Marital Bitch (Men with Badges) - By Jc Emery Page 0,49
the kitchen, I can hear their muffled conversation.
“… Great ass, Bradley. Seriously, it’s firm and perky. God, you’re a lucky man.” I hear him grumble and then walk into the kitchen. I try to look like I was getting glasses out of the cupboard the entire time.
“Would you put some goddamn pants on, please?” he snaps, his face livid. I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Why would I do that? You don’t want your precious little tart to know that you fucked me? Or is that a dirty little secret you’d like to keep?’ My voice is cold and callous; but his face softens at my words.
“No,” he says softly, his hand finds mine. “You are not a dirty little secret, Colleen, not ever. I want you to put some pants on because Vicky is bisexual and apparently she thinks you have a great ass.” Oh.
“Oh,” I say, blushing just slightly. I move our hands to my ass, encouraging him to touch it. “And what do you think?” He grins and pulls me flush against him.
“Keep it up and I’m going to bend you over this counter and give Vicky a good show.” I laugh and slap his chest away. I walk to the fridge and pour two glasses of Cranapple juice. Brad takes one and downs it. I want to be annoyed with him—he said he didn’t want any juice, and yet—but I can’t bring myself to be. It’s not like he’s being a jerk. I refill the glass with Cranapple and put the juice away. The laundry room is just off the kitchen, so I sneak in there and grab a pair of sweats and pull them on. Vicky may be bisexual, and she may think I have a great ass, but I know she still wants Brad, I can tell.
Walking back into the kitchen, I pick up the glasses. I peek around the corner and see that she’s looks unhappy.
“I get that I have bad timing, but she’s being a real bitch, Brad,” she grumbles. “I don’t even know why I agreed to this.”
“She’s just embarrassed,” he whines.
“Is there ever going to be a day that you won’t blindly defend her?” she grumbles. “You told me that Medusa in there tries to make friends with your girlfriends. You promised me lunch dates and clothes shopping and gossip, not bruises and emotional scarring! You owe me for putting up with her bullshit, pal.” Well… I’ve never. How rude. I have been as nice as I possibly can to an interloper like her.
“I know. It must be the effect my manhood has on you ladies—fighting over me,” he sighs and they laugh. Suddenly I feel very small and inconsequential. To my face, he defends me; but now I know what he says when he thinks I can’t hear, and I don’t think I like it. My eyes water and I bat the tears away. I refuse to look so needy in front of her. Once my eyes are dry, I leave the kitchen about to show her what a bitch really looks like.
I bring Vicky, the two-bit floozy, her juice, a fake smile plastered on my face. Brad smiles at me. He is oblivious to what is about to happen. I neatly tuck my left foot under the rug and continue on with my right. As my left foot catches, I lean forward-- planned shocked look on my face-- as the She-Devil's juice flys out of the glass, drenching her perfect bosom.
"I'm so sorry!" I screech, playing the part of the apologetic host. I don't offer her a napkin as she whimpers and tries to wipe down some of the mess. "Your poor thing," I lay it on thick, "you must be used to having jizz--" I contain my giggle, "I mean juice all over you."
"And why would she be used to that!" Brad snaps; his voice thick with rage. I shrug, though inside I’m upset. He should be on my side.
"Oh, well," I say innocently, "I must have heard James wrong, then," and I rush out of the room to clean the few drops of juice that landed on me. I sure do hate to be sticky.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
(Colleen)
… as cheesy porn music starts to play.
BRAD STALKS INTO the room. He is absolutely livid. Oh well, I’m not real pleased with him, either. “What the fuck is your problem?” He growls, making his way to the sink. He grabs the nearest hand towel and wets it.