Marital Bitch(10)

The night wears on and we gamble and drink. Brad tells everyone he sees that we just got married. The more we drink, the more I find myself falling for all of his stories. He tells the cocktail waitress that he knew he’d marry me someday the moment I developed boobs back in seventh grade. He tells the dealer that he’s looking forward to getting me back to the hotel. My skin heats at the thought; it’s an unfamiliar feeling. If Brad’s goal for the night was to convince me that he finds me appealing, he’s succeeded; but I can’t tell him that.

FINALLY, A LITTLE after three, we make it back to our suite. James and Darla made it back about an hour ago. Adam and Lindsay disappear into their bedroom while Brad and I stumble, as quietly as possible, through the living room. Delusions and words of kindness aside, I decide that it would be improper for my new husband to sleep on the couch. I have no ulterior motives, I just want to cuddle.

Honest.

“Mr. Patrick,” I whisper-shout. Brad’s lips turn up into a goofy grin.

“Mrs. Patrick,” he murmurs, pulling me close and nuzzling my neck. I’m caught off guard and I gently press myself against him. He feels heavy, and strong, and so, so good. He sighs in appreciation.

“Stay with me tonight,” I whisper. Brad kisses my neck chastely. My response and inner musings are anything but chaste. For the first time since high school, I want to bed Brad Patrick. Regardless of how horrific our attempt at losing our virginity together was, I want to try again. We were kids—inexperienced kids—back then. Surely we could get it right this time.

“You’re drunk,” he whispers, tickling my neck.

“You’re drunker,” I state, firmly.

“Am not,” ever the mature one, he argues.

“You were stumbling outside of the chapel,” I think I’m making my argument. “That was hours ago, and you’ve drank a lot since.”

“That’s what you do to me, pretty girl,” he breathes, hot and heavy, into my skin. “I fall all over myself when I’m around you.” My breath catches in my throat. He grip tightens around me in a possessive manner.

“Hey,” he coos, “it worked. Your brother thought I was so wasted, he went easy on me.”

“I thought that was real,” I mutter, feeling slightly better about his state of consciousness.

“Are you trying to take advantage of me, Mrs. Patrick? Is that why you married me?” He’s grinning and chuckling against me. I slap his chest and pull him into my bedroom. I giggle when he agrees to spend the night with me. As attractive as he is in this moment, and as much as my hormones are going wild, I know that tempting him into making love to me would only lead to disaster. I decide to settle for falling asleep, curled into his heavy frame.

Brad kisses my ear and pulls away enough to meet my eyes. When I look into his eyes I’m caught off guard by what I see. I see the five-year-old boy who used to bring me mud pies as a present. I see the fifteen-year-old boy who let me cry on his shoulder when the boy I liked publicly humiliated me; and of course the same fifteen-year-old Brad who beat that stupid boy for making me cry. I see the man in his dress blues for the first time the day he graduated from the academy. I see Brad in every moment I’ve ever been proud of him—and there are many. I see more than the brash cop from the neighborhood, I see my best friend who I had forgotten I have.

I love him—in a way. I love Brad in nearly the same way I love James, only not quite. Only, I had forgotten how much I love him somewhere along the way. I can feel the smile on my face and the excitement in my bones. We’ve always had this thing, Brad and I. We push and pull and we fight like crazy. But then we’re closer, stronger—at least for a little while. Then it’s back to our respective lives on opposite sides of town. At least, that’s how it’s been the last few years.

Brad pulls away and kisses my forehead. “I’ll change in the living room. I wouldn’t want to compromise what little integrity you have left, Mrs. Patrick.” I scoff and swing at his arm as he leaves the room. My eyes linger on the closed door for longer than necessary and a goofy smile takes over my face.

Twenty four hours ago I was working on trial prep and worried that I wouldn’t finish in time to leave for this trip. I didn’t even want to be here and I wasn’t very happy with the fact that Brad was going to be in attendance. We haven’t gotten along this well since before my graduation from law school. Normally, we would have been fighting about my job by now. But now, I can’t even imagine enjoying my birthday without him here.

I walk into the en-suite bathroom and change into my sweatpants and an old police academy t-shirt that I stole from my dad years ago. When I return to the bedroom, I see Brad standing on the opposite side of the bed. He’s wearing sweatpants and his own old police academy t-shirt. We point at our matching shirts and laugh. In his right hand is my veil.