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

After throwing a temper tantrum the size of Texas, I’d made Trevor clean up the dog pee and go out to buy a kennel we could keep the dog in when we were both away from the house.
    “I’m pissed because you bought a dog the size of a horse without saying a word to me!”
    “You mean just like you did with Mr. Bojangles?” he asked sarcastically as he made the turn into my grandparents’ neighborhood on the GPS’s instructions.
    “That was different,” I snapped. “Mr. Bojangles is a sweet, tiny kitty that’s already litter box trained. Merle is freakishly huge and takes shits the size of soccer balls all over the house!” That was true. I’d discovered that lovely little tidbit while Trevor was out buying puppy supplies. “And what kind of name is Merle for a puppy?!” I added on a shout.
    “First of all, don’t get all judgy with the name. You have a fucking cat named Mr. Bojangles, for Christ’s sake. And besides, you know how much I loved Merle.”
    “Oh, for God’s sake. It was almost two seasons ago. He’s dead already. Get over it!”
    “It should have been Glenn!” Trevor shot back, once again dragging us into the conversation about how ‘The Walking Dead’ should have never killed off his favorite character. It was still a very sensitive subject for him. Every Sunday, he made sure to wear his t-shirt declaring Merle is my Homeboy.
    “Secondly,” he continued, “Merle can be house-broken. Great Danes are smart dogs; it won’t take long at all.”
    Crossing my arms over my chest, I stared out the window and watched the houses passing by. “Well, I hope you’re prepared to do all of it, because house-breaking a dog is most definitely not on my list of to-dos.”
    “Fine,” he grumbled.
    “Fine,” I sniped back.
    We stayed silent until Trevor turned into my grandparents’ driveway.
    “Just so you know,” I threw over my shoulder as I headed for the front door. “If Merle eats Mr. Bojangles I’m gonna be very pissed.”
    I couldn’t be certain, but it sounded like he muttered, “Fucking cat’s too fat for anything to eat it.”
    “Lizzy-Lu!” my grandfather exclaimed when he answered the door.
    “Hi, Pop Pop.” Standing on my tiptoes, I placed a kiss on his soft, wrinkled cheek as he wrapped me in a tight hug. My Pop Pop gave the best hugs.
    “So this must be the young man you couldn’t live without,” he said as he looked over my shoulder at Trevor.
    “Only ‘cuz murder’s not legal,” I muttered under my breath.
    “What was that?”
    “Nothing, Pop Pop,” I answered brightly. “Trevor, I’d like you to meet my grandfather, Harold.”
    Trevor stepped up to shake Pop Pop’s hand, but not before giving me a hard-as-hell pinch right on my ass.
    “It’s nice to meet you, sir,” he said, shaking my grandfather’s hand and ignoring my pained yelp.
    “I think a bug bit me,” I said at Pop Pop’s curious expression while rubbing the sting from my butt cheek and staring daggers at my husband .
    “Good to meet you, too, son. Please call me Hal. Or Pop Pop, if you prefer. It’s what Lizzy calls me, and you’re family after all.”
    “You got it, Pop Pop,” Trevor smiled. Even at eighty-three, my grandfather was still in great shape, only standing an inch or two shorter than Trevor. He’d gotten a little softer around the middle with age, but he carried it well. If it wasn’t for his balding head, he’d look younger than he was.
    “Let’s get you two inside. The family’s dying to meet you, son.”
    Pop Pop ushered us into the house, and as soon as we crossed the threshold the chaotic noise of my family became overwhelmingly loud. Maybe I should have warned him just how insane my family was, but a twisted part of me was kind of giddy that I’d get to see the discomfort on his face. It was only fair, after all. It had barely been a week since my very public apology, and he’d already managed to piss me off again .
    Stepping into the formal dining room, I