And James’s right. It is pretty fucked up, but I don’t know what the hell I can do about that now. I don’t know that there’s anything I want to do about it. I’m enjoying pretending way too much right now. Because at the end of the day, regardless of how fake this all is—it’s a hell of a lot more than I had before some stupid Irish cop asked some stupid girl from Southie to marry him just so that he could see her smile.
And in this moment, curled into Brad as he snores like a freight train in my ear, I realize how lucky I am. Who asks their best friend to marry them simply because they were pouting? Nobody does that. No, I mean nobody does that. Except that, Brad did. Brad did do that. And he didn’t just do that. He did that for me.
CHAPTER TEN
(Colleen)
What the hell was I about to do with Brad?
HONK SHOE…
I feel hot breath on my neck and the faint scent of Brad’s soap. I wiggle, cuddled up against my husband. I withhold a small squeal at the thought. My husband. My Bradley. I was having the biggest drought known to womankind. At one point, I wasn’t sure if my vagina was still present or if it had taken up on holiday. But now? Now, I’m curled into my lifelong best friend and new husband, and I’m actually liking the feel of his arms around me.
Honk shoe…
In the stillness of the morning, I breathe in his scent and then it happens.
Burp!
Holy crap. The husband did not just burp in my ear. Oh, but he did. I groan and cover my nose to hide the smell. Despite the pungent aroma of his morning breath, I’m really not all that put out. There’s something about being in bed with a man, about having a man in my life that makes those nasty little smells not so awful.
Honk shoe…
I wiggle again and feel what Brad refers to as morning wood pressed up against my backside. My face flushes and I don’t know what to do. I crane my neck around to peek at Brad, finding him fast asleep—mouth hanging open, the roaring sound of his snoring trailing out of his mouth. I feel emboldened, being in his bed and wrapped in his arms. So I do something that I’ll deny until my dying day. I press my butt against his erection, feeling its slight twitch.
Honk shoe…
Brad’s breathing comes in short pants and his arms tighten around me, leaving no room between me and Mac. A moan involuntarily falls from my lips. It’s been a year since I’ve been with anyone. I had dated a guy very briefly before I realized it wouldn’t work out. Peter left me with the distinct impression that he felt women should be seen and not heard. Clearly, we were not meant to be. And if I’m being honest with myself, I didn’t quite fit in his world; square peg, round hole, and all that.
Last week I had some semblance of self-control; last week I was still single and not in a fake marriage with the appearance of being taken. Last week I was still Chief and Mrs. Frasiers’ greatest disappointment. Last week I was still Colleen Frasier, Esquire. Now I guess I’m Colleen Frasier Patrick, Esquire? No. No, I’ll keep Frasier professionally; too much paperwork to change things around. I’ll stay Frasier for professional use and adopt Patrick for personal use.
I continue to think about the small details of being married. Do I need to inform my bank? What about my automobile insurance? Probably. Should I get a ring? Do I even want to wear a ring? Well, I do like diamonds. I wonder if Brad will buy me a ring? Where will we live? Here, probably. I peek around the room, inspecting its size. This is a small house. I have a lot of shoes. Oh, where will my shoes go!
“Damn,” Brad holds onto me for dear life and grinds Mac into my butt—all thoughts of my beloved shoe collection forgotten as Brad dry humps my ass. I’m frozen, unable to move, contemplating rubbing against him. I want to rub against him and feel the friction I so need, afraid of what that might lead to.
“Baby,” Brad moans, leaning into my ear, “You feel so good.” His breath, hot on my skin, sends chills down my spine. I’m pretty sure he’s asleep. I hope he’s asleep. Wait… maybe I don’t want him to be asleep.
“Right there, baby,” he begins thrusting into my backside roughly. My breath catches. My heart speeds up. My body moves involuntarily, meeting his thrusts. The feeling is divine. This feels right and good and… so good. My brain is mush. I can’t bring myself to stop, even if I am encouraging my childhood best friend to sleep-hump me. Husband, he’s my husband; I try to reason with myself.
We move together and I can feel the dampening between my thighs. Brad’s hands wander and find purchase on my breasts. They’re covered by his large t-shirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind. His large, masculine hands knead my tender flesh through the cotton shirt causing my nipples to harden almost immediately. I moan louder than I should and rub against Mac, who is nearly pressing against the very place I want him. If I just shift up a little…