to what you believe, we do not want to see your nipples when you’re going for a jog. Keep your shirt on.”

He regarded me, still grinning, teasing in his eyes.

“You want to see my nipples, don’t you?” he mocked. “I need to keep my shirt on because my wife can’t control herself.”

I almost choked on my coffee when he said the W word. Even in jest, it slammed into me with force.

I was in my kitchen, violently hungover, bickering with a man I’d married yesterday.

Myhusband.

What the fuck had I done?

“I can control myself, since none of that appeals to me,” I spat, waving my hand at his impressive torso. “Wear a fucking shirt.”

Then I walked out of the room so I could bury myself in my duvet and pretend this was all a dream.

Or a fucking nightmare.

three

Mince and Cheese Pies

I was enjoyingthe brisk temperature of the Atlantic Ocean and the distraction I got from battling against the tides when something grabbed me.

Because I was previously alone in this vast stretch of ocean, I was taken somewhat by surprise. I wasn’t proud of the shriek I let out, or the seawater that entered my mouth after that shriek. Because I was trying to expel the seawater from my lungs and not drown, I didn’t get to fight against the thing holding me as much as I wanted.

So, the man assaulting me in the ocean was able to do it without much resistance.

I did manage to catch a glimpse of the man in question in order to ascertain that he was not some wild serial killer or rapist.

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