Marital Bitch (Men with Badges)

Chapter SEVEN

(Colleen)

Okay, let’s play, pretty girl.

BRAD AND I came up with a few rules. Rule number one was that we both need to be discreet. To the outside world, we’re married, and we need to behave as such. If either of us gets into a relationship, that person has to understand the situation. Deep down, I know that Brad is right—this plan is going to fail miserably. Neither one of us is sneaky enough to pull this off-- not for long anyway. I didn’t quite think this whole “let’s stay married” thing through when I suggested it, and now, now it’s just too late to change my mind.

That conversation was yesterday. Today we’re at McCarran, about to take off on a non-stop flight back home. This time we’re flying coach, which is fine. We’re all seated together and thanks to the six mimosas that I drank this morning, I’m feeling pretty relaxed. Brad calls it tipsy.

“So,” James begins. I look to my right at my massive brother. I’m wedged between Brad and James, and I mean that quite literally. These seats in coach are small and neither the husband nor his partner-in-crime is particularly slender. In fact, they both look like they’re nearing the end of their first trimester… James might even look to be in his second. I wiggle my arms free and raise my eyebrows for him to continue, but he seems to be stalling. From across the aisle, Darla smacks his arm and gives him a look. You know, that married people look. I wonder if I give Brad that look or if we’d have to be like, really married for that to happen.

“Mom and dad are sort of…” he pauses, looks at Darla, curses under his breath, and then looks back at me. “They’re, uh, planning a surprise party for you guys, like, right now. Just so you know.” I huff and turn to Brad. He looks as calm as can be. He’s always calm and it’s pissing me off.

“Hey Bro,” Brad says. I get excited, thinking he’s going to tell James that we don’t want a surprise party, but he doesn’t because he’s Brad, and that would just be too kind of him. “Can you make sure Mama Frasier bakes that chocolate cake I like so much?” I muffle a scream and start elbowing them both rapidly. Quickly, they each grab an arm and hold me still while Darla, apparently, takes it upon herself and calls my mom. Darla’s phone is up so loud, I can hear my mother from over here. She’s thrilled. Of course she’ll bake her new son-in-law his favorite chocolate cake. Of course.

Lindsay is seated between Darla and Adam. She peeks her head around as much as she can and starts apologizing at rapid speeds. My arms still bound, I lean forward as much as I can to hear exactly what she’s apologizing for. There’s no telling. Really.

“Colleen,” she squeaks, “I’m so sorry! When Louise called to ask me about giving you guys a surprise party, I just got so swept up in the planning! I mean, Colleen, she called me!” Lindsay’s eyes glaze over and she is absolutely in heaven. She loves to plan parties.

“I mean, really. I just gave her a few little pointers, but then when Emily got on the phone, well…” her voice gets small and I know I’m royally f*cked. This is bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. “Things just got away from me.” She slinks back into her seat and I slink back into mine. She yells a quick “I’m sorry!” and I yell back a quick “Shut up, it’s fine!” in response.

The rest of the flight goes pretty smoothly. Well, as smoothly as can be expected. Brad and I explain the situation with everyone, and they all agree that we’re doing the right thing. Everyone loves my Grammy. Well, she is pretty much the shit. They do take bets on how long it takes us to screw up and either sleep together (which won’t happen), or for our little sham to be exposed. Adam has the least faith in us. He’s betting on 5-7 days before everyone figures out what we’re up to-- including Grammy. He claims that it’s not a lack of faith, he’s run the numbers and he doesn’t see any strategic way that we’ll be able to pull it off. Too many factors and too many variables are going to make this impossible. His suggestion? Just f*ck and be married and quit pretending. Whatever.

All too soon, we’ve landed at Logan and we make our way to Darla’s minivan. Since my mom has a minivan of her own, we were able to take Darla’s so that we’d all fit in one vehicle. Somehow, Brad and I get shoved in the far back into seats that smell like Goldfish crackers and silly putty. He sniffs the air and finds the putty wedged between the seats and starts playing with it. He’s like a child himself. No wonder we never got together. I avoid touching anything. Again, I love my nephews and my niece, but damn, they’re a bunch of dirty birds.

Lindsay and Adam sit directly in front of us and Darla plays copilot to James as he adjusts the driver’s seat in the van to accommodate his large ass.

“Ah,” he breathes in deeply. I look at Darla and she seems to be doing the same thing. What the heck are they doing? This van stinks. “I miss my brats!” James exclaims. He grins at Darla and she nods, wiping away a stray tear. From way back here, parenthood looks a little lame. I turn around to see Brad grinning at me.

“I can’t wait until we have kids and have a van that smells like old cheese,” he says enthusiastically. I blink at him. I stare at him. I think my mouth is on the floor. I can’t be sure. What the hell did he just say to me?

“Don’t worry pretty girl,” he wraps his large arm around my shoulder and pulls me to him. My body is stiff as a board and I want to shove putty down his throat. “We’ll get you inseminated or something’. But that’s expensive, ya know? It’d be a lot easier if you just let me lay the pipe, ya know?” I push him away, aggravated. I really didn’t think this whole sham marriage thing out.

“Just grow up, already,” I mutter.

We pull up at Brad’s house and see an awful banner, tall as can be, hangs off the front of his little white city cottage, with the words “Welcome Home, Mr. & Mrs. Patrick!” Well, if the whole damn neighborhood didn’t know beforehand, they sure as hell do now. The street is clogged with cars all the way down the block. I recognize a lot of these cars, most actually. Reality is sinking in as I recognize my coworker, Thomas's, car. It was one thing for Facebook to know, and one thing for the neighborhood to know, but now my boss’ son knows. Crap.

We pass up Brad’s house and drive four houses down to Darla and James’s where we pull into their garage and climb out of the Cheese-mobile. Darla and James walk directly out of the garage and into the street. The rest of us follow. I do my best to postpone this royal embarrassment, but they aren’t having any of it.

“You gonna walk or do I have to carry you?” Brad asks. I pout, not liking either option. He lets out an exaggerated sigh and says, “Alright then, have it your way.” I back away from him, but it’s no use.

“I’ll walk, I’ll walk!” I shout nervously, but he isn’t having it. Before I know it, he has me over his shoulder and is smacking my butt. A few cars drive by slowly and I hear whistles from inside the cars. I turn my head around and recognize some of Brad’s buddies from down at the station. I give them a small wave and try to smile.

“You don’t look very happily married, Mrs. Patrick,” Darla quips. Brad laughs, shaking me in the process and smacks me in the butt again—this time hard. I yelp and start hitting him in the back. I really want to hit him in the butt. Not to check for firmness or anything, honest. It’s just… what’s fair is fair, right? I reach as far down as I can and I get another idea. I can’t quite reach his butt, but I can reach his boxer briefs. Without another thought, I yank them up as high as I can, laughing wildly. Darla’s eyes go wide and Brad freezes immediately. The whole group stops and Brad curses a string of profanities as he drops me to my feet, causing them to sting.

“You want to play?” Brad unabashedly reaches into his pants and removes his boxer briefs from his ass. “Okay,” he leans in and kisses my cheek, “let’s play, pretty girl.”