Whipped (Hitched #2)(32)

"No."

"There you have it."

I text these questions to Zoe and she replies with a sad face crying emoticon.



We're yelling at each other now. I told him he's had plenty of time to figure his shit out and I'm done waiting for him to grow up. He said this would all be fixed if I'd marry him.



I shake my head and relay the new info to Lachlan.

He sighs. "The only thing marrying him would accomplish is putting her in a more permanent set of miserable circumstances."

I text that to her with my own thoughts.



His neurosis, his showers after sex, his chronic Catholic guilt taken to extremes, his blaming of you for his own shit, none of that will change by putting a ring on your finger. You have to decide if you want to be with this man BASED ON WHO HE IS RIGHT NOW. Do you want this man in front of you? AS HE IS.



Long pause. I wait nervously for her reply. Have I pushed too far? Is she freaking out? I wish I was there and could see her face to face and talk through this. But she's a grown woman, and I know she's strong enough to face this.



No. I don't want this. I'm done.



She doesn't text again for another several minutes, and Lachlan is joining me at the car, having just finished putting away the trashed tire and tools, when her next text comes.



It's done. I've kicked him out and invited Ben & Jerry to come spend the weekend with me. What have I done?



You've opened yourself to something truly great. You've freed yourself from a toxic relationship that was hurting you. Call Tate. He's great with breakups, and he'll bring Ben & Jerry's best friend Jack Daniels. You can all party together.



Great idea. Calling now. Sorry to interrupt your trip. Have fun with the parents.



You aren't interrupting anything. Hang in there, kid. You'll get through this and be stronger for it.



I put the phone down and look up at Lachlan, who's standing by the door looking so f*cking sexy, and I realize we're sort of in the middle of nowhere and there's no one else around and this man is a god with his body and I'm a seriously lucky woman. "About that car sex…"



After the mind-blowing part, I pull up my panties and he tosses the condom and we would probably smoke a cigarette if we were living in an 80s television series. He holds me on his lap in the front seat and smiles. "You guessed the 20 questions."

"What?" I stroke his face, still lost in our lovemaking.

"Happyland," he says, his grin spreading. "That was the answer." He squeezes my ass. "This was the answer."

"But you said it's someplace you hadn't been," I object. Because we've clearly been here before. Many, many times.

He shakes his head. "Not in a car. That was the point. Happyland in the car. With you."

I laugh with him and kiss him again, because damn this man is amazing.





CHAPTER 20





LACH


I've never met a girl's parents before. I expect a stubborn father who is determined I'm not good enough for his girl and a perfectionist mother who needs every detail of my life. I know I'm stereotyping.

It doesn't go as I expect.

When I knock on the door a woman yells, "Come in!" We do. The hallway is white, and a modern painting of a blue sphere hangs on the wall. Vi told me her mother's a painter. I wonder if this is one of her pieces.

Someone giggles.

A petite woman in khaki shorts and a tank top is playing Twister on the living room floor. Tangled with her limbs is a man, his arms thick, his orange shirt half unbuttoned. Two glasses of wine stand half full on the side. They notice us and wave. "Hi, honey. Just give us a second." The woman tries to move her foot to a red circle. She slips and falls and laughs. The man wraps his arm around her. They stand.

Vi gives each of them a hug. "So good to see you!" She motions at me. "This is Lachlan. Lach, these are my parents. Angela and Marvin."

I offer a handshake, but both of them embrace me instead. Angela smiles at her daughter. "He's tall."

Marvin, who reaches only my shoulder, shrugs. A streak of gray runs the side of his black hair. "Height's not that important."

Angela kisses his cheek. She has freckles and a dimple. Her hair is red. "It’s okay, baby. I still love you." And then, to me, "Forgive him, he's drunk." Her face scrunches up, and she burps. "Sorry. We're both drunk."

Vi shakes her head.

I should say something witty, but nothing comes to mind. Alcohol should help. "Any more of that wine?"

Angela grabs a leopard purse off a hanger. "Not for you. You're driving."

Vi frowns. "I thought we were staying in for dinner."

"We were, until you told me Lachlan's a dancer, so…"

"So, we decided to go to a club," finishes Marvin, throwing on a leather jacket. I notice a tribal tattoo around his wrist.

"Nice tat," I say. When I imagined Vi's parents, I imagined an old couple that spends their days on the sofa, yelling at each other to pass the remote and ordering cheap takeout food for dinner. But Marvin and Angela seem like… well, they seem like Vi and me. They seem fun.