Marital Bitch (Men with Badges) - By Jc Emery Page 0,9
still. Nobody can keep a straight face. The corners of Brad’s eyes crinkle up in the corners and he can’t keep his eyes off of me. This is how I’ve always wished he’d look at me. It’s one of the best moments of my life.
Brad and I choose to make up our own vows. We agree that it would be wrong, a slap in the face of the sanctity of marriage, to recite the traditional vows. Darla points out that getting married for fun is also a slap in the face of the sanctity of marriage. It’s a slippery slope. I remind myself to go to confession sometime this year. I’m informed that I’m up first. I’m not quite sure what to say, so I go with utterly ridiculous. That seems to be the theme of this entire wedding.
“I, Colleen Frasier, sort of, kind of, take you, Bradley Patrick as my hubby. You’re like, my best friend, and my partner in crime. I promise to like, bring you beer and keep Tums and Beano on hand, and I promise to always be your best friend.” My eyes shift around nervously. I just rambled, perhaps, the absolute worst wedding vow in the history of marriage. Brad laughs and our audience is collectively dismayed that that was the best I could do, even for a fake bride. A way with words, I have not—and this is why I’m not a trial attorney.
“I, Bradley Patrick, sort of, kind of, take you, Colleen Frasier to have and to grope from this day forward until whenever you break my hand. I promise to make you laugh and to shower at least weekly; and above all, I promise to always be your best friend.” The minister asks for objections and James scoffs, muttering something about regretting not having dragged us to Vegas sooner.
“I now pronounce you, by the power invested in me by the state of Nevada, husband and wife,” the minister says. He looks like Elvis in a certain light, but not enough to be an impersonator, I don’t think. I reach out to hug Brad as a ‘thank you’. He leans in and grabs me by the waist with his left arm, pulling me full against his muscled frame. With his right hand, he holds my face and kisses me. His lips are rough and dry against mine—so very unlike the lips on the last man I kissed. Dale’s lips were soft as silk—feminine even—and they did nothing for me. But Brad’s lips are all male and strong as they move against my own. A small fire erupts in the pit of my belly and I open my mouth to him. We haven’t kissed like this since high school—before Heather, before Harvard, before I moved across the river into a fancy condo that overlooks Southie and everything I left behind.
CHAPTER THREE
(Colleen)
He played his part perfectly, the devoted husband.
WE LEAVE THE chapel, laughing and causing a ruckus all the way. This feels right and I couldn’t be happier in this moment. We make the short trek to the strip and bask in the glowing lights of the rotating signs from the casinos and strip clubs that abound in this town. Brad is screaming that he just got married. He throws an arm in the air for emphasis, all the while the other is around my waist, never letting me go.
For a guy who acts like this was a favor to me, he sure seems awfully delighted to be a married man. I sincerely hope he doesn’t expect us to consummate the marriage. That would just be weird. After the first—and last—time we tried having sex, I really can’t see revisiting that kind of relationship. All I remember from that event—where we had tried to lose our virginity together on the night of our senior prom—was the pain and the God-awful noises he kept making.
James pulls me aside and we lag behind the others. Brad shoots James a look of annoyance. Darla doesn’t even look back. I think she set James up to this. “You’re a married woman now, little sister,” James beams and wraps his enormous arm over my shoulder. “It’s about time—you and Brad.”
I laugh loudly, making my ears ring. The sound catches me off guard and I stumble slightly. I hate these shoes. I need a drink.
“I’m going to have to get used to calling you Colleen Patrick,” James laughs, practically putting me in a headlock in the process.