Page 38 of Burn Bag

“What was I thinking?” I groaned.

My new husband was sitting at the counter, looking just as rough as I did, with his head cradled in his hand. At the sound of my footsteps, he jerked his head up and winced at the bright light that still shone through the windows.

I pointed at them, hoping he didn’t mind when I pulled the shade. Making my way over to him, I nodded in thanks as he slid a fresh cup of coffee to me.

“Thank God. My head is killing me.”

“Breakfast?” he asked, but the thought made my stomach churn.

“No. I don’t think I can stomach anything yet.”

I watched with interest as he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. What was Emily thinking, walking away from this man? He was sex on a stick.

Memories of standing at the altar flitted through my mind, and one in particular stood out. The realization that if no one had marriedhim yet, there must be something wrong. I choked on my coffee as I remembered thinking he must have a very small wiener.

“Are you okay?” he asked, coming around the counter to pat me on the back.

I nodded, but my eyes inadvertently drifted to his crotch and I started choking again. “I’m fine. Just went down the wrong pipe.”

“You’re sure?”

I nodded over and over, my head going crazy as I tried my best to push those unwanted thoughts from my head.

“So, you want to tell me what the whole passing out thing is about?”

I frowned, wondering when I had passed out. “Oh! This morning!”

He scowled at me for some unknown reason, but I forged ahead. There was nothing to be upset about.

“It’s just a little syncope.”

“Where you randomly pass out,” he said, his tone disbelieving.

“It happened at the reception. Don’t you remember?”

He shook his head slowly as he tried to remember. “There…Shit.” His face morphed into shock as the memory hit. At least I wouldn’t have to explain the whole thing all over again. “So, I didn’t nearly kill you this morning?”

“Nope. You’re all good. Though, I suppose if you wanted to off me, that would be a good way to do it,” I chuckled. When he didn’t respond, I continued. “You know, hit me on the head with a sharp object and say I passed out and hit the corner of the table…”

“Are you giving me ideas on how to kill you?” he asked, his tone once again disbelieving.

“Well, not that I want to be murdered, but—it was a joke,” I said reassuringly.

I heard a faint meow and spun around in my chair. Hubby was by my side a second later, looking around frantically.

“You heard that, too?”

“Uh…” Shit. I completely forgot about the whole kitten thing. But as the little gray baby came running out of the living room, I remembered it all. How I told him about the kittens I’d rescued, how we went to the hotel and snuck them out because I wasn’t supposed to have them in the room, and then bringing them in his house and informing him we didn’t have a litter box.

We’d torn up some magazines and tossed them in the corner for the kittens to poop and pee in.

“Do I smell cat shit?” he asked, sniffing the air.

“Um…we should probably talk?—”

“What the fuck?” he snapped, jumping back as three kittens raced toward him.

I cringed as they started climbing his leg, digging their claws in as they desperately searched for food.

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