15. Ford
CHAPTER 15
ford
B y the time the wedding reception was over, even though there were no bruises on my body, it felt like I’d been run over by a car. Metaphorically. By Peyton. Multiple times.
I'd barely pull my emotional wreckage to the shoulder when she’d gun her engine and mow me down again. Not content with the initial impact, she'd put it in reverse and grind me into the pavement, mirroring my mom's unyielding technique with roadside reptiles. I guess that’s the bitter irony of loving someone so completely that their measured heart feels like a slap across the face.
The wedding kiss was even more subpar than the proposal kiss. A quick peck on the lips, followed by a giggle about how everyone was watching. She’d dodged the first dance for over an hour—darting away to talk to Lemon or Tally or Cash. Finally, my mom lost all her patience, grabbed Peyton by the shoulders, and walked her onto the dance floor herself. All eyes on us, we’d awkwardly tripped over each other’s feet like two elementary school kids learning the waltz. Thankfully, after two painful minutes in the spotlight—something I usually loved—my siblings and their wives joined us on the dance floor.
When it was time to cut the cake, I’d taken my brothers’ advice and simply popped it directly into Peyton’s mouth. They said the last thing a woman actually wanted was cake up her nose. Maybe that was true, but Peyton had no problem jamming it up my nostrils.
I’d had to leave the outdoor reception, stalk into my house, and unearth my neti-pot. I’d purchased it years ago but could never bring myself to use it. Thank goodness I kept it. I surely would’ve ended up in the ER otherwise. As it was, it took three rinses to dislodge the white chocolate shaving wedged between my left nostril and septum.
But now, a little past midnight, everyone finally gone and Cash asleep down the hall, the emotional rack and ruin was in full swing. Because heaven forbid a man suggests snuggling with his new wife on their wedding night.
“Stay back,” Peyton warned, standing on her side of the California king. “I’m not kidding. Don’t you even think of skimming the tip of your finger up my arm. Do you hear me?”
“Hmm.” I shot her a grin I wasn’t feeling. “You sound awfully scared of my touch. Why is that?” I puffed my chest. “Can’t handle this awesomeness?”
Her eyes turned to ice. “The only thing I’m scared of is the damage I’ll do if you test me, Ford. I have a child to raise. I can’t be doing fifty to life for murder.” She picked up one of the many throw pillows Flora Mae had purchased to decorate my bed and tossed it to the center of the mattress. Then another and another until every pillow was in a heap. She crawled to the middle, her tiny pajama shorts doing nothing to shield her sexy thighs. Then she began arranging the pillows in a line down the center of the bed.
My hands shoved into my hair. “What’re you doing?”
“Making a divider.” Her tongue poked out of the edge of her mouth, concentrating as she worked. “So there’s a clear boundary .” She emphasized the word. Peyton was big on invisible boundaries. Said they’d changed her life once she’d realized being a good person didn’t mean letting people walk all over you. Apparently, she believed in tangible boundaries as well.
I crossed my arms. “Is this necessary? What’s Cash going to think when he walks in here tomorrow morning and sees this?” I gestured at the Great Pillow Wall of China.
“He likes to sleep in. By the time he’s awake, the bed will be made.” Then she gave me a smug smile as she set the last pillow into place. “There.” She slapped her hands together like she was cleaning them.
I yanked off my tie. “Whatever.” Then I ripped my dress shirt open like Superman, popping all the snaps loose. I shrugged it off and tossed it onto the armchair in the corner.
Her eyes widened at my bare chest. “Uh, w-what are you doing?”
I undid my belt, unzipped my tuxedo pants, and let them drop to the floor. Then I stretched side to side, only wearing boxers. “Ah. Finally free.”
Her cheeks flamed. She covered her eyes and turned her back to me. “Put your clothes back on.”
I smirked. “I’m not sleeping with clothes on. I’m too hot for that.”
She pulled her mouth to one side in obvious displeasure. “Too hot. So hilarious. And full of yourself.” She held a hand up to shield me from her line of sight and strode over to the closet. “I’m not sleeping next to you like that.” She walked back out, still averting her gaze, and tossed a T-shirt at me. It hit me in the face. “Put that on.”
I let it fall to the floor. “No. I don’t think I will. Nowhere in the prenup does it say I can’t sleep in my skivvies.”
“There isn’t a prenup.” She scoffed. “You wouldn’t allow it.”
“Yes. Because I knew you’d add ridiculous things to the fine print like: ‘must sleep fully clothed!’ Or ‘no country music allowed in Peyton’s presence.’ Or ‘Ford must wear a stainless steel chastity belt decorated with unicorn stickers at all times.’ Or whatever other ridiculous stipulations you came up with.”
Her mouth dropped open and her hands fell from her eyes. “What kind of crazy person do you think I am?”
I waved my hand at the pillow barricade. “Allow me to present exhibit A.”
Fire flashed in her eyes. “If you refuse to clothe yourself I will be forced to take jabs at that.” She gestured at my torso. “You know it looks like a graphic design student had a seizure, right? You know how I feel about tattoos. Put it away before I get a m-migraine.” Her voice shook and I caught a slight tremble in her hands. She tightened her ponytail, trying to act casual. I thought about bringing up the time she’d told me she wanted a tramp stamp. But I knew the can of worms that would open up.
I tilted my head, studying her. My best friend, who was usually full of confidence, was currently completely unnerved at the thought of sleeping next to shirtless me. Interesting.
“Ford.” She stomped her foot adorably.
Silas had mouthed one word as he was leaving tonight. Endgame. And my brain wouldn’t shut up about it.
I reluctantly swiped the shirt off the floor and shrugged it over my head. “I’m gonna sweat my butt off,” I muttered.
“Thank you,” she said, placing a hand against her stomach.
I laid down on my side of the bed and used the remote to turn off the lights. I waited for her to join me on the other side of the barrier. But the bed never dipped. The room was oddly quiet.
After a minute, I sat up. Through the glass wall, the massive full moon lit up the room enough for me to see her on the other side of the pillows. But she wasn’t on the bed. No, she was kneeling on the floor, her elbows resting on the mattress, her head bowed.
Oh. She was praying.
I lay back down and stared at the ceiling, waiting. After at least three minutes, she finally got in bed.
“Good night, Mrs. Dupree,” I whispered.
“Good night, friend ,” she whispered.
I chuckled. “You can’t friend zone your husband . It doesn’t work like that.”
I heard her exhale through her nose. “I can do what I want,” she snapped. “I make my own rules. And don’t even think of busting a move on me once this Ambien kicks in. Two words, Ford. Lorena Bobbitt ,” she hissed with the voice of a stone-cold serial killer.
Good. Gracious .
The Ambien kicked in within two minutes. I spent the next forty-five, her soft breathing taunting me—alert and aware of every micro-twinge on the other side of this torture chamber.
I picked my phone up from the nightstand.
So. I'm married. And there's a PILLOW WALL down the middle of my bed. Questioning ALL my life choices right now.
Silas
Wait. WHAT?
Did I stutter? A WALL. OF PILLOWS. Between us. In our marital bed.
Ashton
She won’t even let you spoon on your wedding night?
No. And she threatened my manhood if I tried.
Holden
This sounds like the setup to a really bad joke.
DO I SOUND LIKE I'M KIDDING? This is my actual, real life.
Blue
Oh man. I would die. Don’t let Peyton anywhere near Anna. She might give her ideas.
Ashton
How many pillows we talking?
SEVENTEEN. I COUNTED. SEVENTEEN STRATEGIC DEFENSE PILLOWS.
Holden
The real question is, why do you own seventeen pillows?
Flora Mae.
Ashton
Your marriage of convenience sounds very inconvenient.
NO CRAP. I've made a terrible mistake and I BLAME YOU FOUR. AND YOUR WIVES.
Silas
Did you try talking to her?
THAT’S HOW THE PILLOWS HAPPENED.
I am LITERALLY SLEEPING NEXT TO THE LOVE OF MY LIFE. WHO WON'T TOUCH ME.
Ashton
Isn't that what YOU wanted?
NO. I WANTED TO MARRY HER. NOT JOIN A MONASTERY.
Silas
Why all the caps, bro?
Can’t you tell? I’M COMING UNHINGED. And it’s only the first night.
Hello?
Does no one care that this marriage is going to be my undoing?
?
??
???!!!!
Blue
Sorry, unlike Peyton, Anna wants to “snuggle.” The wedding made her think about our wedding and that made her think about our honeymoon. So I’m calling it a night. Good luck, Fo-Shiz.
Holden
Same for Christy. It’s hippity dippity time, my brothas. Peace out!
Silas
Ford, thanks for getting married. It’s gonna be a great night.
Ashton
Tally just winked. See ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya!
I HATE YOU ALL.
My phone buzzed one last time.
Silas
I’m sorry tonight sucks. Remember your end game. Be the tortoise.
“Says the man who’s getting action right now,” I whisper-hissed. “I hate the tortoise! I want to cut the tortoise!”
But what other choice did I have?
I put the phone down, sat up, and peered over the fortifications at Peyton. Her head was turned toward me, lips slightly parted, looking utterly gorgeous in the pale light of the moon.
My eyes narrowed at her sleeping soundly. I growled, peeled my T-shirt off, and threw it as hard as I could across the room. Then I laid back down with a “humph.”
“Shbndopulilt.” Peyton breathed a few seconds later. “Baftolynot,” she said louder. The bed shifted and I felt her pat the mattress. “Ugh.” She grabbed a pillow and threw it off the bed. “Dizfollolbrunsk.” Another pat. She hurled another and then another until all the pillows separating us from the waist up were gone. Her leg burst through what was left of the bulwark, kicking me in the shin.
I swore and rubbed my leg.
Her arm flailed, slapping me across the cheek. She lifted it and slapped me again.
“Oh, good grief.” I shoved her away with the arch of my foot.
She shrieked. “What’re you doing?” she said clearly. Crap. I’d woken her. She full-body rolled over, twice, until she was right next to me. “Fibldyshibbit.” Her arm came flying again. But this time it landed across my chest, curving over my right pec, and burrowing under my armpit. She purred. “Muscles. My fave.”
I chuckled and stared at her beautiful face, trying to figure out if she was still stuck in her Ambien coma or if she’d had a change of heart.
“Viztrimflot,” she mumbled. Ambien coma for sure. She smiled, sidling even closer, her thigh locking around mine. Her island breeze shampoo made me a little tipsy.
Her hand uncurled from my side and slid down my stomach, her wedding ring cool against my skin. Her fingertips feathered downward, massaging one big circle, one little circle, one big circle, one little circle.
I gasped and said a word she would've yelled at me for using if she’d been awake.
She poked me in the belly button with a giggle and then—oh my word—she gave the perimeter a light swirl.
My entire body went stiff, trying not to pass out from restraining myself.
“You’re the bes theen that eva happen to me,” she mumbled. Her touch trailed along the top of my boxers. “Am I the bes tha happen to you?” Her words were slurred, drunk-sounding.
“Yes.” I gulped. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me too. I think.” I was questioning everything right now.
“I luuurve you…” she sighed, sounding so peaceful.
I held my breath, wishing, waiting, hoping that was meant for me. Praying that this wouldn’t all be for nothing and that I wouldn’t regret signing the marriage license that was lying on my dresser, waiting to be framed.
“I said, I luuuub you F-f-f…” She poked me in the abs. “Brax.” She sighed.
I sunk into the mattress, completely disheartened.
Enough torturing myself. This was worse than having the Berlin Pillow Wall between us. I slipped off the bed. Then I grabbed one of the traitorous pillows and stalked across the room, yanked my sock drawer open, and found the detailed plan my family had helped me come up with.
I took it to the guest room across the hall and studied it for an hour, pep-talking myself before falling asleep.
Because if I’d ever needed a pep-talk, it was right then.