Marital Bitch by JC Emery Page B

dresser and pulls out a t-shirt and a pair of sleep pants and tosses them to me.
    “These will be more comfortable,” he offers and walks out of the room, closing the door behind him. Immediately, I undress and slide into his clothes. They smell wonderful and I might even give them a little sniff; but I’ll never admit to it. I lie back down and groan at how uncomfortable my bra is. Against my better judgment I go ahead and remove it, tossing it to the floor with the rest of my clothes. The freedom feels wonderful and I slide against Brad’s flannel sheets. I haven’t been in here in almost a year, and even then it was only for a few moments. This is the first time I’ve been in his bed since everything went bad between us.
    I snuggle into the blankets and turn on my side, with my back to the door. I begin to drift into a calm sleep. I’m slightly perturbed by the fact that Brad didn’t even say goodnight, but I try not to dwell on that thought. Just when I’ve let it go and I’m about to succumb to a much needed rest, I hear the creaking of the hardwood and then the bedroom door opens. I’m just awake enough to know what’s going on around me, but too far under to react. I hear the blankets move and then the bed dips behind me.
    “ Colleen?” Brad whispers. He gives my side a little poke and when I don’t respond, he places a hand on my right hip. I want to ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing. I want to swat his hand away. I want to remind him that I’m Just Colleen, but he thinks I’m asleep and that’s very nearly true. So I give myself this moment in time where I can pretend.
    I may be very legally Mrs. Bradley Patrick. Everyone who matters in our individual and joined worlds sees us as a very real married couple; and at times I think we get lost in the role play. But here, in his bed, I feel like Mrs. Patrick. Brad’s hand on my hip wanders and it wraps around my waist, pulling me to him. I settle my back into his chest, losing myself further to sleep.
    Tomorrow we’ll fight and argue and maybe even throw things; because that’s what we do. Tomorrow Heather will be brought up, because she is the proverbial elephant in the room every time we fight. And tomorrow we’ll have to talk and see if we can figure out where to go from here because of all the things said to me today, only one sticks with me.
    You just gonna pretend to be married to Brad? That’s pretty fucked up, sis.
    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