Pushing the Boundaries (Picking up the Pieces #3) by Jessica Prince

offense?” I asked.
    “Eh, didn’t really bother me. With all these extra hormones pumping through me, I get hot as hell at night now. Without Luke’s furnace of a body next to me, I slept like a baby.
    Emmy sure was doing a good job of turning me off the idea of pregnancy for the foreseeable future.
    But hearing her talk about sleeping in bed with Luke just reminded me that I missed having Trevor’s body next to me at night. Yeah, he felt like a heating blanket in the middle of a hot Texas summer, but I still missed him being there. Tonight, I was going to have to see what I could do to rectify that situation. I was exhausted and the only way I’d get a good night sleep was if Trevor was there.
    Trevor was right; this really is starting to feel like a real marriage.
    When I got home that evening, he was already in the kitchen preparing dinner.
    “Hey, wifey.” I wasn’t ready to admit it out loud, but I was kind of growing to love the sound of him calling me that. “I felt bad for skipping out on dinner last night, so I figured I’d cook for you to make up for it.”
    I looked around the kitchen and saw the dirty pots and pans which filled up the sink. Then I looked at the food on the plates and called him out.
    “Did you really have to dirty up every dish just to pass off Virgie May’s food as your own?”
    “Damn it! How did you know?”
    “Next time, maybe don’t put the carryout bag on top of the trash can,” I answered, holding up the evidence. “And I already know you don’t have a damn clue how to bake a pie.” I pointed to the counter where a Dutch apple pie sat, “pretend” cooling.
    Just then, Merle came barreling into the kitchen, slamming into the side of the island in order to stop.
    “What happened to his nose?” I asked, giving him a pat on the head.
    “Mr. Bojangles got at him,” Trevor told me with a scowl.
    “Well, did he try to sniff his butt again? You know Mr. Bojangles hates that.”
    “Mr. Bojangles hates everything. He’s a bastard.”
    At the sound of his name, my cat came sauntering into the kitchen and rubbed against my leg. I picked him up for a cuddle and could have sworn I saw him giving Trevor and Merle the stink eye. When I turned back to Trevor, he was shooting daggers at Mr. Bojangles and Merle was trying to hide under the dining room chair. Only his head fit, so his butt was still sticking out clear as day.
    “You aren’t a bastard, are you, Mr. Bojangles? No, you’re not,” I cooed, earning myself a rumbling purr before my temperamental cat decided he had enough cuddling and jumped from my arms, waltzing out of the kitchen like he owned the place.
    We sat down to eat and I dug into Virgie May’s homemade meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Trevor definitely knew my favorites. He might not have cooked it himself, but he’d still done well.
    “So,” I started, fidgeting around in my chair, trying to get myself through my speech without blushing like crazy. “You slept in the guest room last night.”
    Way to go with the obvious, Liz .
    “Yeah. I just needed some time to myself.” He stared down at his plate as he spoke. “Besides, you locked your door the night before, so I just figured you wanted your bed back to yourself.”
    I sucked in a deep breath and steeled my resolve. Best to just rip the Band-Aid off. “Well, I won’t lock it tonight,” I said, not able to stop the blush that radiated from cheeks and chest.
    When he didn’t say anything for a while, I finally allowed myself to look up and meet his gaze. He was staring at me intently.
    “What are you getting at, cher ?”
    I let out a huff of frustration. I knew he was just being difficult. By his knowing grin, he was more than aware of what I was saying. But I forced myself to speak the truth anyway. “I’ve slept like shit for the past two nights. I can’t sleep without you,” I answered honestly.
    “Ah, baby. You’ve missed me, haven’t you?” He teased with a laugh, causing me to