My Fake Husband

by Black, Natasha L.

  When she drooped against my chest, I tucked her head under my chin, smoothed her sweaty, tangled hair. “I love taking you to the library,” I said.

  “Yeah, who knew your mom’s book club could be so exciting,” she teased, her arms going around me and hugging me.

  “I love being with you like this,” I said. “This is maybe the best night of my life.”

  “It’s only eight o’clock,” she said. “We can do better than this. And hey, since when is the night we got married not the best night of your life?” she teased me.

  “All I got to do was unzip your damn dress,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “Now, are you gonna climb off my lap or we gonna do this all over again?”

  “Let’s do it again,” she said, nuzzling my neck, grinning smugly against my jaw as she felt me grow hard against her.

  “I will if you will,” I said. “Take off your shirt.”

  “I can’t. We’re in the truck. Someone could see,” she said.

  “You’re shy now? We’re fucking in a parking lot like teenagers,” I laughed.

  Just then, there was a tap on the window and a flashlight beam in our faces. Trixie shrieked and buried her face in my chest. I rolled down the window.

  “Brody, what the hell?” I demanded as my best friend glared his police-issue flashlight at us.

  “Just trying to preserve the peace in our wholesome little town, Damon,” he said flatly. “So take your wife home. My mother-in-law—you know, your mom—called me to see if I’d find out if you’d been in an accident since she tried to call you after she got home from book club and the call went through but all she heard was someone moaning.”

  I laughed. “Jesus. Thanks a lot to my mom,” I said. “What a narc. And you couldn’t just say, Mrs. Vance, your son is a grown man and I’m sure he will call when he has time?”

  “And miss out on all the fun? Come on. This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to embarrass the shit out of my best friend,” he said. “Now zip your fly and take your wife home. You’re too old for this kind of crap.”

  He was trying not to laugh. I was outright laughing, and Trixie had her head buried in my chest still. “Baby, it’s fine. It’s just Brody. And he knows if it shows up on the police blotter that I’ll pants him at his child’s christening. So we’re fine.”

  “Seriously, Trixie, I was just giving Damon hell. There’s no need to be embarrassed. Some people are exhibitionists,” he said. “There’s no shame in it.” He snickered.

  “Don’t give her any shit, bro,” I said. “You made your point. We’ll go home. Tell no one. Not even my sister.”

  “I have to tell Laura. I can’t miss the opportunity to tell her that her big brother was defiling the library parking lot with his blushing bride.”

  When he drove off, I put my arms around her and held her. “Trix, I’m sorry about that. I know we embarrassed you. He and I have a shitty sense of humor—my whole family does, in fact. I won’t expose you to that again. Are you okay?”

  She peeked up at me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “One more time before we go home?” she said, grinning.

  “You little minx!” I laughed. “You were loving that. Him catching us and giving me shit. I felt terrible, like I should have protected you. I felt like an animal taking advantage of you in a public place—”

  “So do it again,” she said. “I dare you.”

  I captured her mouth, my hand roaming under her shirt and plucking at her nipples. Soon I guided her hips, thrusting my cock into her fierce and deep. I was claiming her, and it felt incredible. Fiery ropes of pleasure snaked up my legs and my abs clenched, my arms flexed and gripped her hard. I nibbled her bottom lip, licked the corner of her mouth, brought cries of pleasure from her with my fingers before I drove into her with a burst of frantic thrusts and shot out into her, bucking my hips as her hands gripped my hair, my face buried in her chest, sucking her nipple through her shirt as I came. She rocked her hips against me a few times, giving me a tremor of residual ecstasy. I kissed her full on the lips, captured her in my arms.

  “You’re mine,” I said. “All mine.”

  “Take me home,” she said. “I don’t want to have to find my pants and put them on, so don’t stop anywhere on the way.”

  She stroked me with her hand, tucked my cock back into my jeans and zipped me up with such a sly caress that it made me half-hard again already. I cupped her sex with my bare hand, stroking through the slick mess of our lovemaking, dipping my fingers inside her and loving the sensation of her milking my fingers, bearing down on them, rocking onto my hand wantonly. I loved that she wanted me so much, that she liked sex with me that much. I thumbed her clit and in no time, she came again, a high, desperate cry and then the shock of her gushing on my hand.

  “That felt amazing. It was so—primal. Your hand in me, being in your lap—damn,” she was trembling and I was gazing at her, feeling like a king.

  “Take me home,” she said again. “I wanna see if you can do that again.”

  “I bet I can,” I said, kissing her, sucking on her lips, barely able to drag myself away from her body long enough to drive home.

  Every night she was in my bed. Every morning I made breakfast for us and we ate together, even if it was just a quick piece of toast and coffee. As long as we were together, and got to see each other, that was what counted.

  One morning she had sat down on my lap as I tied my boots. “Let’s play hooky,” she said. “I was a good girl in school. I never skipped class. Let’s do it today.”

  “What, Senior Skip Day, fifteen years late?” I teased.

  “Are you gonna be naughty with me or not?” she asked, arms looped around my neck.

  “Hell yes. Anywhere and all the time, baby,” I said. I messaged the chief that I thought I was coming down with something. She called her full-time manager and told her to open the shop, and that she could close at noon and take the rest of the day off.

  That day, my God, we took a bubble bath together and we tried to pick out a rug for the living room online but ended up watching stupid TikTok videos and laughing at them. We made taco soup for lunch and then forgot about it because I bent her over the table and had her from behind until she nearly blacked out from coming so many times. Then we had an afternoon nap in each other’s arms. I never wanted to be anywhere else.

  Around four, she got a call from somebody who’d heard she might rent the apartment over her shop. I agreed to help her clean it out over the weekend so she could have another income stream coming in. She insisted on whipping out the calculator app and doing some math on how that would affect her budget and payments. When she wanted to discuss insurance policies for having a tenant, I had to suck on her nipple until she got back in the Skip Day frame of mind. By the time she’d had an orgasm in my mouth, her thighs were gripping my face as she ground against my lips and tongue, I couldn’t hold back any longer.

  “I am crazy about you, Trixie Vance,” I said, kissing her stomach. “I’m glad you wear my ring.”

  “Me too,” she said a little shyly. I couldn’t help noticing that every time I said something about feelings, tried to tell her how special she was to me, she kind of brushed it off, didn’t say much. If that meant she wasn’t into me romantically, I would have to accept that down the road. But for now, I’d take what I could get and enjoy the hell out of it.

  I was pretty damn happily married. Coming home early with a bottle of wine, kissing my wife, having dinner together, having a shower together. Waking up with her in my arms every day. So when she said she was going to Kiera’s for the weekend, part of me was selfish and wanted to ask her to stay. Sure, I had to work Saturday, and I knew she missed her sister. But sleeping alone seemed bleak and lonesome and cold.

  “Do you want me to take off Saturday? I could drive you,” I offered.

  “I can drive, you know,” she teased.

  “I’ll miss you, okay,” I said almost grudgingly.

  “Are you saying you’re
completely spoiled?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I pulled her into my arms. “I am spoiled and greedy.”

  “You can go to your mom’s for supper. She’ll love it.”

  “We were just over there Wednesday night,” I said. “She’ll tell me I’m an idiot for letting you out of my sight.”

  “Do you think I’m going to use my married sister as a wingman and go pick up a guy? We’re going out, but just for fun and to get her a break and some girl time. You and I have a deal. I’m just going to hang out with Kiera.”

  “I know that, and I trust you. I’ll still wish you were here,” I said, feeling foolish. “I know that’s lame.”

  “It’s not lame. I’ll see you Sunday night,” she kissed my cheek and she was off. Without me.

  All day Saturday on my shift, I kept checking my phone. She’d texted once, a selfie of her and her sister at a craft store with the caption ‘wild girls weekend,’ but that was it. I was missing her. I convinced Brody to go out for a drink after work. I could use some guy time after all.

  “You’re such a sad sack. Your wife goes to Savannah for a couple days and you need me to babysit you,” he said, taking a drink of his beer.

  “No. I just thought we could use some guy time.”

  “That’s not a phrase. Don’t use those words. It sounds stupid,” he said gruffly.

  “You’re too sensitive.”

  “I’m too sensitive? You dragged me to a bar so you could whine about missing your wife,” he said.

  “I didn’t notice your ass kicking and screaming when I asked if you wanted to have a beer,” I said.

  “Maybe you didn’t have to twist my arm but that’s because I’m a devoted friend. And I appreciate all the time you put in with me when Missy died, and every year on the anniversary of her death. You’re a good man, Damon. I hope Trixie realizes that.”

  “Damn, you are a sensitive guy!” I crowed, laughing.

  “Fine, I can’t say something nice to my lifelong best friend?”

  “No. Our friendship is built on roasting the hell out of each other and drinking cheap liquor.”

  “And a foundation of always being there for each other,” he pointed out. “Which we have been.”

  “Except when I found out you were in love with my sister. I couldn’t handle it, and I know I owe you an apology. I’ve already apologized to her like four times and she just gets meaner and laughs harder every time. You’d think pregnancy and motherhood would have a gentling effect on that woman,” I shook my head, amused.

  “She’s perfect the way she is, and I owe you a black eye if you say any different,” Brody said.

  “See, if I’d been able to think clearly, I would’ve been thrilled that she found someone so protective and caring. But I got hung up on her being my baby sister, and some idea of betrayal that you were my best friend and you’d gone behind my back.”

  “Did you want us to stand right in front of you?”

  “Clearly the answer to that is no, since I lost my shit when I saw you together. I’m saying I don’t blame you for hiding it from me because the way I acted justified any deception on your part. And I’m grateful every day that my spitfire little sister has you, and that she helped bring you back to life. So, welcome to the family.”

  “Damn, you’re slow. We’re over it. You acted like an ass. We still love you. That’s what family does,” he said.

  “I’m gonna need something stronger to drink if we’re gonna keep up this degree of heartfelt sharing.”

  “Hey, you’re the one who wanted guy time which sounds like we’re gonna hang out in a sauna and talk about our feelings,” Brody said.

  “So a crappy bar is the only difference here, I guess,” I said. “And what’s wrong with missing my wife? I got used to having her around. She’s a great girl. I have a lot of respect for her. She’s a good friend.”

  “And it doesn’t hurt that you’re batshit crazy in love with her,” he said wryly, taking a drink.

  “I may have feelings for her, but we’re in close quarters. That’s natural.”

  “When you went for your fire safety certification, you had a roommate, right?”

  “Nick, yeah. Why?”

  “Did you fuck him?”

  “What? No!”

  “Then it ain’t because you’re in close quarters, man. Don’t bother telling yourself that.”

  I shook my head, “You are such a bastard.”

  “I know. Especially when I’m right.”

  “Yeah,” I admitted.

  “Since we’re oversharing, what got to you about her? Besides how she looks.”

  “We started watching movies together, eighties movies at first and now we’re watching the Fast and Furious series in order. She really thinks about stuff and takes it seriously, asks the smartest, out of left field questions that get me thinking. It’s how she sees things, and she’s just completely herself, different from anyone I ever met. Everything goes deeper with her, and she—”

  “That’s what she said,” Brody chuckled.

  “Shit. You know what I meant. She’s a deep thinker. And when I went to that fire in Overton and got the guy out, it really scared her, and she was waiting up for me.”

  “Sounds to me like she’s pretty crazy about you. I know when Laura was being held hostage, I knew in my bones that if anything happened to her I was gonna lose my mind. I’d kill every fuckin’ person in that cabin, then I’d drink myself to death. There wasn’t gonna be any going back. I was completely off the rails.”

  “So you were scared and mad and that all translated into a, uh, powerful reaction,” I said.

  “Did y’all fuck like you were out of your minds?”

  “Pretty much,” I said, with a stupid grin forming on my face.

  “That’s not close quarters, man,” he said again. “You gotta tell her.”

  “I know. But I’m chicken shit, bro. It’s possible that she looks at me like a fling, like I treated all those other women—”

  “Those other women only wanted a fling too. You didn’t treat them bad, and if you want to know how she feels, you ask her. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “The worst? She doesn’t feel the same way but feels like she owes me because of the loan and marrying her and tries to be in a relationship with me out of a sense of obligation,” I said miserably.

  “Well, shit. That is a worst-case scenario. So you have to ask her to be honest with you, and you have to trust her. Don’t go thinking you know what she thinks. Because you’re wrong. I’m wrong every time I assume anything with Laura. Don’t go there.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “It’s crazy how I can run into a fire knowing I’ll maybe die and not even hesitate, but I can’t tell my wife that I love her.”

  “Because it’s a lot harder to live than it is to sacrifice your life, idiot,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Especially if you think you gotta live without the woman you need.”

  “You’re a wise son of a bitch sometimes, Brody,” I said and ordered us another round.

  We were joking about baby names for my upcoming niece or nephew—I suggested Damon or Damonette—when our phones rang at the same time. We exchanged a look and then he answered my sister’s call. I saw my mom’s number and picked up.

  “We’re pulling into the ER now, Damon. Your sister thinks something’s wrong with the baby,” she said. “Get over here.”

  I hung up and looked at Brody. His face was gray and slack, terror flitting in his eyes. I pocketed his keys and told him to get in my truck. He was in no shape to drive, scared shitless for his wife and child.

  “She’s gonna be fine,” I told him.

  “I can’t lose her, Damon. For fuck’s sake, I buried Missy. Isn’t that enough? What the fuck?” he said. “She was fine when I talked to her at five. What if she’s been sick this whole time and was scared to tell me?”

  His anguish was painful to hear. I shook my head as I drove.

  “Man, my sist
er ain’t afraid of anything. She’d tell you. And she called you. She wants you there. You gotta be there for her and make it okay for her. She needs you.”

  “Yeah,” he said, latching on to that idea. “Get me as close to the entrance as you can. I don’t want her worrying and having to wait on me.”

  He was leaning forward, hand on the door before we ever got there, so anxious to get to her, to see with his own eyes if she was okay.

  “It’s probably just indigestion. My mom was making pierogies tonight and Laura always overdoes it on those,” I said trying to console him.

  “She’s bleeding,” he said, his voice hollow.

  “Oh,” I answered. There was nothing else to say to that. “Well, she’s got good care and we’ll be there in a minute. I’m just gonna call Trixie before I come inside. I won’t be a minute,” I said.

  I hadn’t even got the truck stopped by the entrance before he vaulted out and was inside the building. I parked and dialed my wife. It rang and rang and went to voicemail. I called again, still no answer. I texted her: Trix, please call me. And I waited, staring at my phone as the screen went dark again and I got no response.

  I waited, drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, made excuses in my head for her. Her phone was on the charger and she wasn’t with it. She was playing with the kids and didn’t hear the ringer. She and her sister were doing face masks or some girlie shit in the other room and she couldn’t hear the phone. It wasn’t that she was screening my calls or that she didn’t want to talk to me. She’d call as soon as she got the message and say she was sorry and give me a perfectly normal reason for not answering. Never mind that I’d answered her calls and texts when I was on a goddamn moving fire truck en route to a blaze before.

  Sixteen hours ago, I’d been drunk on the crackle of desire between us, my mouth at her neck, the tug of her fingers in my hair while I moved inside her. We had been as close as a man and a woman could be, and now she wasn’t even picking up when I called. I needed to talk to her, needed my touchstone, my wife. I needed her to tell me it would be okay, that I should keep her posted on how Laura and the baby were, and that she’d see me tomorrow night. I needed her arms around me, to comfort me. I needed her to know this was happening. She’d know what I should ask, how I should talk to my mom to not scare her more. I dialed one more time and got sent to voicemail. I hung up without leaving a message. I wasn’t going to say things like this to a recording. What would I even say?