Marital Bitch (Men with Badges) - By Jc Emery Page 0,50
was this, all a ploy to embarrass me?” His scowl turns to a frown.
“No,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I asked Vicky to stop by earlier when I was pissed. I didn’t know you were going to maul me when you got home.” I don’t miss the smile forming on his lips. Brad likes to be mauled. I’m saving this for later, you know, when I don’t want his nuts on a stick.
“I know. But this is embarrassing,” I mutter. My anger is waning. Part of me wants to be angry with him; the other part of me wants to drag him back upstairs. I feel really bipolar right now.
“Colleen,” he says, moving to my side. “This was all a ploy to make you jealous, pretty girl. I know how possessive you get.” He chuckles. I scoff. I’m not that stupid. I know that man and the amazing Mac have been around, and if he thinks he’s going to convince me that bringing Veronica here was for the benefit of our… relationship… he can just kiss my somewhat perky ass.
“You’re a big, stupid liar!” I snap and march through the living room and up the stairs into our bedroom. Vicky is still in her spot on the couch. Sticky slut. I slam the door when I get to our room. Because, you know, I’m mature like that. Brad brings out the worst in me, he always has.
I sit on the bed and sulk for a while. I can hear Sir Moron down there apologizing to Sticky Slut. He doesn’t take long sending her off. I really don’t want to see him right now, so I quickly gather a change of clothes and rush to the bathroom down the hall. Right now I wish we had more than one bathroom so he won’t be tempted to come in for any reason.
I hop in the shower and turn the water on hot. I don’t know what I’m trying to wash away: the hurt or the humiliation. I had stupidly believed that sex would change things between us. Just as I’m getting comfortable under the spray, the bathroom door swings open. I peek around the shower curtain to see Brad’s chest heaving.
“You can’t just go around being a bitch to whomever you want!” he yells.
“Oh yeah? Watch me!” I laugh and stick my tongue out. Slowly, he walks into the bathroom and rips off his pajama pants. My rueful laugh turns to a horrified squeak. If he thinks he’s getting in this shower after the humiliation I just suffered he’s damned mistaken.
“Brad!” I warn, shifting my weight from my left foot to my right. “Do not even think about it.” His eyes twinkle and I know I’m completely screwed. Okay, maybe not completely screwed yet, but by the grace of God, I’m about to be. Oh, Mac!
“You know you want me, baby” he coos, stroking himself. Mac grows instantly. Oh no you don’t!
“After that spectacle?” I ask, annoyed. “Not even you’re that good, pretty boy.” He takes a few more steps forward. If I don’t do something soon he’s going to be in the shower with me. I lean down and grab the first thing I get my hand on—a can of my shaving cream—and throw it at him. He lets go of Mac and blocks himself as best he can. The can bounces off of his upper thigh.
“What the fuck!” he shouts. “Woman, you are unbalanced!” He takes a few more steps toward me and I throw the shampoo bottle, but it doesn’t deter him. With every step he takes I throw one more item at him; still he won’t stop. Finally, he steps into the shower. I narrow my eyes at him and reach out to push him away but he catches my hand first and wraps it around Mac who throbs beneath my touch; and I’m a goner.
SUNDAY MORNING I ran out of the house before Brad even woke up. I called Lindsay and asked her if she wanted to go to the museum with me. Lindsay is a museum tramp. Me, I’d rather go shopping, but whatever. It was a convenient distraction from the horny bastard I left at home. The only real issue I’d had on Sunday was the never-ending questions about why I was avoiding Brad. I couldn’t really answer them without someone winning that stupid bet; of which Brad and I have vowed not to tell anybody. Let them sit and wonder.