Read Online Pushing the Boundaries (Picking up the Pieces #3) by Jessica Prince - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jessica Prince
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in the holding pattern they were currently in. I needed to grow a pair of lady balls and apologize already. Pulling out my cell, I scrolled through my contacts until I got to his name and began typing.
Me: I’m sorry.
It was lame, but I’d hoped that if I started out up-front and honest, he’d be more receptive. When a minute went by without a response from him, I typed out another message.
Me: I’m a bitch. Do u forgive me?
Two more minutes went by with no response, but this time I could see the little indicator telling me he’d read my messages. He’d just decided not to respond. Ouch, that hurt.
Me: I’m totally not above groveling if that’s what it takes. How about bribery? If u forgive me I’ll get u a case of beer on my way home!
Just perfect, I was begging. I really couldn’t get any lower. Finally, that little bubble popped up showing he was typing a response. My breath hitched with a mixture of excitement and fear. I wanted him to respond, but I was still scared of what he’d say.
Trevor: U want forgiveness. I want something in return.
What could he want in return? Knowing Trevor, he’d be sure to make me apologize very publicly, adding in a healthy dose of humiliation.
Me: What do u want?
Trevor: Hmmm.
That was all he typed for about two minutes, and I grew impatient.
Me: Well?
Trevor: Don’t rush me, woman!
The little bubble icon showing he was typing kept popping up then disappearing again and again. The longer his response took, the more anxious I became that he wasn’t actually going to forgive me. Then his response finally came through. I shouldn’t have expected anything else from Trevor.
Trevor: Show me ur boobs.
Yeah, that was so not happening.
Me: Damn it, Trevor!
Trevor: Hey, u want forgiveness. I wanna see boobies. Seems like a fair trade 2 me.
Pfft. Fair, my ass.
Me: I’m not sending a pic of my boobs.
Trevor: Then u must not want my forgiveness too badly.
He was an asshole. The entire drive to work I thought about what I could do—aside from a partially-nude photo—to show him how sorry I really was. Then a stroke of genius hit me.
“Kenzie!” I shouted when I walked through the door of Elegant Nails. “I need your help!”
Twenty minutes later, I’d hit ‘post’ on every social media site I could think of. “You think that’ll work?” I asked Kenzie from over my shoulder.
“Are you kidding? I’m pretty sure men love shit like this! It’s not often men are in the right when it comes to an argument, let alone have it publically acknowledged.”
That was true. I kept my fingers crossed that it would work and he’d forgive me without having to show him my boobs.
Throwing myself back into work helped to take my mind off Trevor. I had back-to-back clients and was able to keep myself entertained with the latest gossip rolling around through town. You wanted juicy information, all you had to do was work at a nail salon; I was always in the know.
I was cleaning up my station, getting ready for my next appointment, when the ladies sitting in the waiting area all started oohing and awwing. Their heads were down, staring at their phones as they all snickered about whatever they were looking at. Seconds later, Kenzie walked up to me with a big grin spread across her face before shoving her phone in my hand.
I couldn’t help but laugh at what I saw. Right beneath the picture I posted of me wearing a forlorn expression—complete with puppy-dog eyes and pouty lip—holding a sign that said “I owe Trevor Devareau an Apology. The Fight Was My Fault,” was a picture of Trevor, shit-eating grin and all, holding a sign that said “You Are Forgiven. Now Show Me Your Boobs”.
Grabbing my cell from my station, I shot off another text.
Me: Thank you.
This time he didn’t make me wait.
Trevor: Welcome, wifey. See u at home.
Deciding it was the least I could do, I grabbed a pencil and began sketching. Once I’d finished, I held the drawing up to my chest
Me: I’m sorry.
It was lame, but I’d hoped that if I started out up-front and honest, he’d be more receptive. When a minute went by without a response from him, I typed out another message.
Me: I’m a bitch. Do u forgive me?
Two more minutes went by with no response, but this time I could see the little indicator telling me he’d read my messages. He’d just decided not to respond. Ouch, that hurt.
Me: I’m totally not above groveling if that’s what it takes. How about bribery? If u forgive me I’ll get u a case of beer on my way home!
Just perfect, I was begging. I really couldn’t get any lower. Finally, that little bubble popped up showing he was typing a response. My breath hitched with a mixture of excitement and fear. I wanted him to respond, but I was still scared of what he’d say.
Trevor: U want forgiveness. I want something in return.
What could he want in return? Knowing Trevor, he’d be sure to make me apologize very publicly, adding in a healthy dose of humiliation.
Me: What do u want?
Trevor: Hmmm.
That was all he typed for about two minutes, and I grew impatient.
Me: Well?
Trevor: Don’t rush me, woman!
The little bubble icon showing he was typing kept popping up then disappearing again and again. The longer his response took, the more anxious I became that he wasn’t actually going to forgive me. Then his response finally came through. I shouldn’t have expected anything else from Trevor.
Trevor: Show me ur boobs.
Yeah, that was so not happening.
Me: Damn it, Trevor!
Trevor: Hey, u want forgiveness. I wanna see boobies. Seems like a fair trade 2 me.
Pfft. Fair, my ass.
Me: I’m not sending a pic of my boobs.
Trevor: Then u must not want my forgiveness too badly.
He was an asshole. The entire drive to work I thought about what I could do—aside from a partially-nude photo—to show him how sorry I really was. Then a stroke of genius hit me.
“Kenzie!” I shouted when I walked through the door of Elegant Nails. “I need your help!”
Twenty minutes later, I’d hit ‘post’ on every social media site I could think of. “You think that’ll work?” I asked Kenzie from over my shoulder.
“Are you kidding? I’m pretty sure men love shit like this! It’s not often men are in the right when it comes to an argument, let alone have it publically acknowledged.”
That was true. I kept my fingers crossed that it would work and he’d forgive me without having to show him my boobs.
Throwing myself back into work helped to take my mind off Trevor. I had back-to-back clients and was able to keep myself entertained with the latest gossip rolling around through town. You wanted juicy information, all you had to do was work at a nail salon; I was always in the know.
I was cleaning up my station, getting ready for my next appointment, when the ladies sitting in the waiting area all started oohing and awwing. Their heads were down, staring at their phones as they all snickered about whatever they were looking at. Seconds later, Kenzie walked up to me with a big grin spread across her face before shoving her phone in my hand.
I couldn’t help but laugh at what I saw. Right beneath the picture I posted of me wearing a forlorn expression—complete with puppy-dog eyes and pouty lip—holding a sign that said “I owe Trevor Devareau an Apology. The Fight Was My Fault,” was a picture of Trevor, shit-eating grin and all, holding a sign that said “You Are Forgiven. Now Show Me Your Boobs”.
Grabbing my cell from my station, I shot off another text.
Me: Thank you.
This time he didn’t make me wait.
Trevor: Welcome, wifey. See u at home.
Deciding it was the least I could do, I grabbed a pencil and began sketching. Once I’d finished, I held the drawing up to my chest
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