I almost had sex…with a guy.

Well, not just any guy…Preston.

The glint from my wedding band mocks me. My husband.

Bending over the bathroom sink, I lather on soap and scrub my face vigorously, as if it will wash away all these weird feelings.

I cringe as I look at my reflection in the mirror. Feelings…that’s far too extreme of a word for mid-morning.

Urge? Thumbs down—that word isn’t any better. Not when there’s a penis involved.

Not that I have anything against penises per se. I’ve experimented with strap-ons a time or two and my favorite vibrator is phallic shaped.

Penises aren’t the problem for me. It’s the male attached to them. Specifically, the six-foot-three asshole sleeping in my bed.

I peer at the asshole in question from the doorway of my bedroom and my heart spasms.

He looks so sweet and innocent with one hand stuffed under a pillow and the other…

Oh, dear God.  

Watching Preston scratch his nuts is something I could have gladly gone my whole life without seeing.

Grimacing, I pad out to the living room and nearly trip over his crumbled-up suit on the floor.

Muttering a curse, I gather the pile and make a mental note to have it dry cleaned. Preston is doing me a favor after all. Not to mention what he did for me last night…before the heavy petting.

I’m getting ready to toss his clothes in the laundry room when something hits my foot. I yelp because it freaking hurts, but my mouth clamps shut when I realize what it is.

His cell phone.

Chewing my lip, I toy with the idea of going through it for a solid minute before deciding against it. It’s the ultimate invasion of privacy. I certainly wouldn’t be jumping for joy if he went through my phone.

Although unlike him, I have nothing to hide. The only dirt he’d find would be a few questionable pictures of the time Breslin and I got drunk in college and attempted to bedazzle our vaginas. And the porn gifs Juan insists on sending me because it’s Taco Tuesday—which he assumes must be every lesbian’s favorite day of the week.  

But none of those things are secrets I’m keeping from him. I’m an open book.

But Preston? His book is on lockdown and he threw away the key.

What if he’s in serious trouble?

It’s not a stretch to think that if he gets annoyed whenever I bring up his not so secret phone and refuses to tell me who he’s talking to…things aren’t exactly copacetic.

Although he did say the person he’s talking to isn’t dangerous.

I pace the small rug in front of the laundry room, staring at my very own version of Pandora’s box.

I’d like to consider myself a good person. One with ethics and morals. But I’m also human, and this right here is too tempting to turn down. It might be my one and only chance to uncover all that is Preston Holden.

I’m pretty sure experts would agree one should know everything there is to know about the person you’re married to.

“What’s yours is mine, baby,” I whisper under my breath as I tiptoe to my bedroom to make sure he’s still sleeping before I mosey into the bathroom.

Nerves bunch in my stomach as I lock the door behind me. If Preston wanted me to know about whatever it is he’s hiding, he would have told me. It’s not like he’d ever intentionally put me in harm’s way.

That alone should pacify me enough to put it down…and maybe a few years ago it would have.

However, I’m not the same girl I once was and there’s a twinge in my heart I can’t shake…a painful reminder.

I have a horrible habit of falling for the wrong people. People who use, hurt, and break me.

Not that I’m in danger of falling for Preston. That would be utterly ludicrous.

I just want to make sure my husband isn’t a serial killer.

A frustrated sigh leaves me when the screen lights up and it asks for the pin number. This was a complete waste of time. Unless…

A frown mars my face when I try his birthday and it doesn’t work. Undeterred, I enter the number thirteen, certain I’ve cracked the code.

Jitters do the tango in my belly when that proves to be futile, too. Depending on what model it is, I might only have one try left after this before it locks me out permanently…and then he’ll know I attempted to go through his phone.

Then again, I might have unlimited tries left. There’s no way to know for sure. Not without grabbing my laptop to research or contacting customer service. And with my luck, he’ll be awake by then.

Whatever…he’s sleeping in my bed, in my apartment, and he’s my husband. If I get caught…that’s exactly what I’ll tell him.

Since he’s a gambler, I try good ol’ lucky seven and twenty-one, but it’s no dice.

I drum my fingers on my chin. I honestly have no idea what set of numbers are significant to him. For most people, it’s the date of important events. Birthdays, anniversaries…

It comes to me so fast, I nearly drop it as I type in the date of the school shooting.

Jackpot.  

I don’t know if I should be more surprised that it worked or confused. Even though it still haunts me, Preston never talks about that day.

Then again, it was also the day his father died, so there’s that.

The first thing I do is check his contacts…empty. Same goes for pictures and text messages—which is odd because I’ve seen him use this phone before.

Frustrated, I check his call log next and I’m practically salivating when I see a number he forgot to erase. Based on the timestamp, it must be who he was talking to last night at the dumpster.

I want to believe him when he says it wasn’t a bookie, but what if he lied? Guilt tangles in my chest. Perhaps he called up a friend after we fought to see if he could crash there for the night, and I need to have some faith in him.

Only, Preston doesn’t have friends—apart from that little weasel in Vegas.

He does have someone, though. Someone he refuses to talk about. Someone important to him. And there’s only one way to find out who that someone is.

Steeling myself, I press the call button with shaky fingers, preparing to give whoever picks up a bullshit story about coming across the phone during a walk. “H—”

“Nope, not yet, Preston. But, hey—since you’re in town, you’re welcome to spend the night at my place again.”

I freeze. Completely caught off guard by the very feminine, flirty voice with a hint of a French accent.

I disconnect the call so I don’t make an even bigger ass of myself.

Maybe it’s naïve of me, but the last person I expected to hear on the other line was a girl.

Although I probably should have. It is Preston after all. It makes perfect sense.

The only thing that doesn’t make sense…is the boulder compressing my lungs.

I almost let him…we almost…

I look up at the ceiling and take a cleansing breath. I’m more wound up than a two-dollar watch and there’s no reason to be—it’s not like I have feelings for him. I’m gay for crying out loud. Our marriage is nothing more than a business arrangement. It’s not real.

Nothing between us is real. Which I suppose is no different from my other relationships.

Becca.

The organ in my chest squeezes in protest before it starts waving the white flag.

I rub the tender spot. Don’t worry, heart. I know the deal—we don’t think about her when we’re extra fragile.

I’m halfway to my bedroom when I hear a knock on my door. Since I’m not expecting any visitors and I’m almost positive it’s Reggie coming here to bug me about babies and God only knows what else my nanna wants, I ignore it and keep walking.

Until the sound of my best friend’s voice has me screeching to a halt.

Why is she here? Usually, I’d be excited to see her, but she literally couldn’t have picked a worse time for a surprise visit.

As if sensing my thoughts via some weird best friend telepathy I hear her say, “She hasn’t answered any of my phone calls since she met with her poor excuse of a grandmother. I’m worried.”

Fucking Preston. I told him I had to talk to her. But no—he had to throw my phone out of a moving vehicle like a crazy person.  

My heart jumps to my throat as I creep toward the front door and look through the peephole. It’s not only my bestie, it’s her entire entourage—plus one golden lab. Anxiety hits me like a hot pan to the face as I watch them. Breslin’s making a phone call. Landon’s tending to Picasso. And Asher’s…snacking on what looks like peanuts with a bored expression on his face.

“I still think we should have gone to Vegas first.” Crunch. “She’s obviously not home.”

Breslin casts him a dirty look. “Seriously? I told you on the plane that I called her hotel and spoke to her coworker Juan who confirmed she left Vegas yesterday.”

Freaking Juan.

Asher looks sheepish. “My bad, babe. Our flight was mad early. I thought you said you were booking a hotel in Vegas.”

Landon’s lips twitch. “Guess that explains why you kept insisting she call Juan back to ask about upgrades.”

Asher winks and smiles at them both suggestively. “I wanted to make sure we got a king size bed.”

Woof.

“Not for you, mutt. Dogs who sabotage my shot at winning the playoffs don’t get to sleep in king-sized beds. You can sleep on the floor.”

Picasso bows his head and Landon pets him. “We’ve already gone over this, Asher. It’s not his fault.”

Breslin places a hand on her hip. “Can you two focus please? I’m worried. You know she’s…I just want to make sure she doesn’t disappear again, and knows we’re here for her.”

My throat grows thick and they both nod.

“I got this,” Asher says before he pounds on my front door. “Yo, small fry. I know you’re going through some shit, but I didn’t come all the way to Connecticut to freeze my balls off and be ignored. So if you’re home, do us both a favor and let us in before Breslin kicks your door down.”

“Why in the world would I kick her door down when she gave me a key?”

Well, shit. I forgot about that.

Landon clears his throat. “Look, Kit. Whatever you’re going through you don’t have to go through it alone. We’ve got you.”

Pressing my head to the door, I close my eyes. I know Preston wants nothing to do with them, but they’re my friends. They hopped on a friggin’ plane to make sure I was okay for crying out loud.

Also, Breslin has a key and I know she’ll use it if she doesn’t hear from me in the next minute.

Finding my resolve, I speak. “Sorry, guys. I just got out of the shower. Give me five minutes.”

“Are you okay?”

“Why are you whispering?”

“Do you have any food?”

Woof.

Oh, hell. “I’ll answer everyone’s questions after I put some clothes on.”

With that, I make a mad dash for my bedroom where Preston’s still out like a light. I’m about to close the door and hope for the best, but then it occurs to me he could wake up and go looking for me.

Maybe it’s best I tell him what’s going on.

Then again, if I tell Preston his brother’s here, I’m almost positive he’ll run out of my apartment like a bat out of hell and never look back.

Or worse—make good on his threat.

My stomach dips as I slink toward my dresser drawer. Handcuffing my new husband isn’t something I ever planned on doing, but it’s the best option at my disposal.

Stealth-like, I wander over to him. After securing the first cuff to the metal headboard, I gently raise his arm…but stall when I notice his tattoo. Even though it’s no longer covered by clothing and I’m much closer this time, it’s still inconspicuous due to the dark colors and intricate detail spanning from his arm to his wrist.

My eyes track what looks like an obscure jungle setting and I follow the design around to the underside of his arm where the leaves turn to flames…flames that appear to be coming out of one very awesome looking dragon.

A husky groan snaps my attention back to what I’m supposed to be doing and I slam the cuff on his wrist.

Straddling his waist, I charge for the other one, but he swiftly clamps it around my arm. “What the fuck are you doing, Bishop?”

I have every intention of telling him the truth—but not until I secure both hands. Since I don’t have a deck of cards lying around to distract him, I’m left with the alternative.

I bat my eyelashes and fluff my hair. “What does it look like, big boy?”

His eyebrows shoot up to the ceiling. With the peculiar way he’s staring at me you’d think I was trying to seduce the man while wearing a chicken suit.

Guess I don’t do it for him either.

I ignore the weird feeling in my chest that thought produces as I watch the pulse in his neck thrum.

“If you wanted my cock so bad you could have asked for it like a good girl.” His thumb traces the skin above the band of my shorts. “Or better yet, beg.”

“I—” A rock forms in my esophagus and it’s all I can do not to puke. I’d rather bathe in monkey piss than ever beg for the crude thing between his legs that’s currently nudging me.

A prickle runs up my neck when he slides his hand under my shirt. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” The pads of his fingers tease my ribcage, inching higher with every inhale. “Come on, angry girl. Let me hear you beg for my dick.”

I scowl, trying with everything in me not to sock him across the face. “You’re disgusting. Do girls actually fall for that?”

His face splits into a menacing grin. “The girls who actually want it do.” In a flash, he grabs a fistful of my shirt and tugs me close to his face. “Not lesbians who are being sneaky and trying to get one over on their fake husbands.”

With no choice left, I give up the ghost and tell him the truth. “You’re right. Don’t get mad, but Breslin, Landon, and your brother are here.”

He jerks up so fast I almost go sailing. “What?”

“I...” My sentence trails off and I seize the opportunity. Trying to seduce him was stupid. Turns out making him angry distracts him just the same if not better.

A string of expletives leaves Preston’s mouth as I finish locking him to the bedpost. “I should have known better than to trust you.”

Pushing my shoulders back, I straighten out my shirt. “It’s not my fault. Breslin’s worried because I haven’t returned any of her phone calls. However, she wouldn’t be here if you didn’t throw my phone out the taxi window.”

Those intense orbs grow darker. “Why did you answer the door in the first place?” They narrow. “And why the fuck would you handcuff me?”

“I wasn’t going to, but then I remembered I gave Breslin a key. My only option was to tell them I was in the shower and to wait outside until I put some clothes on.” I ignore his sinister expression and power on. “You’re handcuffed because I didn’t want you to wake up, go searching for me, and run into them.” I tap the tip of his nose. “See, silly? I wasn’t trying to get one over on you, I was keeping my promise.”

His nostrils flare. “Right. And now that I’m no longer sleeping, you can take these things off and tell them to leave.”

Slowly, I proceed to unstraddle him, being careful not to make any sudden movements. “I totally would…but unlike you, I’m not rude to the people who care about me. Sending them away is only going to make them worry more. It’s best I just let them in for a little while so they can see everything is okay.”

“Fine, do whatever you want. But undo these first.”

I ease off the bed. “Sorry, chief. No can do. If you didn’t make that threat about my parents’ money, I’d consider it. But you did—therefore I have to cover my ass.”

He rolls his eyes. “I won’t take your parents’ money from you, Kit. You have my word. Now get back here and let me go.”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

I’m not taking that chance. In my heart of hearts, I believe he wouldn’t, but I’ve been screwed over by people before and I’m finally learning not to trust my stupid heart anymore.

But mostly, I don’t want him to leave and get himself into trouble again.

“Bishop,” he growls low and deadly. “Uncuff me right now.”

I hold up my hands. “Relax, hubs. I’ve got this under control.” I start tiptoeing backward. “Everything is fine.”

The vein in his forehead bulges. “Everything is not fine.”

“You’re going to need to learn to trust me,” I say when I reach the door.

“Trust you? You tied me to a goddamn bed while I was sound asleep,” he shouts as I pull it shut behind me.  

Probably best I don’t tell him the latch on the door is a little faulty.

After I do a quick sweep and make sure nothing is out of place, I open the front door. “Hey, guys. Come in.”

A sharp pang of guilt goes through me. I don’t care if Preston hates me, but I want him to be able to trust me. “On second thought, let me find my coat and I’ll meet you downstairs. I’m starving and there’s a new tapas place that opened up down the street.”

I go to close it, but Breslin wedges her foot inside the door.

“I told you something strange was going on with her.” She starts pushing. “I swear to God if you don’t let me inside right now I will lose my shit.”

I push back. “Nothing is going on, B. I’m just hungry.”

“She had me at tapas,” Asher interjects.

Breslin tunes him out. “Why didn’t you answer my phone calls? And why did Juan say you left Vegas because you had a family emergency? The meeting with your grandmother happened before you left. He also mentioned you got drunk your first night there and ended up spending the night with someone, but refuse to talk about it. What’s going on, Kit?”

I curse under my breath. “Freaking Juan.”

“He’s concerned about you like we all are!”

Breslin shoves harder and whatever leverage I had weakens. “Damn, woman. Have you been working out?”

“Don’t try and change the subject.” She rams into the door and I topple over, landing on my ass.

“I’m fine, I swear,” I assure them as they barge in. “My parents’ will is kind of messed up, but I’m in the process of fixing it.”

“Why didn’t you call me back?”

Landon’s gaze bounces between me and Breslin cautiously while Asher steps over me, heading into the kitchen.

“I lost my phone in Vegas. The replacement should be here today.”

Breslin holds her hand out. The second I take it she pulls me into her arms. “You have no idea what a nervous wreck I’ve been. I can’t lose you again.”

I hug her tighter. “You’re not losing me, B. I’m a little overwhelmed dealing with my nanna, but I’m dealing. I’m okay.”

She frames my face with her hands. “What happened?”

Asher sticks his head out of my fridge. “Your milk is expired.”

“Yeah I know, your br—” I fist pump the air. “I know, bro. Thanks.”

Asher and Landon exchange a glance, but I pat my tummy. “I’m famished. How about I order those tapas and fill you guys in on everything?”

Everything…with the exception that I married Preston Holden and have him handcuffed to my bed.