Fifty Shades Effed Read Online Free PDF Page A

off.”
    “Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
    “I will.”
    “I don’t want my expectant wife to stress over this.”
    “Agreed. She’s a strong woman. She’ll be fine.”
    “Cool. What are you drinking?”
    “Lemon drop.”
    “Refreshing!”
    When we sit for dinner, I tease Bea about her dress.
    “That was a great fucking idea, right there. You have no idea the butterflies you gave me when you came through that door.”
    “Aw. I’m so glad you like it.”
    “We do need to find an air vent, though, so we can have the true Marilyn effect.”
    “Hm, can’t do that.”
    “Why not?”
    “I’m not wearing underwear.”
    “None?”
    “Nope.”
    “Not even a thong?”
    “Commando,” she insists as she slides my hand from her knee to her sexiness.
    “Here comes the bride ... again,” I tease.
    We agree to postpone our honeymoon until after we deal with the move. There must be a way to extract Chris from our lives. Our wedding night in the suite is memorable and exhausting. Although the bed is cushy, Lovergirl insists we do it on a wooden chair because “we haven’t done that yet.” I’ll never say no to love, regardless of the playing surface. Still, my sore ass wishes I would be more discerning.
     

Chapter Thirteen
     
    Don’t walk in front of me, I may not follow. Don’t walk behind me, I may not lead. Just walk beside me and be my friend forever. – George Fox
     
    It was a difficult night to sleep through with the crazy wedding day we had. Bea is up before me, as usual. She pokes me with a hockey stick to wake me.
    “Hey!”
    “Get out of bed, husband. We’re going to the Ice Arena. I need to blow off some steam.”
    “Did you just poke me with a stick?”
    She jabs me again.
    “Let’s go. Move it!”
    “Jesus. Really? And, why do you have a hockey stick with you here, in our honeymoon suite?”
    “I don’t leave home without it.”
    “Ugh.”
    I drag my groggy butt out from under the soft sheets, and slide into board shorts, flip flops, and a T-shirt.
    “Ready.”
    “You’re going to skate in that?”
    “It’s all I have. I wasn’t planning on a morning on ice.”
    “OK, then.”
    We jump into the Jeep and head to the skating arena. I hate ice skating because I suck at it. In fact, I can’t think of anything I suck at that I enjoy. That’s why I hate golf too: I suck at it, I don’t want to invest the time to suck less, so I don’t golf. Well, this is marriage. A man has to learn to compromise, or he’s going to ride a lonely sofa into the sunset.
    At the arena, we strap on skates. Yes, I look ridiculous and I’m half asleep so I don’t fucking care.
    “Why do we need hockey sticks?” I ask, fearing the worst.
    “It’s time for Olympic event number four. Canada needs a boost, and I’m pretty confident we can even the medal count with this event.”
    “All right, hoser, bring it! I predict Italy clinches the series this morning.”
    We carry our sticks out to the ice. Bea reaches behind the boards, grabs two pucks, and flips them out onto the ice.
    “Now what?” I ask while stretching my hamstrings, which ache in anticipation.
    “We race around the arena. The first one to skate with the puck around each net three times wins.”
    “Can’t we just have sex in the penalty box or something?”
    “Maybe.”
    “Yes! I forfeit.”
    “Not so fast. If you beat me, we’ll do it in the penalty box.”
    “You hear that, Pippino? Daddy’s getting lucky on ice again.”
    “Ready? Set? Go!”
    She takes off. I manage to fall on my face in two strides. I struggle back to my feet, as I see Bea’s lovely butt wiggle, while she kicks up ice shavings. I’m hosed. Before I make it around the first net, she has already cleared the second and is threatening to lap me. She catches me in no time and knocks my stick from my hands as she passes me. Players make it look so easy: You drop your stick, you bend over, you pick it up, you keep skating. I bend