on my face in exasperation.
“ Good. We weren’t going to divorce anyway,” he says with a smile. “Look, if I’m a taken man, then you gotta start putting out, pretty girl.” I remove my hands from my face and quirk an eyebrow at him. He must be joking. But then, he’s Brad, so of course he’s not joking. He grabs his junk and my eyes follow his hand. “I got blue balls here!” I smack his arm and glare at his face. Yep, not looking at his crotch… definitely not looking at his crotch. Nope. Not doing it. I’m not looking at it, so I can, without a doubt promise that I didn’t notice the semi in his pants. Definitely didn’t notice that.
“You can still date, or have sex, or hire a hooker… do whatever it is you do, moron.” I practically spit at him. “We’ll just be married, okay? I guess we’ll have to live together, but we’ll hav e separate rooms. We can do things separately, we can just pretend.” Then an idea comes to me. “We don’t even have to really live together. I’ll keep my condo downtown, and I’ll just change my address. I can stay at your place sometimes, when we have to… you know, fake it.”
Brad nods and rubs his chin. He’s thinking about all of this. “Okay,” he says and half smirks. “But I think we’re gonna fuck it up. Somebody is going to find out that this is all bullshit. If you start putting out, it’ll look more real.” I squint my eyes in thought before I understand his implication. I roll my eyes at him. I stand up and lean over him, shoving my chest in his face. He’s noticing the girls, just as I knew he would.
“Read my lips, Bradley Patrick,” I whisper-shout. “I am never going to sleep with you. So you can just give up on that little fantasy.” He smirks and I think I’ve got him. Quickly, he pulls me into his lap and kisses me. I freeze and then, in shock, kiss back. Just when I’m getting into it, he shoves me to the side and stands up, sauntering out of the room. All I can think is: my husband is a great kisser.
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
“ Good. We weren’t going to divorce anyway,” he says with a smile. “Look, if I’m a taken man, then you gotta start putting out, pretty girl.” I remove my hands from my face and quirk an eyebrow at him. He must be joking. But then, he’s Brad, so of course he’s not joking. He grabs his junk and my eyes follow his hand. “I got blue balls here!” I smack his arm and glare at his face. Yep, not looking at his crotch… definitely not looking at his crotch. Nope. Not doing it. I’m not looking at it, so I can, without a doubt promise that I didn’t notice the semi in his pants. Definitely didn’t notice that.
“You can still date, or have sex, or hire a hooker… do whatever it is you do, moron.” I practically spit at him. “We’ll just be married, okay? I guess we’ll have to live together, but we’ll hav e separate rooms. We can do things separately, we can just pretend.” Then an idea comes to me. “We don’t even have to really live together. I’ll keep my condo downtown, and I’ll just change my address. I can stay at your place sometimes, when we have to… you know, fake it.”
Brad nods and rubs his chin. He’s thinking about all of this. “Okay,” he says and half smirks. “But I think we’re gonna fuck it up. Somebody is going to find out that this is all bullshit. If you start putting out, it’ll look more real.” I squint my eyes in thought before I understand his implication. I roll my eyes at him. I stand up and lean over him, shoving my chest in his face. He’s noticing the girls, just as I knew he would.
“Read my lips, Bradley Patrick,” I whisper-shout. “I am never going to sleep with you. So you can just give up on that little fantasy.” He smirks and I think I’ve got him. Quickly, he pulls me into his lap and kisses me. I freeze and then, in shock, kiss back. Just when I’m getting into it, he shoves me to the side and stands up, sauntering out of the room. All I can think is: my husband is a great kisser.
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
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